Take This Regret (19 page)

She laughed and shook her head. “It’s fine, Christian.

Just wear them.” She grinned and pointed toward the stairs. “There’s a bathroom off the family room.” I chuckled at the confounding woman in front of me who amazed me at every turn. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Elizabeth had always been the most caring, compassionate person I’d ever known, and she stil was. I just had to peel the layers back a little bit to see it.

How sad they were there because of me.

“Goodnight, Elizabeth.” A gracious smile spread across my face.

“Goodnight, Christian.” A moment was spent staring at each other, swimming in nostalgia and what could have been, before I turned and left her standing at the top of the stairs.

In the smal bathroom, I shed my clothes and put on the blue, flannel, pajama bottoms, feeling a twinge of guilt as I did so.

I was tired, but there was an energy stirring in me, leaving me unsure of how much sleep I would actual y get tonight. So many times I’d imagined this, what it would be like to stay here, though the circumstances now were so different than what had taken place in my dreams. I’d be sleeping on the couch—not with Elizabeth.

Running dampened hands through my hair, I exhaled and hoped I’d at least catch a couple hours of sleep.

Opening the door and flipping off the light switch, I stepped into the dimly-lit family room and came face-to-face with Elizabeth.

I stopped mid-stride, surprised to find her waiting for me on the other side of the bathroom door. Her eyes grew wide when they hit my bare chest before her face flushed red and she averted her gaze to the floor.

“Sorry . . . I . . . um . . . thought you might like to see these.”

She extended her arms, snapping me from my shock as she brought attention to what she held in her hands.

There were three albums, the kind that were perfectly square and fil ed with hours upon hours of a mother’s artwork.

Elizabeth held them out farther, encouraging me to take them. I shook as I reached a tentative hand out to accept them, my mouth dry and unable to express my gratitude for her gift. As we both held the albums between us, she looked up at me with what could only be described as sympathy, a tenderness that broke my heart and healed it at the same time. She nodded as she withdrew her hands and then turned and rushed upstairs.

Acute anxiety and severe longing fil ed my chest as I thought of facing what was inside, the albums an oppressive weight. I slowly moved to the couch and placed five years of memories on my lap, memories I wasn’t sure I was ready to face. I ran my fingertips over the brown cover and struggled to find the courage to open it. It took five ful minutes before I did. The muted glow from the lamp on the end table shed enough light to il uminate what the first page held—a birth announcement.

Elizabeth Grace Ayers

Born May 23rd at 4:37

am.

18.5” long

5 pounds 3 ounces

Breathtaking—heartbreaking.

Tears fel , and there was nothing I could have done to stop them.

In my hands was the image of an infant child, her face red and new, her tiny mouth pursed; even then, her grey-blue eyes were wide and expressive. A mass of shiny, black hair sat atop her head, my cleft marking her chin.

My daughter.

My fingers traced the picture.

So small.

I flashed back to the day I’d seen Elizabeth before she’d given birth—how thin, even sickly she’d appeared.

Now to know Lizzie had been so smal , it sent reality crashing down on me. My stomach twisted, my head spun, and sweat broke out across my forehead. Elizabeth hadn’t just
looked
sick, she was sick. I’d left her when she was sick.

I was a monster.

I choked on the lump in my throat and forced myself to turn the page—snapshots of a swaddled baby asleep in the hospital nursery, rocking in Matthew’s arms, pressed to her mother’s breast. The last was by far the most beautiful, the way Elizabeth held her daughter as if she’d found the world because she knew she had.

And I had missed it.

Each page showcased my daughter’s life, every milestone I had missed—first food, first step, first word, first birthday. Lizzie grinned at the camera with a pointy cap on her head, two teeth on top and two on the bottom, and a round cake with one candle, sitting in front of her—

surrounded by those who loved her.

I wasn’t there.

Images of a chubby-cheeked little girl, running, playing, always smiling fil ed the next pages. More birthdays, more Christmases, Easters, every celebration—five years of life.

And I wasn’t there because I had abandoned my
family.

But when I turned to last page of the last album,
I was.

Lizzie sat on my lap with her arms around my neck, showering me in undeserved love as she thanked me for a birthday gift I’d had no idea if she’d even like.

Worse than seeing what I had missed was knowing what had to have been left out of those pages, what wasn’t put on display. Every sleepless night, every worry, every fear. Failures and missed goals. Heartache, every tear shed.

Swept away in grief, I tried to bury my regret in the pil ow Elizabeth had left for me on the couch. It only smel ed of her. I pressed my face deeper, trying to drown out years of sorrow and loss, to conceal the devastation tearing me apart. It felt like death, five years slain by selfishness and stupidity.

Who of us had paid the biggest price? The beautiful child who shone like heaven on every page, her smile, joy—

her face, peace? Her mother, the one betrayed, the one who had worked so hard, loved so much that she had raised a child such as this? In the end, I knew it had to be me. I was the one who had lost, the one who had lived without, the one who was a fool to have ever imagined
anything
could have been better than this.

Without a doubt, I didn’t deserve to be here, to wrap myself up in the comfort of the blanket Elizabeth provided, to rest my head on the pil ow that could only have come from her bed, to accept her kindness as she al owed me into her home.

Most of al , I didn’t deserve the love of Lizzie.

The night I’d fal en apart after Elizabeth had first al owed me to see Lizzie, I’d thought I’d understood, but I’d had no idea. The truth was, I never would. I wasn’t there, and I would never real y know. And there was nothing I could do to earn that time back. Even if Elizabeth forgave me, I didn’t think I could ever forgive myself.

