The Resurrection of Wildflowers (Wildflower #2)(19)

“Caleb—” I pull away from his chest slightly, angling my head back to look up at him.

He playfully covers my mouth. “Don’t say whatever it is you’re about to say.”

When he lets his hand drop, I ask, “Why don’t you hate me?”

He cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “Why do you hate yourself?”

His question is like a bullet to the heart, one I’ve never stopped to contemplate.

“I—”

Lowering his head, he whispers, “I forgive you, Salem. It’s you who has to forgive yourself.”

Picking up the glass of water, he retreats from the kitchen. I cover my face with my hands, knowing he’s right.

There are so many things I haven’t forgiven myself for. I drag those things along behind me everywhere I go like deadweight I can’t seem to shake. Because of his question, I realize I’m the only one holding those things over my head. Not him, he never did, and if Caleb can forgive me, surely, I can find a way to forgive myself.

Taking a deep breath, I steady myself and brace my shoulders.





My mom settles into the guest bed, her eyes heavy from exhaustion.

After she woke up from her nap, and Seda too, she played with her granddaughter until dinner time. Caleb ended up picking up food from one of our favorite restaurants since neither of us felt like cooking. I wasn’t surprised when my mom picked at her food, hardly any of it making it into her mouth. Her body is giving up on her—frankly, I think it gave up on her a long time ago, and it’s been her sheer tenacity and will to live that has kept her going.

“This was nice,” she yawns, her eyelids growing heavy. “Thank you for bringing me. I love that little girl so much.”

I brush my hand over her forehead like I’m comforting a child. “She loves you too.”

“You’re a great mom. I didn’t do a lot of things right in my life—”

“Mom—”

“Let me finish.” Her breath is rough, her hand shaky when she reaches up to touch my cheek. “But you girls … you turned out amazing, despite my mistakes.”

I close my eyes, feeling tears leak through my lashes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her fingers feather light on my cheek.

Clearing my throat, I say, “I am too.” Lowering her hand, she yawns. “Go to sleep, Mom. I love you.” I kiss her forehead just like I do Seda’s when I tuck her into bed, flicking the light off beside the bed.

Easing the door shut behind me, I creep down the stairs and fix up the couch to sleep on. We only have the one guestroom, and I wasn’t about to make my mom sleep on the couch all night. The nap was bad enough.

I brush my teeth in the bathroom downstairs and change into my pajamas. Padding into kitchen I’m surprised to find Caleb there, sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of fruit.

“I thought you went to bed.”

He shakes his head, picking up a piece of watermelon. “Nah, I have a lot on my mind.”

“Work?” I probe, opening the fridge to swipe a can of Diet Coke.

He nods. “This case is taking a lot out of me.”

“I’m sorry.” He’s not allowed to talk about cases with me or else I’d ask him if he wants to talk about it. Instead, I say, “Do you want me to stay up with you?”

He shakes his head. His blond hair is cut shorter on the side, slightly longer on top. He normally keeps it neatly slicked back but since he’s fresh out of the shower it’s damp and wavier than normal. “I’m okay. Get some rest. I’m sure you need it.”

“Thank you for letting my mom come visit.”

He rolls his eyes, looking genuinely pissed. “I’m not going to tell your mom she can’t visit—besides, this place is still half yours, too.”

“Caleb—”

“Look,” he stands up from the table, putting the Tupperware lid back on the container, “I know you’re way more eager to be done with me than I am you—but you don’t have to remind me all the time, okay?” There’s genuine hurt in his voice that stings my heart like an open wound.

“That’s not what I meant.” I shake my head, hair falling forward to shield my face. “You’re just … you’re so good, Caleb. You’re not the bad guy. I know that, and that makes this so much worse, because I am, and I never want you to think I’m taking advantage of your kindness.”

He sighs, swiping a bottle of water from the fridge. “Did you ever stop to think that you’re not the villain either? Sometimes relationships aren’t built to last and there is no bad guy. It’s just two people who weren’t meant to be.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I didn’t.”

“I don’t blame you for the divorce, Salem. I know you love me even now, but sometimes that’s not enough and I get it. Am I hurt? Yeah, of course I am. I pictured it all with you—a house, cars, pets, kids,” he waves his hand around at the house over our heads, “but this isn’t the end of those things for me. I still have that little girl upstairs asleep in her princess room.” He smiles, probably thinking about the day we spent together turning it into her dream space. “And one day, when the timing is right, I’ll meet someone else.” He shrugs, twisting the cap on the water bottle back and forth. “Life goes on. I’m not broken.”