"And so you blame yourself?"
Three weeks had passed, allowing routines of silence to slip on by, deadly to the night we had cried to so often. In that time, we began to rebuild ourselves gently, still fragile as the soft buds of spring. Attentive to each other, around each other, we became to re-establish patterns lost in silent translation. But even through the progress, doubts remained, questions that would no doubt shatter what small 'normality' we had worked so hard to create.
And so I waited, waited for the absolute of words that never came. Dr Shane sat posed, straightened as a teacher to her class. I wanted the answers, 'why hadn't he told me sooner?' 'Why did I allow this to go on for so long?' 'Doesn't he love me?' I craved them so desperately and yet I didn't, caught in a limbo between wanting the knowledge that had driven such a wedge between us and wanting to remain oblivious to what I feared the most, that I wasn't worthy of his love.
"I let it go on for so long, why didn't I try harder to make him talk to me?" I was offering a question she couldn't answer and my shoulders slumped in defeat, my arms wrapping protectively round myself.
"Emma, this is a very difficult thing for both of you to face". She sat sternly, peering leeringly over the tops of her glasses. She was elegant in her pose, her womanly legs stacked with authority, one on top of the other. It was then I compared myself, her long sun kissed calves against the pale, nude ones of mine. I felt exposed, like she was judging me right then and there, and against everything I knew about her, I envied her.
"Do you ever question why someone can love you?" It hadn't meant to come out as it had, or perhaps, it hadn't meant to come out at all. I looked down, concerned with flooring, swallowing hard as years of self-loathing caught up as a tornado about to drop.
"Emma, do you believe Will didn't tell you because you think he doesn't love you?"
She had said it, finally, the fear I was too afraid to voice.
"I just-"my stammer cracked, my concerns and denials spilling without a word. She knew, I knew and it was as if I couldn't cope with it anymore, couldn't cope with the revelation that it was me who pushed him so far away.
"He tells me he loves me, but then why didn't he tell me, why did he not trust me enough?"
She swallowed and in her pause, I thought the worst. She had such a graceful way of thinking, her thinned lips pursed perfectly on her face, as though each thought would come to light the way it should. It made me nervous, and my hands twitched in anticipation.
"You and Will need to break through this lack of communication barrier you have. You're both struggling to find yourselves in this relationship because you're not talking to each other".
"But he loves me right?" My eyes were wide with fright, staring into hers so pleadingly. She gulped, reading through the file that sat on her lap, the file that in just three short pages, told her of my sorry, tragic life.
All there in black and white, the constructs of a life I hadn't ever truly lived.
"I want to address this next week Emma, because I think there's something a lot deeper here than just Will. I know we've talked about your mother before, but I feel you need this time to really talk to Will about your feelings ok?'
I nodded, wondering how she felt about me, and how Will would feel tonight.
The car was warm, despite the cool weather that had breathed heavily against my tired limbs. I placed my hands next to the heater, warming each and every long finger until I was ready to set off, to face the troubles we had brushed over so thinly. The road became a battle of journeys itself, the long stretch of highway to home feeling so tiring that I almost pulled over. My fingers gripped tightly to the wheel, marks of nerves forever printed on the leather coating. I was that four year old girl again, shy and so lost, crying out to be loved and meeting only with the sound of burning rubber on the driveway, a mother without direction hurdling down the road.
So desperate in her escape she never even kissed me goodbye.
The phone buzzed and at the caller I.D, I allowed myself to relax.
"Hey boo, how did it go?"
The plastic felt comforting pressed to my ear tightly, Claire's voice soft as rain pleasant to my skin.
"Will loves me right?"
The voice of a sister replied, a sister who became so much more to the young girl living in self blame for their mother's abandonment.
"He does, Emma, so much. I know this is hard for you both but you love him right?"
I did, so, so much that it hurt to even breathe. Even through this mess, I couldn't ever stop, as frustrating as it was, I couldn't. Even through the torturous long months of other marriages there was always that connection, routed so deeply that even allowing myself to feel love was terrifying in itself.
