My Superpower Was Hearing Lies And My Weakness Was Believing Him Chapter 08

My Superpower Was Hearing Lies And My Weakness Was Believing Him Chapter 08

He came back many times after that.

I refused to see him. He waited outside the center in rain, wind, and blazing sun. Some of the staff felt sorry for him and passed along messages.

The first was, “Emily, I was wrong. Give me another chance.”

The second was a letter. I didn’t open it.

The third time, he forced his way in.

It was a rainy Sunday. All the children had gone home. He stood there, drenched, and walked toward me.

“Emily…” His voice was wrecked. “You can hear the bell, right? I’m not lying this time.”

He grabbed my wrist. “I was wrong. I know I screwed up, but you won’t even let me try?”

I pulled back, but he wouldn’t let go.

“That baby was mine too.” His voice cracked, rain mixing with tears. “You never even gave me a chance to know him. I was his father.”

Something cracked in the part of me I thought was already dead.

I didn’t love him anymore, but that child, that loss, was a wound I’d never fully healed.

“Let go of her.”

A calm voice came from the end of the hall.

Alexandra Wells stood there, with two security guards behind her.

She was the one who had rescued me. She had taken me out of that hospital and funded the expensive genetic treatment that gave me back my health.

She was always so gentle, but now her expression had turned ice-cold.

She nodded at the guards, and they escorted Nathan out.

“Emily!” he shouted. “I’ll be back!”

I leaned against the wall and realized I was shaking.

Alexandra walked over. She didn’t speak. She just placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Are you grieving the baby? Or the man?”

I closed my eyes, my face pale. “That child never got to see the world. I keep wondering, did he want to be here? Did he feel anything?”

Alexandra took me to her office. On her desk was a frame with a crayon drawing, childlike, wobbly.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” she said, picking it up and wiping the glass. “My daughter drew it.”

I nodded.

“She didn’t speak for a long time.” Alexandra’s voice was soft. “She was diagnosed with autism.”

I looked up, surprised.

“When I was young, I was so ambitious,” Alexandra continued. “Her father cheated, and I always thought he’d come back. So I had Lily.”

She gave a short, sad laugh. “I was wrong. A loveless home, an unwanted child, it only brings pain. The doctors said it was trauma-induced autism, irreversible.”

She set the frame down. “But then she met you. You told her she was wonderful. That her ocean drawings were vast and alive.”

“That night, she dug out a box of crayons. She drew a blue line and a little red figure. She said, ‘That’s me.'”

Alexandra’s eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry. “Three years later, she made that. She said the boat was her, and the balloon was me, holding her up, keeping her afloat.”

“She said she used to feel like she was drifting, but now she knew I’d always be there.”

She looked at me. “Emily, you always thank me for saving you. But I should thank you. You saved my daughter. And you saved your own child in the way that matters.”

“If I had been as brave as you, maybe Lily would have come into this world at a happier time.”

I finally let myself cry, first quietly, then all at once.

“You’re a good mother,” Alexandra said. “And when you meet the right person, your baby will come back to you.”

That day, I cried until I had nothing left, no grief, no rage, no hope to lose. And when the tears finally stopped, the sky cleared.

For the first time in months, I believed in the sun again.