When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

52. Emmy

Chapter 52

Emmy

M addy kneels on the ground, shoulders shaking. The sight of her like this, my golden sister who can do no wrong, now broken and vulnerable, makes me pause. I turn away, looking in the mirror again.

A ragged breath and I see my own reflection. One . There’s the lavender soap. Two . A soft hand towel. Three . The smooth of the basin. Four . The sleek copper of the tap. Five .

A few more breaths.

Is this it? Is this what it feels like to give voice to my anger, my fear, instead of boxing it away, allowing it to fester in the darkness of my mind?

I stand there, staring at my reflection in the mirror, and a strange realization hits me: for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no urge to cut out the pain, to press a blade to the scars on my legs, those pressurized points I normally focus on, places to let the anger and hurt and frustration bleed out.

Now I just feel emptied, like the anger and other things came out a different way, the shouting and argument with Patrick, and now here with Maddy, carving a space within me, leaving me strangely buoyant, like I could float instead of sinking.

It’s terrible and shocking and new, what I did; shouting at Patrick. He’s the first person who ever let me just explode like that, who stood by and took my outburst without flinching. I caused a scene, in public, in front of other people, and he didn’t even blink.

The liberating thought moves through me like a wave, washing over the hollow space inside me, filling it with the raw, unfiltered truth: he saw me and didn’t turn away. He didn’t tell me to be quiet or get myself under control.

Despite the pain of leaving Harbor’s Edge behind, of ending things with Patrick, something crystalizes inside me. It’s not the cold numbing sensation that usually floods me, or the expanding pain that leaves me feeling like I’ll explode if I can’t cut it out, it’s something else entirely.

Standing there, staring at myself in the mirror, Maddy still on her knees behind me, crying raw, ugly sobs, I realize something profound and radical has shifted inside me. And it’s all because of Patrick.

This new feeling is unfamiliar, but it pulses with strength and purpose. There’s a strange emptiness where my burning anger sat, but also a sense of peace. It’s a revelation, an epiphany that hits me hard. This is what I’ve needed all along. To scream, to cry, to express the pain inside me instead of hiding it away, pretending everything was fine until it got so big I had to let it out somehow.

A strange, almost surreal clarity finds me. And underneath it, there’s a flicker of something new and precious: hope . A small, tentative feeling that wasn’t there before, growing stronger in the aftermath of the storm. It’s a glimpse of what it feels like to truly let go and be free.

And I owe this moment of clarity to one person who kept pushing me to open up, and who listened when I finally did. He saw the real me, the broken, messy parts, and still said he loves me.

Footsteps approach, echoing down the hallway. A moment later, there’s a sharp knock on the door. My mother’s voice filters through, clipped and demanding. “Emmy? Maddy? Are you in there?”

Maddy looks up at me, her eyes pleading. “Please, Emmy. Go talk to her. Don’t tell her I’m still in here.”

My chest tightens with dread. Turning away from the mirror and walking out of the bathroom to the bedroom door. I open it to find my mother standing there, her face set in a mask of anger.

“What is going on?” Her eyes narrow. “You’ve been back for five minutes and you’re already causing a scene. The Whitakers are just downstairs. What are you shouting at Maddy about? Can’t you just leave her alone?”

I swallow hard. “Mom, I?—”

“If you can’t control yourself,” she cuts in, her eyes narrowing, “I’ll ask the driver to take you back to Philadelphia. Do you understand me?”

She doesn’t wait for a response, turning on her heels and striding away, the door clicking shut behind her. For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the back of the door, until my phone buzzes in my handbag, dragging me to the bed where it lies on the white comforter where I left it.

Fishing it out, seeing Patrick’s name on the screen. My heart lurches, a mix of longing and fear flooding through me. I don’t trust myself to speak, not right now, so I silence the call and slip the phone back into my bag.

Turning and heading into the bathroom. Maddy is still on her knees, like she couldn’t get up no matter how hard she tried. I walk past her to the sink, leaning over and splashing cold water on my face. The shock of it helps to clear my mind.

I pull on the soft hand-towel, dragging it from the ring holder, then dry my face. My mom makes me feel so small, inadequate, like I’m constantly failing. Every word, every look, a reminder of how I’ve disappointed her.

What would Patrick have said if he’d seen the way she spoke to me just now? If he’d overheard her talking to the Whitakers ?

When I was with him, I felt seen, valued, loved for who I am, not for who someone else wants me to be. He never tried to change me, never made me feel like I wasn’t enough.

Memories flood my mind, unbidden and relentless.

I see Patrick’s smile, the way his eyes lit up whenever he looked at me, making me believe I could be whole. I remember the way his hands felt on me, his taste, the feel of him inside me.

“What have I done?” The words are barely audible.

So many beautiful moments when we were together, the way he could make me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered, the spark that ignited every time we touched. With Patrick, I was more alive, more myself, than I’ve ever been, like the broken pieces inside me were starting to mend, to smooth over.

He looked at me with love and understanding, never judging, always accepting. He saw me at my worst and didn’t flinch, stood by me even when I pushed him away.

Tears blur my vision, and I rub my eyes, my heart aching with the stupid weight of my decision to leave Harbor’s Edge, leave Patrick and a job I love. I should feel better about breaking up with him, about cutting ties and protecting him and the rest of the O’Connors from my mess.

But there’s only a profound sense of loss.

As I stand there, staring at my reflection in the mirror, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake. Patrick wasn’t just a part of my life; he had become the best part. The thought of a future without him is unbearable, a bleak expanse devoid of warmth and light.

The realization hits me with the force of a hurricane. I don’t want to live without Patrick. I don’t want to go back to a life dictated by my parents, filled with their expectations and judgments. I want to be with him .

I don’t know if there’s any way to undo what I’ve done, but if there’s a chance, I have to try.