Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
He’s staring at me. My heart is pounding hard in my chest. My pulse roaring in my ears.
Then, he shakes his head, and my heart drops.
“It’s too late. You’re tainted now, in this body.” The gun pointed right at me, he moves it up and down. “You soiled it when you fucked another man and bore his child.”
“Neil … please … I’ll make it better, and we can be together.”
A smile that looks almost sad comes onto his lips. “And we will, Annie. Just not in this life.”
I hear a click and loud popping sound. And then a sensation hits me, like I’ve just been punched in the chest.
No.
God, no.
I look down at my body and see a hole in my shirt. And blood.
There’s blood seeping out of the hole.
He shot me.
Stunned, I stagger backward. Reaching out, I grab hold of the sofa, but I can’t stay up. My legs give out on me. I slide down the sofa, slumping to the floor.
River, help me. Please.
Neil walks over to me. He lowers to his knees beside me. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, Annie. But you’ve left me no choice. But this is good, you see. We can be together in death. We’ll both be reborn in heaven. You’ll be clean again.”
I blink up at him. I can’t breathe. It feels like water is filling my lungs. Like I’m drowning.
Neil lifts the gun to his head. He smiles at me. “See you on the other side, Annie.” Then, he pulls the trigger.
His body drops beside me.
The only thing I feel at the sight of him dead is relief.
Relief that he can’t hurt Hope.
Help, I try to yell, but only a gargled noise comes out.
Hope is crying.
Mama’s here, baby. I’m right here.
“Carrie! Oh God, no! No! No! No!”
River. He’s here.
He’s dragging Neil away from me. He’s at my side, lifting me into his lap.
“Carrie, baby, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m gonna call an ambulance. Just hold on, baby. I love you, Carrie. I love you so fucking much. Don’t leave me. Please.”
He’s crying. It hurts me to see it.
Please don’t cry, River.
His cell is against his ear. He’s calling emergency services.
Hope, I try to tell him. Go to Hope. But the words won’t work.
My lungs are burning. I’m choking to death.
I’m dying.
I know I’m dying.
I love you, I tell him with my eyes. And Hope. So, so much. Take care of her for me. Tell her every day that I love her.
I try to gasp in one more breath. To give me one more second with him.
And then—
River
One Year Later
“Come on, Hope.” I pick her up out of her high chair after cleaning off her sticky porridge-covered fingers.
Hope likes to feed herself at breakfast time and also lunch and dinnertime, and by feed herself, I mean, get the food everywhere except for her mouth.
“Time to go visit Mama.”
I strap her into her stroller, hanging her bag of everything I’ll need to keep an active fourteen-month-old clean, watered, fed, and entertained. I swear, going out for a few hours with a toddler is like packing for a vacation.
I step outside.
The sky is clear of clouds. The sun is shining. It’s a nice day for a walk.
We head into town, stopping by the florist to pick up a bunch of flowers that I ordered earlier over the phone.
I put them in the basket below the stroller and start walking again.
Hope is playing with the hanging toys on the stroller arch, jabbering away to herself in a language only she knows.
Her first word was Dada. And she’s right; I am her daddy. In every sense of the word that matters.
We reach the entrance to the cemetery.
I push the stroller in, walking past all the rows of headstones.
Until I reach the one that belongs to me.
I park Hope’s stroller, unclip the straps, and lift her out. She wriggles to be put down. She’s independent. She got it from her mama.
I put her down onto the grass.
She immediately plops down on her butt and pulls her shoes and socks off. She clambers to her feet. The sock goes in her mouth. And she begins toddling around the grass.
I watch her, smiling.
I get the bunch of flowers that we picked up from the basket under Hope’s stroller.
I walk over to the headstone. Brushing some dirt and leaves off it.
I lower down to my knees, sitting before her. “Happy birthday,” I tell her. “I got you some flowers—bluebells. I know you loved them.”
I put the tied bunch down in front of the headstone.
The one that I picked out for her.
I stare at her name engraved deep into that stone.
“I miss you,” I tell her. “I will always miss you. But … I have so much now because of you.” I look over at Hope, who has found a patch of daisies beside a nearby headstone and is currently chattering away to them. I smile and then look back at her headstone. “I … love you.”