When I Was Theirs

57. Jared

57

Jared

“ H ere.” A slim, perfectly manicured hand appears in my line of sight to Emmy.

Blinking, I reach for the coffee. “Uh. Thank you.”

Sand coats my eyeballs, gritty and raw as I wipe my hand over them and take a sip.

“You weren’t going to get one.” Emmy’s mother settles opposite me, in her own blue hard chair. In her silk dress, now creased as hell, she looks ridiculously out of place. “I’m Erin, by the way. I can watch her, if you need a break.”

“No.” The refusal comes immediately, sharp on my tongue. “I – sorry. I promised I wouldn’t leave her.”

“Don’t apologize.” Erin’s eyes sweep over her daughter. “I’m glad she has someone here with her. In her corner.”

Interestingly, she doesn’t put herself in that category.

I glance at the closed door. “Is that going to be alright? With your husband?”

He’s still here. I know from the frequent phone calls, the complaints. The low, angry tone whenever his wife steps out of this room.

“I’m well-versed in managing my husband. I’ve had a lot of experience.”

Erin picks up her coffee, and my eyes latch onto the bracelet wrapped around her arm. It glitters as she takes a sip, her own gaze hollowing as she follows my movements. “I never wanted that life for her.”

“I’m not your priest. You don’t owe me a confession.” I stretch, kneading out a kink in my neck. “But you owe your daughter one.”

She doesn’t say anything else.

Our only interruptions are the nursing staff who move in and out, carrying out their checks.

But I watch. Her fingers brush against her sleek, styled hair. There’s a faint line at the edge of her hairline. A scar.

“Who was there for you?” I keep my voice even as I return my gaze to Emmy. “When you were the one in the bed?”

I don’t think she’s going to answer.

When she does, her voice is steady. “Nobody.”