Page 160 of Beautiful Scars

Chapter 12

MEISIE

It’s cold up here, but at least I can breathe again. Even if this air is like ice hitting my lungs. I dab the corner of my dress’s train under my eyes, grimacing when black mascara smudges onto the once pristine fabric.

That song shouldn’t have hit me so hard, but I blame the booze.

And Cillian.

And the wedding.

And myself.

Now Cole thinks I’m a lunatic. The prick even tried to stop me when I ran off. But I wasn’t going to let all those gossipy bastards see me crying. Like I said—no one wants to look like an idiot. I’m just glad I got up here without anyone noticing.

I don’t need Sarah here, telling me everything’s going to be okay. I don’t need Cillian here, messing with my head. I don’t needanyone.

And Grace doesn’t need me.

A hot tear flashes down my cheek, the breeze instantly cooling it.

Does she?

I shake my head, willing the thought to leave, but it just sits there, lurking.

Kill is full of shit. Just because his mother abandoned him, now he thinks he has the moral high ground?

Ten fingers, ten toes.

Another tear.

We’ll she’d fucking better still have all her appendages. I counted those tiny fingers and toes the moment the nurses brought her back to me, clean and wrapped like a little Christmas present. And you know what? The moment I saw that pudgy little face, it no longer mattered how she’d been conceived.

I got the worst tunnel vision I’d ever had in my life. I couldn’t see anything but Grace.

Right up to the point where someone took her away. But I was too weak to fight back. I screamed—but no one listened. And then they injected me with a sedative, and I floated off to sleep.

Alone.

I sniff, and dab at my eyes again.

I carried her to term. I birthed her. I fought for her. She’s my daughter.

I can’t imagine what she looks like now. How she’s grown up. Is she nice, or is she mean? Does she have a favorite color? Mine was always green—what’s hers?

Fuck. The tears aren’t stopping. Too much booze. Too much...everything.

Would it hurt going to see her? Just once? Just to make sure Kill wasn’t talking shit? Not to talk to her. I don’t even want her to know I was there. Just...like a guardian angel.

I tip my head back, hoping it will stem the flow of tears. The stars are out, and they’re beautiful, but I feel so jaded right now. Because I’ve already laid eyes on the most beautiful thing in the world.

My daughter.

It’s taken me so long to move past thinking about her every second of every day. Trish helped some, of course, but we were still progressing on that part of my therapy when I left. But Kill ripped open that scar without a thought in the world.

Now I’m bleeding again, and I don’t know if it will ever stop.

Except...maybe...if I see her.