Disclaimer: The Pretender is not mine.
Why does this story exist? I thought I might understand Catherine better if I wrote her. I can't say that it worked.
It seems nothing less than silly now. I don't think anyone will ever believe that I had the best of intentions at the time. Although, it is equally silly of me to sit and fret over what others will think of what I've done. No one is ever going to know about the decisions that I made - let alone wonder about why I made them. It is a sobering bit of knowledge, and I've had precious little else to think of in this place. I was never nearly as good at planning as I always pretended to be.
If I was, I might not be here contemplating my ending. There is an enormous gulf between recognizing what needs to be done and actually doing so. I'm feeling honest enough with myself to admit that I let far too many impulses have sway. It's amazing that as much of my planning worked as it did. It all seemed so simple and obvious sitting in the quiet by my daughter's bedside. That's what I thought. The more fool was I.
She had been sleeping when I had crept into the room, and I had stayed to watch. It has always been calming being in her presence, and the weeks that had proceeded had left me in desperate need of calming. She was my retreat - my nearly always accessible one anyway. I could always steal moments of time with her and pretend that everything around us wasn't wrong. I lived for those moments.
I remember thinking that she looked so peaceful as she lay there tucked up under the blankets. She was relaxed, and there were no signs of the tension that had begun to mar her features as it became increasingly difficult to hide my own restlessness from her. She had been noticing far too many things of late, and it was becoming harder each day to placate her. It had not yet reached the point, however, that it disturbed her in her sleep.
I would have been grateful for such a night myself. It had seemed as if the relentless push of decisions and questions that followed me throughout the day reveled in their ability to haunt me through the night. Sleep was a luxury of which I was no longer partaking. A rest like my daughter's would not be forthcoming, and I had no room for complaint as I had walked eyes wide open into what was my life.
She had not. She had chosen nothing. She had nothing for which payment was required. The look that her face held in repose had a name. We call it innocence.
The deepest, most cherished wish of my heart in that moment was that that look would be something that she could keep. I had shielded her from so many things, but my ability to do so was rapidly disappearing. I had always known, despite what my husband might have thought, that I would not be able to protect her forever. There had been a time when I had selfishly believed that there would come a time when it would no longer be necessary. I had believed that the turn of philosophy within The Centre had been temporary. I had thought that everyone would come to their senses, and everything would go back to the way that they had been. I had chosen to believe that things would get better without anything overtly drastic being required of me. I had foolishly wasted time when I could have been preparing.
When I recognized that the change for which I was waiting wasn't going to come, I again chose the fools' path. I had hoped that the way out would become clearer with time. I had thought that perhaps a moment would arise when everything had fallen into place, and the way forward would have most of its obstacles removed. I was never foolish enough to believe that it would be easy, but I was naive enough to believe that there would come a time when it would be easier. I knew that it would cost me. I know that nothing comes without a price. I had been willing to give up much. My career, my friendships, and my marriage were ready to be sacrificed. The cost was never supposed to be her.
That was what I was faced with that night in her room. The reality of choosing her or choosing this new child all came crashing down upon me. It wasn't the first time I had been faced with such a choice. I buried my baby. I put my beautiful little boy out of my life, out of our lives, as if he never were. I could grieve. I could mourn. I could let myself be haunted by the specter of the child I could not protect. I could resent every milestone, every breath of my little girl whose brother was not sharing in them. I could dwell on my loss. I could drown in my disappointment. I did not. I had looked down into the sleeping face of the infant in my arms and chosen her. I had chosen the living child who was still within my reach. I chose the joy of my precocious, blessed little girl. I did not burden her with guilt that she was the survivor. I did not provide an avenue for her to wonder if her father would have been less aloof had she been the boy he wanted. I didn't let myself wonder about the answer to that question. I gave her an unhaunted, unencumbered start to her existence. At least, I had tried.
This time my options were different. Things were in motion; time was of the essence. It was going to be one or the other. I was going to lose one of them. It wasn't a choice between a living, vibrant child and the thoughts of one that could have been this time. It was a choice between two children who neither of them had done anything to deserve it. I knew I couldn't run with her now - not and have the baby survive. I knew my own medical history too well to believe that this pregnancy would survive that level of stress. So, I could run and save her. I could sacrifice the little boy who would never meet his sister. I could stay, and I could lose them both. My status as a liability had been confirmed. It was only a matter of time before they made a move to eliminate me. I would leave them both to The Centre, and who would protect them then? There was only one option that made sense on that night as I looked at my sleeping daughter's face and felt the fledgling presence of my little boy under my hand. I had to accept his offer. It was the only possible path that might possibly lead to saving them both. I was banking our futures on the possibilities of possibilities. He was untrustworthy. I knew that better than most, but it seemed I had no one else. It would buy me time, and time was something that I needed. I needed time to think. I needed time to plan. I needed time to find a way out that left neither of them behind. It seemed to me that it could work as I stood there in the darkness. I wanted it to work. I would devote myself to making it work. Why ever would it not?
Why ever indeed.
I realize now that I have never really had a viable plan. I have spent ages stalling for more time and nothing is any clearer now than it ever has been. I don't even understand myself why I always wasted so much time trying to stall. I could have tried to get away years ago, but I always found some reason to wait. There was always something that seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. I wonder when I learned to be so good at lying to myself.
I used to watch from the background as she wandered The Centre. She was so lonely. She needed to find companionship there. I told myself I shouldn't take her away right when she was forming bonds.
I told myself that I would arrange the safety of the other children first. She would ask me questions someday. I wouldn't burden her with having to know that her freedom was purchased with other children's lives.
I took in Faith. It was only a little delay. She would get better. We could wait. What were a few more months? It wouldn't make such a difference. It would give her a sister. It would make up for what she was leaving behind. I was finding her a companion who understood lonely. I was easing her transition. It would be better for her.
There were so many times, so many moments. It was always just a little longer. It was always just one more thing to do.
I ran out of time. I ran her out of time.
I've never been that good at planning. Something always seems to get in the way. That something always seems to be me.
My little girl is different. She finishes the things she starts. She sees things through.
Thus, the final plan I'll ever make occurred to me. If she's told that there is a way out, she'll look until she finds it.
It seemed so simple when I was standing at her bedside. It turned out not to work at all. I was depending on the wrong people. This time, this plan will be different. I know because I won't be around to get in the way of the finish. This plan will work because I trust her more than anyone else in this world. I know it will work because my little girl has a focus, a tenacity that I could never hope to have.
It has to work. I need it to work. What could possibly go wrong?