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Like his son, he too looks a mess. Dark brown eyes rimmed red. Hair strewn every which way. His mouth thins, lips curving down in a sad sort of smile, one that creases his eyes.
“Our girl’s alive.” The words burst out of him in a half-sob, half-laugh.
Our girl’s alive.
I suck in a sharp breath, my chest squeezing. It’s as if all the pressure in my head is slowly descending—denial giving way to crushing realization.
“I feel like I owe you an apology, kid.” And with those words, he strides forward, enveloping me in a fierce hug.
My body jolts at the unexpected contact, my eyes widening as I stare off at nothing, arms hanging lifelessly at my sides. Ray squeezes me so hard, it’s borderline painful. And in my ear, he’s blubbering on about how sorry he was for giving up so easily—for not having faith like me.
“It’s a miracle,” he chokes out on a sob. “Our Izzy is home.”
And all I can think is, I’m dreaming.
This has to be a fucking dream, just like every other time.
It’s been years since I even let myself imagine this moment.
Our Izzy is home.
Years since I let myself fantasize about what I’d do, what I’d say….how I’d storm through whoever was blocking my path, and wrap her in my arms, and never let her go again.
Izzy is home.
Years since I accepted it would never be anything more than just that—a fantasy.
Izzy…
I’m acutely aware of Jeremy shuffling away from us. When he appears in my line of sight, over Ray’s bulky shoulder, he’s standing hunched with his shoulders up by his ears, and his arms pressed tightly against his sides, hands buried in the pockets of his black jeans.
Tears rush my throat at the sight, and I will myself to say something—call out to him. Stop him.
But his dad’s still got me hostage in his arms, and he’s practically crying in my ear—my baby, my baby, our girl’s alive, your girl’s alive—and I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what the fuck to do.
Because in all my desperate imaginings—in all the scenarios in which I thought this could play out, back when I still had hope, back when I could cling to nothing else but this moment… the moment where Izzy was somehow miraculously returned to us…
This scenario is not one I ever imagined.
The one with Jeremy walking away.
The one with my heart in my throat.
The one where it feels as if I’m being physically ripped apart as two timelines converge.
Wetness slides down my cheek, and as if sensing it—how close I am to breaking—Jeremy stops suddenly, and my lungs seize. My heart stops thrashing. I am utterly and totally motionless.
He twists just enough to look over his shoulder and level me with those bright, tearful amber eyes, and an image of the first time he walked away from me like this, rises to the surface. Summoning with it, more memories—more familiar scenes—all rushing forth and closing in on me at once.
His throat bobs with a swallow, and I wonder if he can see it on my face—our past playing out like a movie. Can he feel the gravity of it all, pulling us down?
Distantly, I’m aware of Ray still murmuring an incessant chant of relief and disbelief, but it might as well be coming from miles away.
Jeremy dips his chin, gaze boring into me.
And in my head, he’s six.
