Paper Bride ✔️ (Book 4 - DP Series - COMPLETE)

31. Grateful

Silence hangs in the truck, but I barely notice. There's no tension between Seth and I because my mind can't even bother worrying about us at the moment. The only thing on repeat in my head is my dad. He's completely alone. He's a widower. His life-long partner is suddenly gone, and he has nobody but himself in that big house.

My mind wanders to the love they shared. They never had problems like Seth and me. They were best friends. They were there for each other, they supported each other, they loved each other. How will my dad move past this? Is the death of a loved one actually something that a person can emotionally live through? Because, right now, I'm positive that happiness has just been murdered. I'll never laugh with my mother again. I'll never see her name flashing on my phone in hopes that I'll drop everything for her next crazy adventure.

I'm suddenly remembering our last dinner with them. The horrible way I acted. All she wanted was grandchildren, and I just flung that idea in her face, too angry at Seth to consider her feelings. Now she'll never meet her grandchildren. If Seth and I ever decide to have kids, none of them will ever know my mom. She will be a smiling face in a photo and that's it. They won't love her. They won't miss her. They won't understand the incredible person that she is... was.

This realization has my heart snapping in half and I smother my face in my hands. When my sobs fill the cab of Seth's truck again, I feel the vehicle lurch forward as we accelerate. I know we've got to be going way over the speed limit, but I couldn't care less. Handcuff me and throw me in prison, I don't care anymore. Nothing about this life seems to matter anymore. All I want to do is arrive home to find my mom alive and well as she greets me at the door. I want to throw myself at her and let her rub comfort into my emotionally exhausted body.

I need to hug my mom.

I need to hear her tell me it's going to be okay.

I need to tell her that I love her.

I need to watch her chest rise and fall with breath.

I need to feel the pulsing of her heartbeat beneath my ear as I hold her tight.

I need her.

I need my mom.

My cries must drain me completely because I feel my eyes start to drift shut as my tears dissipate. Glad for sleep, I allow myself to lay down, my head resting on Seth's thigh as I willingly try to doze off. At least if I'm sleeping then I'm not crying or aching. Sleep is the one place I can go to escape reality, and after an hour of ceaseless weeping, I'm grateful for a break.

Something slithers through my hair, a tender caress against my throbbing skull. I welcome the sensation of Seth's fingers as they comfort and stroke me into a peaceful rest. It's such a tender moment, and I suddenly realize how appreciative I am of his presence. He's not going to abandon me. He's already assured me of that. So now, instead of worrying over our future, I melt into his comforting touches and let my mind quiet as sleep takes over.

———

I wake with a jolt, my body bolting from its reclined position to find Seth pulling into my parent's driveway. Only, the moment I spot the large home I realize that it's not my parent's home anymore. It's my dad's. Because no one other than him lives here anymore.

I pinch my eyes tightly together, forcing back another bout of tears as I reach for the door handle. My throat aches as I swallow down my sorrow. I don't want to step out of the vehicle because I fear what will happen when my feet hit the driveway pavement. I just want to lay here and pretend everything's okay. I just want to sleep and never wake up.

Tentatively, I swing the door open. I glance unseeingly at the ground as dread seeps into my bloodstream. With careful movements, I slide out of my safe haven and into the real world. I'm somewhat surprised by the comfort I feel when I step out of Seth's truck. I'd been expecting things to come crashing down on me with a sickening reality the moment I arrived. Instead, I feel soothed. This place is still warm and familiar—my mother's passing didn't change that fact. It just makes me aware that something is missing. Something devastatingly important.