Page 251 - It Ends with Us

Marsha ll kno ws wha t R yle is asking hi m. “I’m no t going any where. ”

As I follow R yle int o my bed room, I wond er wha t tha t must be like.
To have no idea wha t might set you off or ho w bad your rea ction will
be. To ha ve absolutel y no control over your own em otions .
For a brief moment , I feel a minu scule amount of sorro w for hi m.
But when my ey es fall to our bed and I rem em ber tha t ni ght , my
sorro w dimini shes complet el y.

R yle pushes the door shu t, but does n’t close it all the way. He looks
like he’s aged an ent ire yea r in the two mont hs it’s been sinc e I’ve
seen hi m. The bags und er hi s ey es , the furro wed brow, the sunk en
posture. If reg ret took hu man form, it would look ident ical to R yle.
His ey es fall to my stomach again and he takes a slow step for ward.
Then ano ther. He’s cautious, as he sho uld be. He rea ches out a timid
ha nd , asking for permi ssion to touch me. I no d softly.

He takes one more step for ward and then places a stea dy palm
agains t my stomach.
I can feel the warmth of hi s ha nd thro ugh my shi rt, and my ey es
sna p shu t. Des pite the res ent ment I’ve built up in my hea rt toward
hi m, it does n’t mea n the em otions aren’ t still there. Just bec ause
someo ne hu rts you does n’t mea n you can simply stop loving them . It’s

no t a pers on’s actions tha t hu rt the most. It’s the love. If there was no
love attached to the action, the pain would be a little ea sier to bea r.
He moves hi s ha nd over my stomach and I open my ey es again.
He’s shaking hi s hea d, like he can’t proces s wha t’s ha ppeni ng right
no w. I watch as he slowly sink s to hi s knees in front of me.
His arms sna ke around my waist and he pres ses hi s lips agains t my
stomach. He clasps hi s ha nd s around my lower back and pres ses hi s

forehea d agains t me.
It’s ha rd to des cribe wha t I feel for hi m in thi s moment . Like any
mother would want for her chi ld, it’s a bea utiful thi ng to see the love
he alrea dy ha s. It’s been ha rd no t sha ring thi s with any one. It’s ha rd
no t bei ng able to sha re thi s with hi m, no matter ho w much
res ent ment I ho ld toward hi m. My ha nd s go to hi s ha ir whi le he ho lds

me agains t hi m. Part of me want s to screa m at hi m and call the police
like I sho uld ha ve done tha t ni ght . Part of me feel s for tha t little boy
who hel d hi s brother in hi s arms and watched hi m die. Part of me