With the constant battle of the heart and brain, I knew there was only so much more that I could take before completely busting.  The only thing that seemed to be right in the world was the little, perfect now three-month-old girl who never gave me a knowing, sympathetic look or an “I told you so” when I cried.  This little girl was my saving grace; I was glad that we had decided to use that as her middle name.

And of course, I didn’t have my little savior to take my attention away from the cell phone that I held in my hand, reading and re-reading over and over the latest messages that riddled my phone.

Not to mention the twenty two text messages.  Back-to-back. 

I sighed, sliding my finger gently over his name and then the words he had written.  The moment I left that driveway and entered the main road, I wanted to be able to forget about him; I wanted to not love him anymore.  Of course, with anything in life, nothing is ever easy and the constant reminder of him on his knees with a look of pure loss and devastation never left my thoughts, the back of my eyelids when I finally closed my eyes to (attempt) sleep. 

I loved him.  God knew I did and only he knew why.  To be completely honest, he was probably the only man I had ever let myself love as much as I did.  Maybe it was because he gave me Kira or maybe it was because he had given me the best four years of my life. 

My brain wanted it to be over.  It wanted to move on and wash its hands clean of the entire situation.  I couldn’t blame it; after everything it has processed, reacted to and even cooperated with, the perils within the last year were enough to drive anyone mad.

My heart was a different story.  Like I said, I loved him.  It’s hard to let someone go when you feel connected to them with every fiber of your being.  Whoever said that true love didn’t exist was wrong.  It believed that there was one person out there for everyone and damnit, he was it for me.

He was calling again.  Thankfully, almost as if my daughter had a “mommy is distressed” monitor, she began to slightly cry from across the hall, alerting me she had woken from her nap and was hungry.

I put the phone down, still holding onto the sides as I silenced the ringer, wanting to forget, at least for a while, the man on the other end of the line, clinging so desperately to the hope that I’d answer.

He was going to be desperate for a while.  A long while.

Kira’s cries had become a little more insistent as I pushed myself away from the phone and towards her little makeshift nursery that my parents put together while she and I headed towards them those two weeks ago. 

“Mama’s here,” I said, giving her a light tone as her cries began to quiet, “No more crying, baby girl.”  I peered over the crib, seeing the toothless grin on her face as she realized that it was her mommy coming to tend to her, legs kicking about and hands clenched at their sides in excitement.  “How was your nappy, huh?  Was it good?”  I grinned, seeing her continue to kick as I reached in, picking up my daughter and pressing my lips to her forehead, letting her body rest against my forearms as I supported the back of her neck and arms.  She was still grinning, still happy.

She made me able to forget.

“And how’s my granddaughter today?”  My mom stepped into the living room, kneeling down and getting in direct eyeshot of Kira as she stared up at her expectantly from her Tigger tummy time mat.  She reached for the toy my mom picked up in her hand, watching as she shook it side to side to make it rattle.  “She looks so different … even from yesterday.”

I laughed from my position behind Kira, lying on my side with my head near hers.  Cupping the back of her head and caressing the thickening hair, I nodded.  “She’s always coming up with some new way to amaze me.  The whole “oh my gosh, mommy’s here!” acknowledgement is my favorite, though.”

My mom smiled, meeting my gaze.  “That was my favorite with all four of you girls, too.  There is nothing quite like the feeling of being missed and wanted.”

With a simple nod, I agreed.  Of course, with just that comment, I was thinking of JC and yet again, his latest text that stated nearly just that.

“Have you talked to him?”

I jerked out my thoughts, shaking my head at my mom.  “No.  I can’t.”

She raised an eyebrow.  “Can’t, or won’t?”

I pushed myself up to a sitting position, watching as my mom continued to play and entertain Kira with the rattle.  “What do you mean by that?”

She continued to look at my daughter but responded to me without even acknowledging my curious and somewhat irritated gaze.  “I just meant that maybe you won’t do it because you’re afraid of what will happen if you talk to him.  You say you can’t, but you know you are physically able to; emotionally-ready, maybe not … but when will you ever be if you continue to kick yourself down with all those depressing thoughts?  I know he loves you and Kira, Lily; you’ve gotta let him prove that to you.  If he says he didn’t file those papers, then he didn’t.  I believe he didn’t and you should, too.” 

I frowned.  The woman, who never had anything to say, suddenly had everything to say.  “Mom –“

“This is his daughter, Lily,” she said softly, setting down the rattle and running her fingers over Kira’s layette-covered belly, gently tickling her as her legs kicked in enjoyment, “You can’t stay away from him forever, much less for much longer.  He has a right to see her and I know he misses her just as much as he misses you.”

