Page 193 of Under Your Scars

My world freezes as I peek over my shoulder to see Caroline standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Her rabbit is in the crook of her elbow as she stares at me with her index finger in her mouth.

“Mommy said there would be pancakes.”

My entire chest feels like it’s being stabbed over and over again. With every beat of my heart, it only prolongs the pain.

I look back down at Elena before glancing back over my shoulder.

“Okay, baby. Just…turn around and count to one hundred, and I’ll get you some pancakes, okay?”

“But daddy, I don’t know how to count to one hundred.”

“That’s okay, babygirl, just turn around and count as high as you can.”

I’ve been hanging on by a thread named Elena, and now she’s gone.

I hold my angel to my chest and wait for Caroline to reach ten before I put the gun to my head.

And like I was always meant to, I pull the trigger.

EPILOGUE

THE FATHER

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and cold rain pours down over the quiet cemetery. The wet dirt turns the freshly covered grave into a pile of mud.

A new granite headstone sits on the soft ground, decorated with flowers.

Behind me, I can hear the click of cameras as the media surrounds the grave, trying to sneak photos of my grief for the morning paper. I use a handkerchief monogrammedCTRto wipe the tears from my face. I stare at the grave, my heart aching as memories flash across my mind like a movie, drawing more sorrow from my soul.

Christian Thomas Reeves

February 20,1983-May 8,2020

Son.Husband.Father.

It was the only appropriate message I could think of to put on the headstone. It’s how I want him to be remembered.

Even with Christian’s lacking sense of self-preservation, I never imagined there was a possibility that I would outlive him. I always wanted Christian to die old and warm in his bed.

I feel responsible for the carnage and pain Elena experienced, caught between a man who only knew how to love violently, and a father who couldn’t let go of the past, driven to madness with his own grief.

Behind me, footsteps approach. My neck aches as I look up at the man next to me. Elena’s brother, Travis, stares down at his sister’s grave, next to Christian’s. I hear him suck in a sharp breath as his umbrella shields him from the relentless rain.

I don’t want an umbrella. I want to feel the ache in my bones from the cold tears of a million angels weeping for me.

The rosary in my hand shakes as I pray for Elena and Bethany. I pray that Christian and Elliot find peace in the afterlife. I pray to God to have mercy on all of them.

Most of all, I pray for myself. For forgiveness.

Because none of this would have happened if I had been a better father to Christian.

Travis wraps a hand around my shoulder and lightly squeezes. He doesn’t know that I remember every painful detail. No one does. Not even Christian, because Elena was loyal and never told him that I knew what he was. Another debt I owe to her that I’ll never get to pay.

I blink rapidly, my eyes puffy and red. I’ve not yet accepted this reality. I hope when I wake up tomorrow, this will all just be a terrible dream.

Next to me, a pair of sparkly, bright purple rain boots stand in the mud next to my wheelchair. Caroline’s tiny hand holds mine as she looks between me and the headstones.

After a long while, she crawls into my lap, her blonde hair gone sandy brown from the rain. She looks up at me with big blue eyes.

“Grandpa,when are mommy and daddy coming back?”

With a shaky breath, I hold the handkerchief to my face, hug her to my chest, and weep with the angels.