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TRIGGER WARNING PLEASE READ THIS SECTION! Seeing this note means the book that you are about to read could contain triggering situations or actions. This book is subject to one or more of the triggers listed below. Please note that this a universal trigger warning page that is included in Grey Huffington books and is not specified for any paticular set of characters, book, couple, etc. This book does not contain all the warnings listed. It is simply a way to warn you that this particular book contains things/a thing that may be triggering for some. This is simply my way of recognizing the reality and life experiences of my tribe and making sure that I properly prepare you for what is to unfold within the pages of this book. violence sexual assualt drug addiction suicide homicide miscarriage/child loss child abuse emotional abuse PAPERBACKS HARDCOVERS SHORT STORIES AUDIOBOOKS MERCH AND MORE… Copyright 2022 Grey Huffington All rights reserved. The content of this book must not be reproduced, duplicated or shared in any manner without written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations or samples in a book review, blog, podcast, or social media post without harmful or infringement intent. In the event that this work of fiction contains similarities to real locations, people, events, or situations, it is unintentional unless otherwise expressed by the author. instagram.com/greyhuffington STAY IN CONTACT want live updates? text greyhuffington to 1 (833) 315 2372 instagram.com/greyhuffington CONTENTS EVER Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Discover More More from Grey Huffington ghuffington.com ONE Fresh, warm tears kissed my skin after a single blink, ran along my cheeks and ended their journey in the fresh linen beneath me. Voiceless, I’d been reduced to silent cries that I felt as if no one heard. And, as plentiful as they were, I seemed to always have more – and more and more. For the last eight weeks, it was more of the same. Each day, I was a bit more rooted in my sorrows. I’d gotten so deep into the abyss that I didn’t think it was humanly possible to pull myself out. I felt like it was useless to even try at this point because I’d done so for weeks, only to end up in worse shape than I’d started. It was like a never ending cycle of sadness, tears, dissatisfaction, disappointment, and shame. This new territory I was treading was both scary and embarrassing. Though it was likely I wasn't, I felt like the laughing stock of my home. All jokes were on me. Sometimes, I could even hear the gentle giggles at my expense. Maybe it was all in my head but maybe it wasn’t. Rolling over in the bed that still felt foreign to me, I hugged the pillow. I missed my bed. I missed my children. I missed myself. I missed my Luca. Isolation was never my preference, but lately it was the only thing that allowed me to maintain the piece of sanity I was clinging to. The second I attempted to step out of my new bedroom, the world came crashing down. I never imagined not sharing a room with the man I loved more than life itself, but it was life that had gotten in the way of that. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get back to that. I couldn’t get back to him. My center no longer existed – just darkness, pain, and depression. The thought of it made the same heart I’d used to love him heavy with grief for the loss of what we’d worked so hard to build. It hurt. All of it, burdening me with an anxiousness for the unknown that I could never and would never be able to fulfill. “Eh. Eh. Eh. Ehhhhhhhh!” Lucas welled. What was once the most precious sound was like fingernails on a chalkboard now. Cringing at the sound of my son’s cries was the most hurtful, but I seemed to get more peeved with the sound each time I heard it. The disgust had hardly anything to do with my precious boy and everything to do with my uselessness in his world. Aside from being his source of nutrients, I had nothing more to give him. Not even the love I’d given the rest of my children – especially in the first few weeks of their lives. This time, things were different. Luca’s footsteps were the next thing I heard. Like clockwork, this was our morning routine. We’d been reduced to nearly nothing. Yet, he was still resilient and patient and beautiful and loving and so damn amazing that I was still wondering how God could make a man so perfect. And, then hand him over to me as if I deserved him. I didn’t. Especially not now. As the father and son duo closed in on me, the cries got louder, the tears got thicker, and my breast began to throb as they lactated. My body sensed my son’s hunger and worked overtime to produce the milk that he needed to survive. It understood my son’s need and could still produce under stress while I withered away as if I couldn’t muster the strength to do the same. Though amazed at its capabilities, I was still jealous. I, too, wanted to be everything that my son needed. I just couldn’t be. The creaking of the door as Luca pushed it open forced me to take a deep breath and hold it before releasing it. By the time I did, he was flipping on the light. My eyes burned as forced light intervened the darkness I preferred. I failed at the lousy attempt to get myself together, flopping my tired hand next to me on the bed instead of clearing my face of tears. I had nothing to hide. Luca