As much sorrow as these stil ed memories brought me, I couldn’t help but cherish the veiled experience, thankful to have a glimpse into life while I wasn’t real y living

at al . I lamented those years and hugged Elizabeth’s pil ow close as I took comfort in her scent, took comfort in her presence as I praised her for sharing the life I’d chosen not to be a part of—praised her for being brave enough to al ow me to be a part of it now.

That presence grew stronger, palpable. I jerked up when I realized I wasn’t alone, my eyes drawn to her.

Elizabeth stood clinging to the railing at the top of the stairs, watching down over me, tears staining her face. Neither of us said anything aloud, though my heart spoke a thousand regrets, every one of them a plea for forgiveness I could never deserve.

In her eyes, I saw what I desired most.

Elizabeth cared for me—hurt for me—loved me.

I stared back and poured everything I had into that moment, praying for once she wouldn’t question that I did too.

She closed her eyes and took two steps back, uncertainty and fear flowing from the corners, exposing a wounded heart that had forgotten how to trust but hadn’t forgotten how to love.

I shifted deeper into the warmth, refusing to let go of the comfort of Elizabeth’s lingering presence as I buried my face in her pil ow and pul ed the blanket tighter around my body. An unfamiliar nudging stirred me, dragging me from what I was sure were the two best hours of sleep I’d ever had.

“Wake up, Daddy.” A tiny giggle sounded close to my ear.

I rol ed from my stomach to my side and then opened my eyes to paradise.

Lizzie leaned over me, grinning.

I blinked the sleep away, smiling as I focused in on the precious child in front of me. She stil wore her nightgown but none of the pain from the night before.

“Hi, baby girl,” I rasped out, my throat raw from lack of sleep and hours of uncontained remorse. “Come here.” I lifted the blanket, inviting her to crawl in beside me. After last night, I needed to hold my daughter. She felt perfect as she settled next to me and rested her head on the pil ow. I placed a kiss on her forehead before ghosting fingertips over the now bruised skin over her eye.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“I’m almost al better. My arm only hurts a little bit.” Her fingers grazed over my chest as she flexed and extended her fingers in a show of recovery.

My chest swel ed with emotion, her nearness eliciting a haunting sadness from the night before and an overwhelming appreciation for the grace I’d been given that al owed me to hold her this way today.

Her

eyes

burned,

her

child-like

innocence

overshadowed by a sudden deep awareness. “Daddy, what’s wrong?” The same swol en fingers reached out to caress my cheek in undeserved affection I would never take for granted.

“Nothing’s wrong, princess. Everything is perfect.” And just like that, the child was back. Her eyes were alight as she wiggled out of my grasp and onto her feet.

“Come on, Daddy. Breakfast is almost ready,” she said, attempting to drag me from the couch with her good arm Her statement set my senses in motion. The smel coming from the kitchen aroused memories from long ago

—bacon, eggs, and biscuits. My mouth watered and my stomach growled. Nobody made breakfast like Elizabeth.

Lizzie tugged on my hand again, clearly as excited over her mother’s breakfast as I was. With no resistance, I al owed Lizzie to lead me into the kitchen only to have my footsteps falter at the sight in front of me.

Elizabeth stood at the stove with her back to us and wore black pajama bottoms and a matching tank top. Her blonde hair was pinned up in a messy bun at the base of her neck. Errant pieces had fal en out and toppled down her back. She was barefoot, glowing, and gorgeous.

I struggled to breathe through the intense longing that coursed through my body.

She threw a quick glance over her shoulder, flashing another genuine smile. “Good morning.”

She turned back to her work, leaving me to whisper a barely audible good morning in return when real y I wanted to sing.

Elizabeth spooned what looked to be more than a dozen scrambled eggs into a bowl from a frying pan. “You’d better be hungry. I made enough food to feed an army.” Her tone was light, maybe even cheerful, as if the intensity from last night had long since been forgotten.

It struck me how natural it would seem to walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, to lean over her shoulder and place a good morning kiss on her cheek, to tel her I loved her.

Instead, I said, “Starving.”

“Good.” She opened the oven door and leaned over to pul out a pan of homemade biscuits.

I had to look away, and my roving eyes drifted to the smal table in the kitchen nook. It was set for five. Suddenly, I became very uncomfortable.

“Uh, Elizabeth?”

“Yeah?” She stopped placing biscuits in a basket to look in my direction.

I gestured toward the table with my head. “Are you expecting company?”

Understanding dawned on her face. “Yeah, Matthew and Natalie come for breakfast every Sunday morning.” I roughed a hand through my hair. No further confrontations had taken place between Matthew and me since Lizzie’s birthday, but I wouldn’t say we were exactly friendly, either. I’d only seen him a handful of times in passing as I’d been picking up Lizzie or dropping her off, but each time he’d watched me with both suspicion and disdain.

Elizabeth looked at me as if she knew exactly what I was thinking. She pointed toward the bathroom. “You’d better hurry up and get changed; they’l be here any minute.” I knew then that I’d better get over it if I was going to be a part of Lizzie’s life.

I was only in the smal bathroom long enough to change into the clothes I’d worn the day before, brush my teeth, and to run wet hands through my hair in an attempt to tame the disaster on my head, but when I stepped out, Matthew and Natalie were already there.

From the archway, I watched the profuse apology Matthew gave Elizabeth while he held Lizzie in his arms, almost breathless in his explanation. “Elizabeth, I’m so sorry. Nat and I were at the movies last night, and I’d turned off my phone. I didn’t get the message until just before we got over here.”

Elizabeth tried to stop him. “Matthew . . . honestly . . . It was fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Elizabeth’s reassurance did nothing to ease his remorse. He hugged Lizzie to him. “I’m so sorry, Lizzie.” He seemed on the verge of tears.