Page 38 of Nineteen Letters

“Huh,” she scoffs. “Well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t invite him to come to this house. He’s not welcome here.”

“Sure … umm, okay.”

I’m taken aback by the venom in her voice. It’s obvious they have had problems. They’re no longer together, but I don’t know why. Stephen seems like a lovely man. I really like him. He’s gentle and kind, though he looked sad when he asked how Christine was this morning.

I’ve seen her go through ups and downs since I’ve been living here, but this is the first time she’s ever been angry with me. Yesterday was a good day, and I felt better than I have since waking from my coma, but now I feel downright shitty.

We usually sit down and eat lunch together, but I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.

“I’ll be up in my room if you need me,” I say, turning and heading towards the staircase. I wish I knew why she dislikes Stephen so much, but maybe it’s better if I don’t know.

I’ve been locked away in my room for the better part of the day. My head is pounding as I lie on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I think it’s a combination of stress and hunger, but I can’t seem to find the courage to venture downstairs to get something to eat.

Logically I know I can’t stay up here forever; I’ve got to eat eventually. I just hope Christine has calmed down by then.

I’m pulled from my thoughts by a knock on the door. “Jemma, it’s me.” Her tone is softer than before. “Can I come in?”

“Yes,” I reply, slowly sitting up.

Part of me feels bad for walking away like I did. There’s more to this situation than I know, but I’m yet to find the courage to ask her what happened between them.

She opens my bedroom door and I’m relieved when I see a smile on her face.

“I thought you might be hungry since you missed lunch. I’m sorry about earlier.” She approaches the bed and passes me a plate with a sandwich on it. “A lot went on between me and your father.” I shift over slightly when she sits down beside me. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you. I know you don’t remember any of it.”

“It’s okay,” I say, placing my hand on her leg. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have brought him here if I knew it was going to upset you. What happened between you two? You obviously loved each other once.”

Her whole body seems to shrink at my question, and sadness washes over me. “Your father was the love of my life … I thought I was his as well.”

“What changed that?” I ask tentatively.

“He broke my heart.” I see tears rise to her eyes before she turns her face away.

“I’m sorry he did that to you.”

There’s so much more I want to ask …want to know, but I feel like now is not the time.

“Eat your sandwich,” she says, rising from the bed. “You must be starving.” She pauses when she gets to the doorway. “Oh, I almost forgot, this just arrived for you.”

A smile tugs at my lips when she removes a letter from the pocket of her trousers.

Letter four…

Dearest Jemma,

The first portion of this letter is more of a confession than a memory. This is something I’ve never spoken about, not even to you. It’s a burden I’ve carried for almost fifteen years, and maybe it’s time I come clean.

The sixteenth of July 2000. I don’t remember a lot of what had gone on during that day, but I recall my mum hadn’t been feeling well. When she tucked me into bed that night, she bent over to kiss me.

“Sweet dreams,” she whispered as she ran her hand over my forehead. It was something she said to me every night.

“Night, Mumma,” I replied. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweet boy.”

She smiled briefly, but then her face screwed up like she was in pain. I quickly sat up when she placed her hand on her lower abdomen.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you okay?”