She’s lying on her back, her arms folded beneath her head. She’s staring at me, listening intently as I tell her about my meeting with a lawyer yesterday. “He says I did the right thing by taking him to the hospital. They were legally obligated to notify Child Protective Services. I’m not sure how I feel about that, though. It puts the power in the hands of the state, and what if they don’t think I’m the best place for him?”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“I work a lot. I’m not married, so Josh will be alone some of the time. And I have no experience raising kids. They might think Tim is a better fit since he’s the biological father. They could even give him back to my mother; I’m not even sure what she did is enough to have him removed from her custody.”
Lily leans toward me and presses a kiss against my forearm. “I’m going to tell you what you told me the first time you FaceTimed me. You said, ‘You’re stressing over things that haven’t even happened yet.’？”
I fold my lips together momentarily. “I did say that.”
“You did,” she says. She tucks herself against me, wrapping a leg over my thigh. “It’ll work out, Atlas. You’re the best thing for him, and anyone who has vested interest will see that. I promise.”
I fold myself around her, fitting her head under my chin. It’s incredible how much we’ve both changed physically since we were teens, but we somehow still fit together just as perfectly as we did back then.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something,” she says, pulling back far enough to look at me. “Remember our first time? What happened after that night? After my father hurt you.”
I’m not surprised she’s thinking about that, because I’ve thought about it as well tonight. This is the first time we’ve been intimate since that night that ended so terribly, so it’s hard not to compare them.
That was what her very last journal entry was about. It was painful to read, seeing how much she was hurting. I wish more than anything it could have ended better than it did.
“I don’t remember a lot from that night,” I admit. “I woke up in the hospital the next day, confused. I knew your father was the one who had hurt me, I remembered that much, but I had no idea if he did to you what he had done to me. I hit the call button several times, and when no one came to my room, I somehow hobbled into the hallway with a broken ankle. I was frantic, asking if you were okay, but the poor nurse had no idea what I was talking about.”
Lily tightens her grip around me as I talk.
“She finally calmed me down enough to get your information from me, and then she came back to let me know that I was the only one brought in with injuries. She asked me if your father was Andrew Bloom. I told her yes, and I told her I wanted to press charges. When I asked her if she could have an officer come to the room, she looked at me sympathetically. I remember her exact words. She said, ‘The law is on his side, honey. No one turns him in. Not even his wife.’？”
Lily exhales against my chest, so I pause and press a kiss against the top of her head. “Then what?” she whispers.
“I did it anyway,” I say. “I knew if I didn’t report him, your mother would never get out of that situation. I made the nurse contact an officer, and when one finally arrived that afternoon, he wasn’t there to listen to my statement. He was there to make it clear that if anyone was going to be arrested, it wouldn’t be your father. He said your father could have me arrested for breaking into houses and forcing myself on his daughter. Those were the officer’s exact words, like the relationship you and I had was something criminal. I felt guilty about that for years.”
Lily looks up at me and places a hand on my cheek. “What? Atlas, we’re only two and a half years apart. You did absolutely nothing wrong.”
I appreciate that she says that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I felt guilty for bringing stress into her life. But I also felt guilty for leaving her once I did bring stress into her life. “I don’t know that any choice I made back then would have felt right. I didn’t want to stay and put you in more danger by showing up at your house again. And I didn’t want to be arrested because then I wouldn’t have been able to go to the military. I thought the best thing would be to put space between us, and then someday I would contact you down the line and see if you ever still thought of me like I thought of you.”
“Every day,” she whispers. “I thought of you every single day.”