Protect My Heart

Chapter 37

Clover

"Come on, Mia," I ushered my child with her tiny hand in mine. Her bright blue eyes sparkled up at me with such adoration.

"Mommy, why are we here again?"

"Because it's a special day, baby. You'll understand when you're older, but it's the day we lost day."

"Because of Daddy?"

My feet faltered on the wet grass that stained my shoes. "Yes, baby, because of Daddy."

Mia followed me past the named and unnamed tombstones, flowerless and others decorated with pretty and rich flowers. Chrysanthemum and Callas. My vision wavered, my legs suddenly weak, but I had my daughter for support.

Visiting this place each week returned old, neglected memories. I remembered, after my parents' funeral, how I'd go to their graves and cry next to their dead, buried bodies and speak to the sky to have them returned to me and Ned. I swore at the sky, mad at the world or to some big thing that was out there – how cruel it was to have them taken from me so young. I cursed and shouted and sobbed there for months, a teary-eyed girl hoping for a miracle.

I was a young kid then who in miracles, love, ever-lasting happiness, rainbows and sunshine. As all children do, there were no dangers in the world – except from our parents' warnings: candymen, sharp corners, dark streets. We had no worries.

Our footsteps faltered next to the right grave. Mia observed the name engraved in the stone with big, round eyes.

There are moments in your life that happen in a blip: a sneeze, an abrupt embrace, a truck slamming into a car, then there's the horrid news that bring you to your knees and make you want to slice your neck and bleed out in front of them. Words that blur your life for ever and make you bleed dry.

Those were the news for me when the doctor's lips moved, and I sat there with my heart torn; they came to me in blurred lines: "Your husband's in a coma... the bullet punctured his heart... the ventilator is breathing for him. He signed a DNR."

He lay there, simply resting while I was sure he'd come out of it. He couldn't be dead, not when he lay there like he was sleeping.

How could I bear the thought of living without him, him being gone? Some might call me weak or self-centred, but I wasn't good at being alone. I had lived alone in my head for seventeen years before I met him. Then he entered my life and I saw a future for life, a bright one, a future with blossoming flowers and without any dread. And we were good together, he took care of me, and I adored having someone to snuggle up to each night before bed. I reached for him during the night. He was my happy place, my person.

Logan and I deserved more time. Not only the years we had had. People had taken so many years from us already. After everything we had been through, we deserved a bright future together.

Every day I would sit by him, stroke his hair ever so gently, lie next to him and tell him stories. For the first two weeks, I didn't leave his bedside, someone had to be watching him at all times, in case he stopped breathing. The fear of him being gone the next was a sinking feeling in my gut.

Logan was my priority that time while our child stayed with Bella and Adam.

Mason was released from the hospital on the seventh day of Logan's admittance. He visited Logan every day, brought food and drinks. He kept me company, brushed away my tears when I sobbed loudly, then cried with me. We were both a sobbing mess. He comforted me about Logan's strength and persistence.

Yet as the months flew by, I began to lose hope. He wasn't doing any better; the doctor persisted he was a hopeless cause. During month two, she announced that if he'd not wake up in two weeks, then they'd pull the plug. I had to be restrained after this. But the more those words circulated in my brain, the more I listened. She was right; he couldn't be attached to monitors forever, and not let him be free.