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CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

carter

Arden stirs in my arms, so I pull her closer.

She’s been whimpering in her sleep on and off, letting out these little painful cries that make my heart break in my chest. I can’t imagine what she’s dreaming about, but I can only hope that it’s her mom visiting her.

I hope that she’s comforting her in all the ways I can’t, no matter how hard I try.

She needs her mom.

I knew that she was going to break eventually.

I didn’t know when, or over what, but the complexity of feelings she must be wading through was going to force her to her knees at some point.

When I found her on the floor, I felt a strange sense of inexplicable relief.

She had to let herself feel it. She couldn’t hold all this in forever.

My fear was that she’d try to anyway, and she would combust out of nowhere one day when I wasn’t close enough to catch her.

Arden relaxes in my arms, settling against my chest. I stare at the walls of her childhood bedroom.

So unlike her apartment. So different. There is life in this room.

Heart. Posters on the wall of boy bands.

Pictures of her and her friends, all of whom she probably hasn’t talked to since she moved.

She has cards from every single one of her birthdays in a little box on her dresser, some signed by her mom and dad, some from her sisters.

They stop after her eleventh. I checked while she showered.

I like her sisters. I do. Anya is a bit testy, but she’s also been dealt a pretty crappy hand, and it’s not my business how these girls handle that pain.

Serena is a good girl. She loves Arden, even if she doesn’t understand the way she operates.

Unlike Anya, she tries to. Still, anger courses through my entire fucking body when I look at those cards.

I have no doubt that if either of her sisters gave Arden a birthday card growing up, it would have been in that box.

Arden sighs, backing up against me, still sound asleep.

I slide my hand to her stomach, holding her body to mine.

This poor girl. She’s had to endure so much.

I know all of those life events are what brought her to me, but I’d sacrifice my own happiness to ensure she had a childhood that was full of happiness and laughter and love. Because she deserved that.

She deserved a dad who bought her a fucking birthday card.

She deserved sisters who thought about her as frequently as she thought about them.

She deserved love.