Page 33 of Love Unwritten
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He unfolds the paper. Bile crawls up my throat as one of Nico’s tears splashes against the photocopied page Ellie made of my high school yearbook. There is a rip down the center of the page, splitting my face in two.
I was so focused on hating Ellie’s stupid smile tracker that I missed how much it meant to my son.
Another way you failed him.
“I just wanted you to be happy.” The paper shakes in his hand.
“I am happy.” I ditch my seat and kneel in front of his so we can be at eye level.
“No, you’re not.” He shakes his head. “You’re sad and angry and scared, but never happy. Not really.” He points at the picture of me smiling after I won the soccer state championships during my junior year. “Not like this.”
My heart has been broken before, but it never felt remotely close to this. The ache is unbearable as my gaze bounces between the photo on Nico’s lap and the look on his face.
In some ways, he is right. I’m not that kind of happy anymore, but only because it wasn’t real to begin with. I believed it was at the time, but life taught me better. True happiness—the carefree kind that doesn’t require any overthinking or second-guessing—isn’t something that comes naturally to me. It never has, and maybe it never will, but I know one thing for sure.
“I’m my happiest when I’m with you.” My voice cracks. “Never doubt that.”
“Are you really?” His bottom lip trembles.
I tap a finger against the photo. “Just because I don’t show it like this anymore doesn’t mean I’m not.”
“Even if I make you cry?”
“Huh?” I question if I heard him right. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard you,” he whispers to himself. “I saw you.”
A chill shoots down my spine. “When?”
“At the doctor’s. In January.”
Oh fuck. I’ve had plenty of low points in my life, but that day made it into the top three. I thought we were going in for a routine visit for his retinitis pigmentosa, so at worst, I was expecting a new glasses prescription, only to find out Nico’s condition was progressing at such a rapid rate that he is likely to go legally blind by the time he’s twenty. While his vision most likely won’t go totally dark, he will struggle for the rest of his life.
I always felt guilty about unknowingly passing the RP gene onto my son, but on that day, I hit rock bottom.
I swallow despite the acid in my throat. “You told Ellie about that?”
He nods.
Mierda. Is that why Ellie didn’t want to tell me about Nico’s worsening vision? Was she trying to save me from further embarrassing myself?
God. I’m ashamed and disgusted with myself for appearing so damn weak in front of both of them.
I grab hold of his hand and give it a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry you saw me like that.”
Mierda: Shit.
The apology feels insufficient, especially now that I know Nico has been carrying this heaviness with him for over five months. No wonder he kept his distance and avoided me at all costs.
I can’t emotionally support myself, let alone help him, so he found someone better.
He takes a deep breath. “And I’m sorry I’m all messed up.”
“You’re perfect just the way you are. Retinitis pigmentosa or not.”
“But if I was perfect, then you wouldn’t cry. And then Ellie would still be here because she wouldn’t have kept my secret.”