Gracie & Gray

Chapter 39

G R A C I E

That night, Stevie snoozed soundly beside me, but I barely slept.

I felt terrible for ripping into Gray like some viperous snake. I knew I had stung him deeply.

Yet, a dark, twisted part of myself didn't regret it.

My heart kept warring with itself like a turbulent sea. Waves that wished to forgive, forget, crashed into raging, embittered tides until stormy waters melded together in a pool of anguish and pain and—

Love.

Fuck me, but, even after all this time, not much had changed since the day Lydia first confessed her pregnancy to me.

Last night, Gray told me that he had never stopped loving me, that he would always love me.

I kind of believed him.

Because my heart remained stupidly, stubbornly in love with Gray as well.

Love—was why I kept wanting to get to a better place with Gray and help him get to a better place, too.

Love—was why everything hurt so damn much and felt so damn impossible.

Love—was why I couldn't move on from his betrayal.

The wound was too deep.

I needed more time to heal.

With silent tears streaming down my face, I laid in Gray's bed next to Stevie's crib, brooding despairingly at the play of shadows along the ceiling and walls. It didn't help that the damn pillow and blanket smelled a little like him. Woodsy, fresh, masculine.

Another needle-like prick to the heart.

I wondered—what would it ultimately take for me to forgive Gray?

Was there a specific gesture that he still needed to make?

A perfectly worded apology that he had yet to deliver?

Unlikely.

I felt as though we had addressed everything that needed to be addressed on the topic of him and Lydia.

I wondered, also, how much time it would take for us to be truly at peace and in sync again?

One year?

Two years?

A lifetime?

I hoped not.

As I tossed and turned in bed, another radical thought reared its ugly head: I didn't want to be the old Gracie anymore. I felt this rejection of self in my bones, in my soul. I had never felt such motivation to change so intensely before.

Something inside me had died with Lydia—old perceptions, old fears, old delusions—and, from its dust and ash, a new me needed to be reborn. I didn't want to live in Lydia's toxic shadow any longer. I didn't want to pine after my childish love for Gray anymore, either. I hardly recognized the strength in my sudden resolve, but a few things suddenly became very, very clear to me.

A broken heart couldn't love.

A spiteful mind couldn't forgive.

It was killing me to give and give and give all the time on an empty tank. Maybe it was time to focus less on Gray and more on myself.

Life, after all, wasn't a Pixar movie. I couldn't be a selfless heroine all the time, and I didn't know how to rewrite my sad story and make it into something poignant and inspirational.