Page 16 of Nineteen Letters

Nothing about this is okay, but I can’t bring myself to hurt her further.

I pack the last of her clothes into a suitcase and zip it up. She wouldn’t even come to the house to gather some of her things. She sent Rachel here instead. It was just another crushing blow to my already fractured heart.

My eyes scan the room as I retrieve the suitcase from the bed. I might be taking a few of her possessions out of this room, but she will still be here … in this room,in this house. There are pieces of her everywhere.

My legs are heavy as I descend the stairs to the living room, where Rachel is waiting. I can’t help but feel like I’m giving up, like I’m allowing this to happen by handing over this suitcase. But on the other hand, what can I do? I can’t force her to love me.

I find Rachel with her back to me, staring at the flowers I bought for Jemma’s homecoming. I strategically placed several vases throughout the house; I wanted her to smile no matter which room she entered. But that’s not going to happen since she refuses to even come here.

“Here are her things,” I say, placing the suitcase down in front of me. It holds clothes, shoes, underwear, toiletries and her make-up.

They’re not even mine to keep, yet I’m hesitant to let Rachel take them. They’re material things and in the grand scheme of things they’re insignificant, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’m losing another piece of my wife. It’s only a matter of time before she asks for more. Before I know it, I’ll be left with nothing. Nothing but memories and a shattered heart.

Rachel turns to face me, and the sadness in her eyes is visible from here. I think she can sense this is the beginning of the end for Jemma and me, but neither of us can bring ourselves to say it out loud.

“The flowers are beautiful. She would have loved them.”

The haunted tone of her voice sends a chill down my spine, intensifying the desperation I’m feeling inside. There’s still a tiny light within me. Although it has diminished considerably, it’s still there. I’m hanging onto that tiny piece of hope with everything I have.

I bow my head and run my hand through my hair. The old Jemma would indeed have loved those flowers—this new version, I’m not so sure. The old Jem would have been busting to get home. She would have hated being separated from me, and struggling just like I am.

How could life be so cruel? It has taken the one thing that meant the most to both of us: our love for each other.

“Oh, Braxton,” Rachel says with a crack in her voice, crossing the room and coming to a stop in front of me.

A strangled sob escapes from deep in the back of my throat when she wraps me tightly in her arms and starts crying. I’ve been struggling to hold it together since the accident, but all my strength vanishes as I finally allow myself to contemplate the inevitable.

I completely break down.

I weep for Jemma.

For me.

For us.

Is this really the end?

I feel stupid when I eventually pull away. I immediately dig the heel of my palms into my eye sockets to shield my tears. I’m not one to show weakness, to anyone. Not even Jemma. We all have demons we hide from the rest of the world.

I turn away from Rachel’s tear-stained face, as she stares at me. I hate the pity I see in her eyes. I need a drink; anything to dull this ache.

I head into the kitchen and grab the first bottle I find, reaching for a glass on the top shelf. Rachel doesn’t move from where she stands, but her eyes never leave me. I fill the glass almost to the top. I already know it won’t be enough. The entire bottle probably wouldn’t do the trick.

Tilting my head back, I down the amber liquid in two large gulps. It burns on its way down, but I welcome it. I pour myself a refill, but before I have time to bring it to my lips, Rachel appears beside me and wraps her hand around my wrist. “Don’t. This isn’t the answer.”

I want to snatch my wrist from her hold and tell her to mind her own business, but I don’t. I know she’s suffering as well. This isn’t easy for any of us. She may have lost her friend, but my loss is far greater. I’ve lost my life, my everything.

“Please don’t tell me you’re giving up on her, Brax.”

All I can do is breathe out a long breath. I have no words. In this moment I’m desperate and dipping into self-pity, but deep down I know I haven’t given up. I could never give up on us. If it takes me the rest of my life to win her back, then so be it. I’m in this for the long haul.

“You’ve got to fight for this … for her.”

I place the glass down. “How can I fight for something she doesn’t even remember?”

“Make her remember.”

I chuckle sarcastically at her response. If only it were that easy.