Page 192 of Broken Saint
Clearly, it was nothing more than wishful thinking.
When I wake again, my heart feels just as heavy, my eyes are scratchy, my throat is sore, but I’m alone and the sun is peeking through the curtain.
A new day has dawned, and nothing feels better.
If anything, the hopelessness is worse.
I have no idea if Colt had a good night. If his PT session went well. For all I know, he could be up and around walking right now. They could be sending him home today and I wouldn’t know.
More tears dance on my eyelashes, threatening to spill.
How do I have any left?
Despite my desire to bury myself beneath the sheets and pray that I just disappear, my need for the bathroom stops that from being a possibility.
Throwing the covers back, I pad across the thick carpet and slip into the room.
I pee before coming to a stop in front of the sink to wash my hands and brush my teeth.
It should be easy. They’re things I’ve done a million times over without thought in the past.
So why does each task feel akin to climbing a mountain?
Reaching for the toothbrush, I gingerly put some toothpaste on and lift it to my mouth.
The strong mint taste explodes on my tongue, but it does little else to refresh me.
I have no idea how long it takes me, but I’m exhausted by the time I’m finished, and without even attempting to wash my hands, I shuffle back to the bedroom and disappear under thesheets. Curling myself up into a tight ball, I let the tears flow once more.
“Ella,” a soft voice whispers before the bed dips behind me.
I want to groan, but then a small pair of hands land on my body before baby babble hits my ears.
Kyan.
I want to sob again, only for an entirely different reason.
It’s a low blow on Letty’s part to bring her unbelievably cute son as a distraction technique, but damn her, because it’s probably going to work.
He crawls over me while Letty encourages him to find me, and before long, my covers are pulled back and her beaming little boy stares down at me.
“E-uh,” he says, making my heart melt into a puddle.
“We’ve been practicing,” Letty explains.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, reaching out to cuddle him.
He humors me for a good twenty seconds before he begins wriggling.
“Here you go, bud,” Letty says, handing him some cars to play with.
He quickly makes himself at home at the bottom of the bed, wheeling them around and making them crash into each other.
“And I brought you a coffee. A strong one,” she says, looking down at me.
“Thanks,” I mutter, pushing my exhausted and weak body up the bed.
As soon as I’m settled against the headboard, Letty hands me a cup. I hug it to me like a lifeline while my stomach sloshes withacid and my chest continues to ache like someone has pushed something straight through the center of it.