"I do" the image of a white dress and vows of forever not far from my mind.
"Just talk to him then, you shouldn't be afraid boo!" I caught the expression in her tone, encouraging me. I sobbed loudly in exhaustion, tired of being afraid of myself and who I was.
"I love you Claire" And I allowed myself to say that without fear.
"Right back at ya sis! Listen right; you and I, next Wednesday, fancy a night out? I'm talking a couple of bars, nothing too fancy just a bit of you and me time yeah?"
It was hard not to say yes and she made the offer so tempting that in the end, I couldn't resist.
"Sure, why not".
"That's my girl, anyway I'd best shoot, Izzy's just waking up from her nap, love you bye!"
Her abrupt ending reminded me she had a life, one that refused the past's interference. In a lot of ways I envied that, the vital ways she energised her life for the sake of family, a word that had been so scarce for so long in our lives. It made me want it too; picturing our daughter in his arms, tired from their day of slaying dragons, his kisses long lasting on my skin years after exchanges of vows in front of loved ones. If I imagined it without fear, I allowed us to be happy, and for that moment I was.
Until I saw her come out of our house.
My hands held the steering wheel, jealous and tight; spying on the brunette with nothing but intent. My gaze never wavered, remaining stiff and unnerved from behind the safety of the car window. My breathing slowed, wondering why and how long she had been in there, her attractiveness not going unnoticed under my watchful glare. She was curved, her breasts clinging seductively to the cotton blouse she wore and my presumptions about who she was would turn out to be correct.
I clambered out, my limbs once again feeling weak in front of another's. She was everything I wasn't, her stride confident, her head held high, so womanly that even the swing of her hips had me absorbing her with envy.
I stood in front of the door that was ours, fumbling frantically in my bag for the key that would return me to him. I could hear her stilettos, a stride with a purpose behind me and I turned around before she had a chance to acknowledge her presence.
"Here, I saw you drop them on your way over here". Her smile came out half heartedly, my eyes transfixed on the croaked way her thin lips formed expression, the same lips that had touched his and felt his. My stomach lurched at the thought, paining me that this very woman had been his retreat when I hadn't been enough. She swung her dark brown hair over her shoulder, shiny and smouldering against her body. My face stiffened wondering if he had felt it, ran his fingers through it as he had so often mine. I ached to just feel it, to understand him better through a stranger I didn't know and he had kissed.
"You must be Emma, I'm Shelby". I swallowed, meeting her hand with a pleasant shake. She was intoxicating, her presence overwhelming. I wondered how it was to look so in control and I eyed the woman suspiciously that resembled so much of the daughter she gave away.
I remembered all those late afternoon meetings, the petite young brunette with so many questions on her dangerous tongue, asking me for the answers I couldn't ever give to her. It never left me and I had absorbed all of her pain she felt, her young heart crying desperately into my open arms as to why her mother never loved her, why she hadn't ever wanted her.
I had cried for her, and the little girl that was still a part of me.
Could I really hate this mother?
"We live together". I tried to sound strong, but I felt passive in her talented hands.
"He said." And there was that smile again, painted in such an eerie way I didn't know whether to return it or fear it.
It was awkward, yet I craved more from this woman I didn't know. The way she looked, the way she stood, she knew a lot and wondered just how much she knew.
"I'd best get back to pick up Beth, I'm sorry, nice to meet you".
Her stilettos marked in the gravel, and I watched her with full intent, knowing her sorry was for more than just her get away.
She knew.
And that's when I hated her.
He was sat on the couch, the steam from the kettle rising slowly, two used mugs sat on the side. I swallowed, meeting his wayward smile that had so often touched me. But now all it did was make me ache, and I glanced at the mugs again, another woman having been where I should have been. I looked at him, sad and mournful as a tear slipped slowly down my cheek, revealing all the pain those months of isolation had caused.
