The Seven Stages of Happily Ever After

Thirteen

"She hasn't left her bed for the past week except to go to the bathroom."

"She won't eat," A new voice enters the mix, sounding pained. "I'm really worried about her."

"He really did a number on her." Matt's angry voice carries through the door, and I wish I felt vindication for his anger, but I can't be angry with Luke. My heart still aches, but it aches for him.

I miss him.

I miss him all the time. I feel the dull ache all day, every minute, every second. Every part of me misses him, and there's nothing I can do about it. We haven't spoken since the Monday we broke up, and I miss him.

I miss him.

I love him.

He was my home, and now there's nothing left.

The door to my room cracks open, and I pretend to sleep. I don't want to move, or eat, or talk, or watch a movie. My heart is shattered, and I just want to sleep. I want to mourn and be left alone to do it.

"Oh, my sweet girl." Mom's voice fills my ears, and I'm surprised and not surprised she's come to see me: but she isn't alone. A familiar figure is behind her and at the sight of my best friend, I break out into tears. I thought I didn't have any left: but apparently, like always, I was wrong.

"Babe," Izzy chokes on her own emotion, and immediately wraps me in a hug. "I'm so sorry."

I cry into her neck, reaching out and grabbing Mom's hand. I hear her sniffing and know it's hurting her to see me this way. I wish she didn't have to.

"It hurts so much." I choke out, gripping my heart with my free hand, wishing I could grab it and trade it in for a non-damaged one.

"I know." Izzy replies gently, rubbing my back soothingly.

I didn't realize it, but maybe all I needed was their presence. No words; just shoulders to cry on. It's nice.

It doesn't fix me.

But then again, I don't think I can be fixed.

After they leave, I curl into a ball, preparing for the familiar thoughts to return. I'm almost asleep when they whisper to me, coiling around my mind and squeezing me, leaving me unable to form any other thoughts.

You're worthless.

Who would want you?

I shove my hands over my ears as though they're sitting on my cheek, shouting into my ears.

Your own mother didn't want you. You really thought Luke would?

How pathetic.

You're unworthy of love.

No one will ever want you.

Tears stream down my face, and I let out a small sob, stifling it with my hand.

Indeed.

Who would want me?

It's been a week and a half since the breakup when a familiar knock sounds on my door. I know that knock, and for a faint moment I wonder if they've actually called in the final reinforcement or if I'm imagining things.

Imagining the only person who I don't want to see.

Sure enough, when the door opens, and I glance over my shoulder, Dad walks in quietly, a small smile on his face though it falters when he sees me. "Hi sweetheart," He greets.

I wave, opting to stay quiet.

You're the reason his wife left him.

You ruin everything.

"I brought you something." He tells me quietly, as he takes a seat beside of my bed. My eyes find the old history book he used to read to me when I'd had a nightmare. I squeeze my eyes closed, assaulted by the memory of mine and Luke's first date. "Would you like to hear about another one of Jackson's scandals?" He asks, his voice hopeful.

I nod, wanting to please him, and sit up, taking the water bottle he hands me. He begins reading, but I'm not listening. I can't hear his voice; only the same ones I've heard all week.

She left because of you.

How could Luke love someone like you?

How could your Father, knowing what you did?

How could your brother, knowing you're the reason his Mom left?

How could anyone love you?

"I'm sorry," I choke, tears spilling down my face as I feel my skin begin to grow hot. "I'm so sorry, Daddy." I repeat, turning to look at him. His brows furrow, and he moves, sitting in front of me on the bed. "It's my fault Ellen left."

His eyes widen, and I can briefly see the anger that passes over his face before he veils it. "It's my fault." I choke, hiccupping as I cry. "She left us because of me, because I'm unlovable."

"Emma," Dad's voice cracks, and what I thought was anger I can now see is pain. He grabs my shoulders, looking me in the eye. "My sweet Emma," He shakes his head, pulling me into his arms and holding me tightly. "No, sweetheart. Ellen left because she was selfish."

"No-"

"Yes," He insists, rubbing his hand over my hair. "Ellen was sick, but before that, she was selfish." He pulls back, placing both hands on my cheeks. "Ellen wasn't ready to be a mother, and I pushed her. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine." 

"No," I shake my head, wanting to rip that thought from his mind at this moment. It's simply not true. Every memory I have from that time of my life, Ellen was the one shouting. Ellen was the one complaining. Ellen was the problem. Of course, Dad would get frustrated, but he would never yell. He never lost his temper, and he never blamed her, or us. "No, you didn't do anything. You were good to her. You were kind, and patient."

Dad smiles sadly at me, leaning down so we're eye level. "So, you see? It's ridiculous to place the blame on anyone for what someone else chose to do." 

I open my mouth to reply, but find I don't have an argument. Dad smiles, his eyes warm and kind, as always. "Emma, you're kind. You  are patient. You are a light to everyone around you, full of adventure and heart. And any man who doesn't appreciate a woman like you is not a man for you."

"You have to say that," I sniff, feeling a little better when a genuine smile crosses my face.

"Maybe," Dad smiles back, "But it doesn't make them any less true." 

"I'm sorry," I breathe, feeling as though a weight has been lifting. As though my Dad came into this room, and expelled every ghost haunting me for the past twenty years, waiting to strike at my weakest.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," He tells me, kissing the crown of my head. "Nothing at all."

And for the first time, I believe it.