I sit on the couch and continue to stare up at the ceiling like I was doing before she decided to ruin me.

I ignore her familiar scent as she walks past me. I ignore the sounds of her footsteps as she moves around the house. And I ignore the fact that I can’t fucking ignore her at all. Her steps, her sounds, her moves, her very presence is everything. Everything.

Something scrapes against the tiles of the kitchen and before I know it, I’m choosing not to ignore her. My steps are rushed, or as rushed as they can be when I’m on crutches. She’s dragging a chair across the room. “What are you doing?” I ask, finally finding my voice.

She smiles at me.

She.

Smiles.

At.

Me!

Hate me, Riley. Why don’t you hate me?

“I couldn’t reach something in the bedroom.”

I hobble over to the bedroom, hesitating for a second to prepare my heart for the onslaught my next move will create. I step into the room, stopping just inside and I inhale deeply. It was supposed to be calming. It’s not. The room smells like her. Like us. Like us together.

I stay still as she walks around me, her side grazing mine when she steps in front of me. She faces the wall opposite the bed and points up. “Dylan?”

I shut my eyes, my stomach dropping, my mind fearing my body’s reaction to the way she says my name.

It’s not just the memories that cause the fear.

It’s the longing.

It’s her.

“I just wanted to take these frames with me if you don’t want them…”

My eyes snap open, my gaze on her first, before I follow the length of her arm, her finger pointed to two black and white photographs hanging on the wall.

I’d never seen them before. Never even knew they were there.

I reach up, grab the first frame and hand it to her, then I grab the other. I don’t give her this one. I can’t. Not yet. Instead, I stare at it. And that’s all I do.

My emotions keep me anchored to my spot, my heart heavy, my breaths heavier.

I skim my thumb across the glass. Behind it, there’s a black and white image of her smiling face, a familiar one I’d only seen through the screen of the computer. There’s an inset of me in the corner from when I was deployed, staring back, smiling right along with her.

“I took a screen shot when we spoke once,” she says.

I tear my gaze away from the image and look at her. She’s looking down at the picture she’s holding—identical to mine, only I take up the frame and she’s the inset.

She releases a breath as she sits on the edge of the bed, her fingers stroking the glass. “I kind of just wanted to remind myself that even though we were oceans apart, we were still together, you know?” She looks up at me, her eyes no longer clear but glassy, filling with tears.

I sit down next to her, ignoring the voices in my head that tell me not to—that it’ll just make it worse, but I’m drained—of will and of sense—and I can’t find the strength to stay upright.

“I hung them a few days before you got back. I figured you didn’t see them because you never mentioned it.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, my focus back on the frame I’m gripping so tight my knuckles are white.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “You had a lot on your mind.”

The room fills with the sounds of our heavy breaths and the silence of our incredible heartbreak.

“Is it true? What you said to my mom in the hospital?”

I inhale deeply, the sound echoing off the walls.

“That you wanted me to hate you?”

I nod once.

“Why?” she whispers. She’s fighting to contain her cry but I feel it. I feel every ounce of pain she’s trying so hard to hide. “Why not just tell me to leave?”

“Because I’m a fucking coward, Riley.” I sit up, my hands stretched behind me as I look up at the ceiling. “I wanted to plant the seed in your head—the seed of loathing. So you were convinced it’s something you wanted. Because I know you, Riley. I know if I’d say that you’d come back. You’ll beg and you’ll plead and I’ll give in because I love you. I love you more than anything. And it’s not enough. It never will be.”

“That’s a fucking lie, Dylan.”

My eyes snap to her, but she’s still looking at the frame. “You know I love you. You know I’d always put you first. Always. If you didn’t want me anymore, I would’ve left. If you were suffering and you wanted to do it alone, you could’ve said that. If you needed time, I would’ve given it to you. You didn’t come to me, Dylan.” She stands up and faces me. Then takes the frame from me. “You didn’t let me be the glue that held you together, and that’s all I wanted to be for you. I’m sorry if that wasn’t enough.”

I find the strength to reach for her, but she moves away.

“My mom once told me that the hardest part of her day was the few seconds her hand would cover my doorknob and…” She pauses, wiping tears with the back of her hand. “…she was so afraid I wouldn’t be able to find the strength to get through the day and I’d do something I couldn’t take back.”

“Ry, I’m not…”

“It must be hard—as a parent—to know that your child might have those thoughts and those insecurities.”

“I don’t.”

“Reach out to your dad, Dylan. Take away the worry, okay?”