Written With Hearts

Written With Hearts - Chapter Twenty Eight

Abby.....

Running to the car, with the rain soaking my hair and clothes, I cry.

I fall back against my car, looking up to the heavens, trying to make sense of what has just happened. Why did I come? Why did I have to put myself through all of this? None of my wayward thoughts make any sense anymore. My thoughts have literally betrayed me today. I obviously wasn't thinking rationally at all, when I decided to meet KC and Ray after my panicked friend called me and told me about what happened to Lily and Yate. I obviously wasn't thinking rationally when I walked into the hospital to find Yate and Lily's mother in an emotional embrace. Shuddering with the wet and cold, I relive that core-ripping moment. I remember looking across at Lily, who looked so fragile as she deeply slept. I remember looking at both Yate and Tamsin, and understanding why they'd be holding onto each other for some much-needed support. Their baby could have died. I can't imagine how terrifying that must feel. Yet for all of my understanding, I felt like an intruder. Once again, I was someone on the outside, looking in. It was then that I realised that I shouldn't have come. Irrationality is soon painfully replaced with crystal clear rationality. Although I was scared and worried about Lily and Yate, I had no right to be here. I walked away from Yate Sheridan for a reason, and that reason hit me like a ton truck when I'd already stupidly taken myself to the children's ward. As soon as I saw him, his cruel words crept right back inside of me. Those haunting words and the feeling of being an outsider were disintegrating every defensive wall that I had so painstakingly built. I wanted to sneak back out before anyone knew that I was there, but Yate had already seen me; and then Tamsin. Who is actually a really lovely person. Lily is obviously a mini-me of her sweet mother, beautifully blonde with a warm and inquisitive soul. Her kindness to me, a complete stranger, is something that I wish I could thank her for. The thought of Lily, talking about me and cuddling up to the toy pig that I gave her, will forever fill me with the sweetest of joys. But as sweet as that joy is, it still isn't enough to forget what Yate has said. It's not enough to eradicate the hurt that his words have caused. When he ran after me, part of myself wanted to run right into his arms, and never let go. Only, I couldn't. The reason? Because although he's unable to admit it to himself or to me, on the day that I walked away from him, he only said what was truly in his heart. Deep down, he knows that I'm not good enough for him and his beloved daughter. How could I be? I aborted my own child because life had become too difficult. I didn't want to acknowledge my own child's existence in my life, because my cowardly father only gave me a limited existence in his. Yate was right all along, I am just like my father; incapable of so little, yet capable of so much hurt.

With my tears becoming one with the rain that soaks my cheeks and my everything; I frantically try to find my car keys somewhere inside of my sodden bag. "Where are they?" I sob, unable to find them and growing more upset because of that.

"Abby!" KC is running, grimacing beneath her umbrella. "Wait!" she shouts to me, looking more concerned the closer that she gets.

I slump more heavily against my car, crying uncontrollably because of my lost keys, my stupidity for coming, my frustration at myself, for just about everything!

Holding her umbrella over us both, KC puts her dry arm around me. "Why do you keep doing this to yourself, Abs?" She squeezes my shoulder, her eyes narrowing with worried sympathy.

With a sad, unfocused stare at the wet ground, I grimly concede with a sobbing cry. "I don't know."

KC desperately tries to console me, holding me tight against her. "You can't keep letting your past destroy your future. I love you; I really do, but this self-destruct button that you always seem to press when something goes right in your life . . . it is kind of getting predictable, Abs."