"You told her. You told a woman you made out with about something you couldn't tell me for two months".
His eyes were wide, consumed with relief and sadness. He was surprised I knew and he took several steps forward, not stopping until he reached where I stood. Attentively, he placed his hands in mine and despite my anger; I let him, because even through my tears I wanted him, always.
"Oh Emma." He looked exhausted, his hands running softly over mine. Words were our barrier, refusing us the physicality and emotional needs of us both. If only they would come, let us find our own way through this.
"Just why, why didn't you tell me, and why could you tell her as if it was nothing." I had started to cry harder and his wrist came to my cheek, wiping a tear that became shared. He was craving to hold me, to love me with his arms and lips but I couldn't agree, and my face twisted in grief.
"She can't have children biologically either".
It was a confession I hadn't expected, but it didn't bring any source of comfort, just a chill down my spine.
"I stopped being able to have children the moment you found out Will. Because I love you so much that it doesn't matter if we can't have our own baby biologically. But I can't do this if you're willing to keep such huge, huge things from me, I just can't, it hurts too much".
And as his eyes met mine, relief crashed over me, that and his lips.
It was desperate, my head feeling heavy in his hands. It wasn't passionate but it wasn't unwelcomed either. For that moment we were consumed just by desire, like naive young teenagers, hot and needy for each other's lust.
"I was just so scared that you'd leave me Emma".
His breath felt cold, his lips curling with a grief. He struggled to acknowledge what this had done to us, his desperateness riddled in each and every moment. He knew though that pain had been spread, and his lips on my shoulder told of his apology and sadness.
"Why would you think that though, did you think I couldn't handle it? Did you really think I'd leave you?"
It all came out now, flooding the room that had held our secrets for so long.
He moved to sit down, his long jean clad thighs spreading out widely against the couch. His hand moved to bring me closer, and I sighed, because despite all that had happened, that still happened, all I wanted was him to love me.
My legs fell onto him weakly, as my face turned to his. We were sat so intimately to an outsider but to us there was so much anguish that remained.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me Emma, so beautiful in everything you do and it kills me I can't give you a baby boy or girl that will be just as beautiful".
He spoke from the heart, revealing his sorrow that had destroyed him so very much. It had destroyed me too, trapping us in a future we hadn't had yet.
"I want a baby with you Will, one day, with only you".
And the image of him holding his daughter for the first time would keep me awake for nights to come.
"Shelby dropped those off".
And he pointed to the pamphlets on adoption that plagued our table, his arms cradling me so lovingly to his chest.
"We can think about it another day Will, I just want you back for now".
"I'll always want you Emma".
And nothing more was spoken, but in the silence, unlike so often before, understanding was acknowledged. We didn't do much that evening, but for us it was perfect. Dinner was cooked and eaten together, routines that had felt trivial before symbolising a return to Emma and Will, Will and Emma and only us. By 10 o'clock we had turned into bed, the covers peeled back as we slipped in beside each other, his arm wrapping around my waist. He kissed me then and I felt a sense of return, that things would be better.
The pamphlets lay on the table still, as they would for mornings to come. They never moved, always a reminder of what could be as long as we stayed as 'us'.
And I dreamed of our little girl again, for she would always be ours, biologically or not.
This has taken forever to write, damn writers block! But i hope you enjoy nonetheless! I've been so excited to start the next few chapters where we'll have some happier times among a few other things ;) but I couldn't move on until this was written!
For any of you that are interested (probably none!), I've just started over on 'Fiction Press' publishing my own work without the safety of Glee or Will and Emma! My work will be uploaded within the next two days so if anyone is interested at all in reading them please PM me or leave a note in your review and I'll attach the link of the pages to my profile page on here :)
Back to this chapter, thank you to all of you that review, and for those that leave such wonderful comments. I wouldn't write if it wasn't for you guys, you truly install my passion in writing so thank you!