Page 126 of The Good Girl Effect

“She still wants me then?” I ask.

My sister twists her lips. “For some reason, she still wants you. But she doesn’t want to live in your wife’s shadow. She wants you to want her forher. Not because she resembles someone you once loved.”

I set my coffee down too hard, and it clatters against the table. “Is that what she thinks?”

Elizabeth looks exasperated as she rolls her eyes again.

“Honestly, this is why I’ll never fall in love. What a mess you two are. You both love each other, but you’re too stubborn and proud to admit how you feel.”

“All right, if you’re so smart,” I argue, “tell me what the fuck to do.”

“First of all, take care of yourself. Get some support and allow yourself to grieve Emmaline finally. Then tell the woman you love how you feel.” She lets out a huff and picks up her cup. “It’s not that complicated.”

I laugh as I lift my cup to my lips. “Someday, you’ll understand.”

“Never.”

Rule #43: Emotions must be felt.

Jack

One month later

There’s a white plaque beneath a large oak tree that overlooks a small park where children are playing.

In loving memory of Emmaline St. Claire, mother, daughter, wife.

In her honor, I make a donation to this park every year. Enough to keep it clean and maintained. Enough to keep her memory alive. It was her request that she have a garden planted here in her hometown.

In the spring, her mother and I have flowers planted—pink and white begonias, her favorite. They are beautiful and sweet, just like Em.

Sitting on the iron bench next to the tree, I watch the children play at the playground, including my daughter squealing in French with the other kids. In her small red peacoat and gray knit hat, she looks more like a dream than a reality.

I always wanted to be a father—more than anything. I wanted to give my kids what my parents gave me. Now that I have Bea, I realize nothing is as simple as I thought it would be.

The last few weeks have been hell, which says a lot coming from me.

The only reason I can say this with full confidence is because I know what hell feels like. I watched my wife wither away over two years. I watched her suffer and die a slow, painful death while desperately clinging to life.

And while I felt all those awful, terrible moments in real time, I quickly shoved those emotions aside for the nearly three years since. I turned off my feelings. I dug a grave, and I buried myself in it.

In the past month, I had to reopen old wounds and feel them all over again.

So yes, it has been hell.

I don’t feel like I’m healing. I feel like I’m just hurting, but Ronan says this is part of the process. He lost his first wife and child, so he’s been down this road before. He was the one who tried to shove me toward counseling when Em passed, but I refused.

This time, I finally obliged.

I found a counselor I like, and I meet with him once a week. I hate every awful, miserable second of it, but at least I’m trying. If I’m honest, trying fucking sucks.

I’m not doing this for Camille, although she’s the reason I keep going. My counselor asked me to identify mywhy. My reason for healing and living and surviving with all this grief living inside me.

I immediately thought of Bea. My daughter has lost enough already, and she deserves a father.

But I’m pretty sure it was a trick question, one that didn’t take me long to figure out. The realwhyis me. Because I can’t give Bea or Camille the version of me they deserve until I fix me.

And mostly because I owe it to myself to start living again. Would it be nice to finally have a second chance with her again? To envision that future that felt so crystal clear just a couple months ago? Yes, of course.