Absolution(87)

She put her coffee cup down on the table in front of her and grasped it with both hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “About what happened that day.”

His heart stopped as her words sank in. After spending the past two weeks wishing she would open up to him, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to hear it now. He felt like he was walking a tightrope.

“Does this have anything to do with the appointment with Pavlovic?”

Ally nodded, the fa?ade starting to crack.

“What happened?”

She looked over at him through tear-filled eyes.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Whatever it is, it’s okay. Just tell me.”

The heartbreak written all over her face sent him into a blind panic.

“It’s not okay.”

He struggled to concentrate on what she was saying rather than the look of pure desolation in her eyes.

“He said that this was it,” she murmured. “It’s been a year, and whatever recovery I’m going to have, I’ve had it. In his words, it’s highly unlikely there will be any further nerve regeneration now. My window’s closed. This is it for me.”

He imagined he saw the last ray of hope die in her eyes, sinking without a trace. If he thought she looked hollow before, he had no comparison for how she looked now. He stood up and walked around the table, kneeling down beside her to gently pull her into his arms. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing that they could trade places. If he could have taken some of the heartache away to deal with on her behalf, he would have, without question.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

Two words, woefully inadequate.

She grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him closer, shuddering sobs wracking her body with such intensity that he winced. He searched for something to say that would ease the pain, yet at the same time knowing it was a fruitless exercise. There was nothing he could say that would ease this. He felt just as helpless as he had barely an hour ago, watching and waiting for the pain medication to take effect. Only there was no medication to take away this pain. It had seared her soul, where he couldn’t reach.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he whispered into her hair. “I promise you that.”

She shook her head, buried in his shoulder. The sobbing continued, but silently now. It was as if the pain inside was so great, it had sucked up every last breath she had. Finally, she spoke, sounding so young and devoid of hope, it squeezed his chest tight as he fought to keep it together.

“I thought if I got better, if I… then he’d come back.”

His heart shuddered to a stop and all he could do was pull her closer.

“If he left because of me, if I scared him, then maybe I could show him that it wasn’t… that I wasn’t… ”

Oh my God. This was what was going on inside her head all this time?

“Listen to me, it doesn’t matter if Jack’s here or not, you’re not alone, do you hear me?”

He smoothed her hair down, feeling completely helpless. Too late, he realised that his wish to take some of her pain away had been granted, and he felt the weight of her sorrow bearing down on him now, crushing him.

Carefully extricating himself from her, he ducked through to the living room, roughly wiping away the tears from his cheeks. Pulling out the box he had replaced in the bookcase prior to her return from the hospital, he took it back into the kitchen. He knelt down beside her as she wiped her eyes, making a valiant effort to hold back the tears.

When she recognised the box in his hand, she groaned. “I don’t want to see that.”

He ignored her, opening the box and pulling out a journal. “Remember this? I want you to look at it – all of it.” He put the journal on the table and pulled out a wad of photographs. “Do you see these? Do you remember when they were taken?”

She stared at the memory box in his hands. The journal, the photographs – all mementos of her journey to hell and back. The hospital, rehab and plenty of victories since, all wrapped up in one small box, heavy with triumph and courage. She had insisted on recording everything. For Jack, she had said, to show him how far she had come. Callum had a different take on it though. It wasn’t for Jack, it was for her. To remind her of what she was capable of, of the strength she had buried deep inside her, of the fact she could draw on it when she needed it.

“You’re capable of so much more than you think you are, you always have been.”