I have to admit to myself that there’s a part of me that wishes she were here with us. To have someone else help me take care of my husband.
What would that be like to have someone else here with us every day? No, not just anyone. Jo. The only way I could even picture it would be with her.
Would she even want that? Does she miss us, too?
The intimacy is off the charts with her. It’s electric and effortless. There’s no denying that. But what about all the other times? The sick days? The lazy days? The sad days?
My mind keeps trying to build the picture, testing it from every angle.
I reach for my phone. Clay sent her so many texts, and they’re all unanswered. Each one is more desperate than the last. Do I even try? My thumb hovers over the screen. One more. I’ll try for him.
Jo, please put my husband out of his misery. Text us back so we know you’re okay.
We miss you.
I stare at the message one more time before hitting send. I’d do anything to make my husband happy. To see him light up the way he does with her.
The text sits there. My cursor blinks. We’ve become accustomed to instant responses. Those three dots to provide immediate reassurance. Waiting now feels foreign. Unsettling.
I set the phone down on the nightstand. It will do no good to stare at it. What do we do next? Do we go back to her apartment again? Do we just wait?
I try to put myself in her shoes, but I can’t. She’s a complex woman. Every layer is fascinating. She’s been hurt physically and emotionally. Things that aren’t easily overcome in life. Especially without support, and from what Clay has said, she doesn’t have a lot of it. This is a woman who needs extra, not less.
I squeeze Clay’s hand gently, resting my forehead against his shoulder. His breathing changes slightly, but he doesn’t wake. The steady rhythm calms me enough to breathe through the tightness in my chest.
I’m terrified, exhausted, and more aware than ever that nothing in life is guaranteed. Not love, not safety, and not even our next breath.
But beneath the worries, hope bubbles up.
Not for me.
But for the two of them. They’ve been through so much and are still standing. I might not be ready today, but I’ll work to be the man they need.
I close my eyes and whisper a quiet prayer that she’s safe and healing.
And maybe—just maybe—she needs us as much as we’re beginning to realize we need her.
31
Jolee
I feel like I can breathe easier, and my shoulders are one layer of stress less. My therapy appointment was the step I needed. That’s where I should have been years ago, but I didn’t know any better.
My family wasn’t there for me when I needed them, and Andy’s family couldn’t chase me away fast enough. I had been so lost and scared. But I’m here now, learning to let go, learning to move forward, and gaining more control over my life.
Thank God she had a cancellation; it would’ve been weeks before I could get in. Weeks, I don’t think I would’ve survived without drowning. I probably scared her with the amount of emotional baggage I unloaded in fifty minutes, but she didn’t flinch.
She is the support I need to figure out my life. I have regular sessions set up for the next few months. It’s a strong start, given everything that's happened. She gave me a few things to work on until next time.
Small steps.
Anchors.
And ways to breathe when my thoughts start eating me alive. The first thing she told me to do was turn my phone back on.
“You can’t hide forever,” she said gently. “You don’t have to have answers, but you can’t disappear. You need to stop running, and you might just be surprised by what comes with staying.”
She reminded me of how strong I am. Most of the time, I feel weak and like I’ve messed everything up. In reality, I survived and did the best I could with what I had, what I knew, and what I believed to be the truth.