My Family Left Me on Read So I Disappeared Forever Chapter 10

My Family Left Me on Read So I Disappeared Forever Chapter 10

Several weeks later, after my cast came off and physical therapy got me back on my feet, I rented a small one-bedroom apartment downtown. It wasn’t spacious, but it had a balcony.

On the day I moved in, Megan helped me hang the curtains before leaving.

I sat alone in the empty living room, surrounded by bare white walls. The living room was still mostly empty, and the apartment was so quiet that I could hear myself breathe.

The next morning, I went to a plant nursery.

The woman working there asked what I was looking for.

“Hydrangeas.”

“How many?”

“Seventeen.”

She paused.

“Are you opening a flower shop?”

I smiled but didn’t explain. I simply chose seventeen young plants—varieties labeled pink, blue, and white.

She helped me load them into the car and offered a final piece of advice before I left.

“Hydrangeas are pretty forgiving. Give them enough water and sunlight, and they’ll bloom when they’re ready.”

Back at the apartment, I lined up seventeen planters on the balcony, filled them with fresh soil, and began planting the hydrangeas one by one.

The fresh soil was soft beneath my fingers. I dug a small hole, settled the root ball inside, then gently pressed the soil back into place.

I was planting the ninth hydrangea when I heard a string of babbling behind me.

I turned and found my son sitting on a padded play mat beside the balcony doors, babbling as he slapped both hands against the floor.

He made excited little noises, drool shining on his chin.

He had grown so much.

I hadn’t seen him for three months. His cheeks were rounder, and his dark eyes looked brighter than I remembered.

The custody order took effect the day before, and Megan brought him home from Ethan’s mother’s house.

Until the moment he arrived, I had been afraid he wouldn’t recognize me.

But the moment Megan carried him into the room, he reached both arms toward me, leaning forward with a smile.

I burst into tears.

I gathered him into my arms and held him while I cried. His tiny fist remained wrapped around my collar the entire time and never let go.

Now he sat on the play mat watching me plant, reaching toward one of the lower leaves.

“Don’t pull that.”

I gently moved his hand away.

“Mommy planted these for you. They’ll bloom when you turn one.”

“Then Mommy will take your hand and count every blossom for you.”

Of course, he didn’t understand me. He only tilted his head, then broke into another wide smile, revealing two tiny teeth that had just begun to come in.

I finished planting the last hydrangea and brushed the soil from my hands.

Seventeen pots stood in neat rows across the balcony, just as they had before.

No, not exactly as before.

Those flowers had grown in a home where I had no say.

These were growing in a home that belonged to me.

That night, after putting my son to sleep, I stood beside his crib and watched him for a long time.

His little fist was curled shut, and his mouth was slightly open, exactly as it had been that night months ago.

I had stood beside his crib that night too, until Mom found me.

She had pushed the crib away and locked the door. I had stood alone in the dark, listening to my child cry on the other side.

Now he was right beside me.

The door was open, the light was on, and neither of us had to go anywhere.

When I walked to the refrigerator, I saw a sticky note attached to the door.

Dr. Morgan had written it for me at our last appointment, and I had stuck it to the refrigerator.

[You’re already a wonderful mother.]

I read it every morning.

Some days, I believed it. Other days, I didn’t.

But after reading it often enough, I began to think it might be true.

I was still taking medication. I still struggled to sleep most nights, and sometimes I crouched on the bathroom floor and cried.

I still had a long way to go before I was truly well.

But I was no longer in a hurry.

Dr. Morgan told me healing took time.

On the balcony, seventeen pots of hydrangeas rested quietly in the sunlight. Their leaves were still small, but fresh green shoots had already begun reaching upward.

I stood there watching the fresh green shoots as a breeze swept across the balcony.

This time, the air carried no scent of flowers.

But I wasn’t afraid.

Because I knew that when they finally bloomed, I would still be here.