Untethered: The Steamy Bits

29 | Recriminations

Ryan sat in the old leather office chair at the desk in the study, reading and rereading the pages in his hands. He'd found the letter a couple of days after he got home from the cabin. It had remained unopened for another day after that. He just couldn't bring himself to read it.

It said all the things he expected. She loved him, she was tired of suffering, she didn't want him to watch her waste away, she pleaded for his understanding. He read the guilt between the lines-the regret. It soured his stomach to think that she'd felt an ounce of self-loathing in her last moments. But there was nothing he could do now to reassure her, to tell her that it didn't take a single thing away from the amazing mom she'd been to him. She was gone.

In retrospect, he realized that she had made the decision after her hospital stay. Their conversation the morning she was discharged had replayed in his mind dozens of times in the last week, in minute detail. In hindsight, it was clear she was saying goodbye, but he didn't know that at the time, and hadn't said everything he wanted to say.

Although, reflecting on it right now, he didn't know exactly what else he could have said. It wasn't that he had some grand speech, or some final farewell planned out. It was about the hundreds and thousands of little moments they'd been robbed of. Moments that are simple and insignificant when they are happening, but together combine to create something rich and complex. Like millions of tiny tiles arranged together make a mosaic, or threads a tapestry, or single notes a symphony.

Shamefully, he acknowledged there was a tiny part of him that was angry with her. Even while the larger part of him had to admit the truth: In the end, it didn't matter if she went this way, or in another month from the disease; it was never going to be enough time. And he was glad that she was done suffering. For her to have shown any weakness, any sign of discomfort, must have meant the pain was excruciating.

Still, he couldn't help wishing for just a little more time.

~*~*~

Just as he lowered his head onto his fingertips and began massaging his temples, there was knock at the door. He ignored it. But then sighed when whoever was on the other side started knocking again.

There was still a couple more hours before he could shut everyone out.

"Yeah, who is it?" he asked dully.

"It's me." Emma's soft voice came through the thick door, and then she cracked it open, peeking her head inside timidly. "Can I come in?"

He nodded and she slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind her.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," she replied. Then, "Well, sort of. I need to talk to you."

"I don't think I'm up for a talk right now, Em."

She moved closer. "I just need you to listen. Please?"

He leaned back in the chair, fixing his gaze on her, "Alright."

Licking her lips nervously, her eyes flitted around the room, like she was expecting the words she needed to appear out of thin air. They landed on the letter and nerves were replaced by curiosity. "What's that?"

"The note Ma left me."

"Oh."

She didn't say anything else about it, which surprised, but also relieved, him. He didn't want to share it, even with her.

She came a little closer, leaning back against the desk. Their knees were almost touching. Even with everything else going on in his head, he noticed how beautiful she looked. She was wearing a simple black wrap dress that ended at her knees, hugging her hips, and accentuated her cleavage without revealing too much. Her wild hair was pulled back in a loose twist, and she'd even managed to tame a few of the curls to frame her face. The only jewelry she wore was her grandma's pearls.