“I know he misses her,” I said with a nod, “And I know he misses me.  But if he really did miss me as much as he said he did –“

My mom held her hand up, stopping me.  “He’d be here, right?”  When I closed my mouth from the surprise of being interrupted, I nodded and let her continue.  “You’ve given him every rightful thought to not come anywhere near you or Kira.  He’s a respectful man, Lily – all he is doing is respecting your wishes, even though I know he’d love to do nothing more than to tear down your wall and be here, right now.”

I sighed, placing my right hand over my left, silently twisting the wedding band on my finger.  Of course I still held on to him, to that vow; maybe I was being stupid.  But maybe, maybe I wasn’t wrong after all.

“And if you truly were done with this entire situation, that ring would have left your finger a long time ago.”

I cringed inwardly.  Of course my mother would notice my suddenly liking of my ring finger.  “Do you mind if you take her for an hour or so?  I really want to lie down.”

My mom, suddenly the speaker, ever the God-send, nodded.  “Take all the time you need, Lily.  But don’t take too much time … pushing it along for too long may end up ending it for good.”

I didn’t think she was speaking of my nap.

Sleep was hard to come by the last two weeks.  Especially now that my mind was going in overdrive and all I was picturing, hearing and even smelling was him.  Somehow, I was overwhelmed with his scent when I finally managed to push my body to the pillows at the top of the bed, then realizing that the hoodie I had pulled over my head had been his and I somehow managed to pack it in the midst of my crazed-state.  I was hearing him beg me not to go, hearing his sobs as I shielded my daughter from him, myself from him; I was picturing the look on his face when I finally turned to meet his desperate gaze, red-eyed and scared, not knowing what was going on, but desperate to fix it before things broke completely.

And with a slam of a car door and a push into reverse, I broke what we had completely.  As usual, he was the one who wanted to fix it all – to make things right. 

I pulled my arms through my sleeves and tucked my head into the neck hole of the hoodie, inhaling the faint scent deeply as tears formed in my eyes.  In a sick way, wearing that hoodie was like wearing him, holding onto him; I felt him around me and I smelled what always tended to stick to me, long after he had let go.

Even the two weeks long.

My phone alerted me to another text message.  Lifting up my arm and sliding my hand through the sleeve without so much as moving the rest of my body, I pulled the device to eye-level, selecting to read what he had written.

I frowned.  He was quoting a song.  His song.  He had said everything he could think of and now was sending me lyrics.  Lyrics to songs he knew I favored, songs I loved.

They were coming quickly, one line of a lyric at a time; one knife to my heart at a time.  And every time hurt more than the last.

He was simply killing me.  It was more than a knife to the heart.  But the texts had stopped.  The phone was silent.  I tossed it beside me, defeated and exhausted from the mental war going on in my body.  The heart was losing, the brain was losing … there were no winners.  I was tired, upset, angry, confused and all of the negative emotions you never want to feel; they were all riddled inside me like bullets to my heart and to my mind; I had more emotional scars than I knew what to do with.

I let my eyes close, not even fighting the mental movie already beginning to play on the back of my eyelids of he and I in happier times; back to the time when I delivered Kira and I was looking at him directly in the face, his forehead to mine, hand cupping the back of my neck as he told me how proud of he was of me, how much he loved me.  I mentally saw him kiss me but physically felt the repercussions of it.  Tears stung my eyes as I turned onto my side, phone taunting me. 

And as timing had always had its sudden interest in my life, it alerted me yet again.

I, of course, grabbed the phone like a starving dog, drooling at the juicy steak dinner just in front of it and within reach.  Barely able to read the words, I felt the sob slowly boil at the pit of my stomach and bubble up and into the back of my throat, it escaping as a strained cry.  What was I doing to myself?  To Kira?  To him?

I didn’t hate him.  I couldn’t.  As much as I wanted to, I didn’t.  I loved him.  I loved him then, I loved him when I walked out that door and I loved him now.  Love.  I love him now.

I couldn’t do it anymore.  I couldn’t ignore him.  I knew that we were a long way from me wanting to move back home, not when I didn’t have any explanations – but I had to hear his voice, I had to know he was okay.  I just had to.

I hit the designated speed dial for his cell phone, it ringing only three times (one ring connects) before I heard his voice.

Swallowing my pride and what was left of the sobs in the back of my throat, I responded.

“We need to talk.”