Futile the Winds || s.reid

5. How Odd the Girl's Life Looks

When you put Hope to bed the following Friday, you dimmed the lights and sat down beside her bed. She looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to pull a book out to read to her.

Instead, you took one of her hands in yours as you bent down to press a kiss to her forehead. You cleared your throat, willing your voice to come out without a waver, and quietly said, "Hey, so tomorrow is going to be a little bit different than normal, and I want to make sure you understand what's going on."

Hope blinked before furrowing her brows.

You took a breath. "I have to go away for work tomorrow. You're going to stay here with Spencer."

She stared at you wordlessly, and then she whispered, "What?"

You nodded.

"Where are you gonna go?" Hope asked, this time louder. She sat up quickly.

"Colorado."

Hope thought on that for a second before demanding, "Where is that?"

You rubbed a hand across your face while the other dug into your back pocket for your phone, and you pulled up a map of the United States for her. Then, you handed her the phone so she could look for herself.

Her eyes scanned the screen rapidly, and as she located Colorado, her brows scrunched together. "That's so far away," she whispered.

"I know."

"You've never been that far away."

"I know."

"But—it—you—" Hope's breathing picked up, and she looked between you and the map on the screen. "But—why can't—you can't go!"

You pressed your lips together as you gathered her into your arms, taking a seat on the edge of her toddler bed. You pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and you willed your voice to remain steady as you murmured, "You'll have a fun day with Spencer."

"I don't want Spencer. I want you." She began crying.

A part of you wanted to cry too—out of fear from being so far away from her, or out of frustration that you knew you could not soothe her, you didn't know. But you'd promised Spencer you would go.

And, maybe, you owed it to yourself to see Boucher locked away, too, as much as the thought of facing him again stole your breath and left you trembling.

But you couldn't deny the overwhelming guilt you felt as your daughter sobbed in your arms. You'd felt it since you dragged her back to Virginia with you, but you hadn't quite been able to place exactly what you felt guilty about. Suddenly, it became abundantly clear to you.

The false reality that you had lived was Hope's entire life, and here you were, telling her that everything she'd known was wrong—that this, here, this job, this apartment, this city, this man that you loved dearly but who she hadn't known at all, was what was actually true.

But this wasn't home to her. This wasn't her life, not yet at least. And it was going to take far longer than a few months for her to truly adjust to it.

So you just whispered, "I know. I love you," against her hair and let her cry, and cry, and cry, until she tired herself enough that she fell asleep in your arms.

Trembling with a mix of exhaustion, guilt, and trepidation for the day to come, you slowly lowered her under her covers and slipped away, gently closing the door to her bedroom. You took a deep breath, and then headed to your own bedroom.

Spencer was sitting at your desk grading papers, but his gaze snapped over to you as soon as you shut the door behind you. The tight smile of greeting he gave you indicated that he'd heard Hope's protests.