Page 74 of In a Haze

First, though, some quiet time with my family.

Of all the things I hate Don for, I almost want to say the thing I hate the most is being separated from my kids, for missing these years with them. But then I think of all those poor girls they still haven’t found and I realize that I hate him even more for that. I’m holding out hope, because Joe managed to save those files before Dr. Wilson could destroy them, and the cops aren’t giving up.

Maybe my book can help with that, too. If someone reads my story and then thinks, “Oh, yeah. My rich friend suddenly showed up with a new wife or maid and had no explanation. Why don’t I just pass this info on to the cops?”

I can hope.

Did I ever love Don? I must have. I can’t imagine living with someone and having his children without any love in the marriage. But I also often wonder if he manipulated me in my time of grief. He mentioned that I’d met him when my father died, so it leaves that question. I won’t ask Don, though, because I won’t ever again trust a word that comes out of that man’s mouth.

Meanwhile, I’m working on healing. Someday, when my kids ask what happened to their dad, I’m not sure what I’ll tell them. Already, Emma asks where he is sometimes and, although she’s happy to seeme, she wonders.

And she wonders about her “second mommy,” too. Fortunately,thatmemory is fading fast. All I can do is give my babies all my love and make sure they feel safe.

Someday, I’ll tell them the story—but I don’t know that I’ll be able to shield them from the horrible truth of their father.

In fact, I know I shouldn’t.

But I’ll worry about that tomorrow. For now, we have a vacation.

“This was a great idea, baby,” Joe says, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

“Sure was.” And Valentine’s Day is just a couple of days away. I’m filled to the brim with gratitude that Joe loves my children. They like him, but I don’t know if they love him back yet. But we have plenty of time.

Now, when Emma runs back up the beach toward us, she delivers a shell tohim. “Aw, thank you, sweet pea,” he says.

“Are you my new daddy?” she asks.

For the first time ever, Joe seems vulnerable. Glancing over at me, his eyes are asking me a question, but I’m not sure what. Joe is a good man, probably the best I’ve ever known, and I trust whatever he chooses to say or do. Were something to happen to me tomorrow, I know he’d love and care for my babies as if they were his own.

Not to mention, we’re considering having another one—but we’re giving ourselves a little time on that.

Joe tousles Emma’s hair. “I’m, uh, I’m yourseconddaddy, sweet pea.”

“Can we call you daddy?”

Ollie’s handing him a shell now, taking it all in as Joe says, “Sure.”

My heart melts as both my babies hug him as though he were their flesh-and-blood father.

As for me, I don’t know that all my memories will ever return. I’ve had a few reappear, not just from my time at the clinic but from before, but they may be gone for good. I’ve been told that by experts.

Still, I try. Sometimes things come to me in dreams or at the strangest moments. I’ve learned to be happy with whatever comes through the haze.

In the meantime, I’m hellbent on making new memories, good ones—and I’ll eventually have a lifetime of them.

“What say we go eat, gang?” Joe asks. I nod and smile but the kids seem disappointed. After all, they were building up quite the shell collection. “Didn’t you guys like that tempura yesterday?”

Ollie’s grinning from ear to ear, but Emma says, “No, I liked the macaroni and cheese.”

“Then let’s get you some of that.”

Ollie says, “Get you some of that.”

I start laughing, because those are more words out of my chubby-cheeked little boy than he’s strung together at once in the past. Wrapping my arms around all of them, I fight back tears of joy and send a silent prayer of thanks.

If all my memories from here on out are this good, I’m okay with never, ever remembering the old ones.

THE END