Forgive Me by Kateri Stanley (love letters to the dead txt) 📗

You should’ve known better, man. His car keys were missing, his wallet was empty... and so was his heart.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Winter 1979

Heather was getting used to the coolness of the gel lathered on her belly during her examination. She didn't find the clinical smell of the room particularly nauseous anymore. She hated the sound of the heartbeat, yet this time, holding back the urge to cry when she heard its healthy rhythm was like walking a running race.

At least this one is okay, she thought. Not like the others.

They cleaned her up and moved her to the office for her consultation. She stroked her fingers across her belly. It had taken her a while, not in the most orthodox way but she knew the nerdy guy in the labs was an ideal candidate. He was cute, shy and seemed to have some common sense about him.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

Peter was scribbling on the file. His lips bumbling and muttering as he wrote.

She was getting impatient. “Peter...”

“Yes?” he asked, looking up. “Oh, sorry Heather.”

“My baby. How is he?”

He hesitated. “He's fine.”

“Why did you pause?”

Peter pinched his nose, shaking his head. “I'm sorry. It's been a stressful week. Your baby is happy and strong and he's growing wonderfully.” He pushed the grey and black print across the table. “Take a peek for yourself.”

Her fingers trembled at the sight of the photo. The curve of his face and his tiny nose, cradling his little head. She wondered what he’d look like as a fully grown man. “He’s beautiful,” she whispered.

Peter smiled. “Just like his mother. Are you involved with the father?”

Her heart skipped a beat before resuming its normal pace. “Oh, no. He’s long gone.”

“Does he know about your pregnancy?”

Her fingers trembled when she thought about that night. I wish I'd met you somewhere else. “No, he doesn’t. It’s for the better though. You won't hurt my baby, will you.” She let her words and meanings float in the air. “Promise me you won't.”

Peter reached over, touching her hand. “Of course, we won't. He'll be in the best of hands and you can come and see him whenever you want.”

“I’d rather not, especially when I’m trying to get clean.” Heather knew she couldn't raise him properly. She had to fight the urge of the black snake on a daily basis. She took a piece of paper from her pocket. “I have a name. What do you think?”

Peter smiled as he read it. “It's ideal. It'll suit him perfectly. Let’s hope he has your stunning eyes too.”

A smile danced across her mouth. “Sheila told me you’re going to be a dad,” she whispered, skimming his gold wedding ring.

“Yes, I am. My first child, same as you. I’d love to have a boy but my wife is hoping for a girl. Typical, really.”

“Maybe, one day if you have a girl, our children will cross paths and fall in love...”

He laughed under his breath. “Maybe. Are there any questions you want to ask about your birth plan, Heather?”

“You’ll be there when it happens, right?”

“Absolutely. When you go into labour, you need to phone me.”

“I will. My dad thinks I’ve made a big mistake. He doesn't get it. He doesn't get what it's like to have an addiction. I wish he was more understanding, just like you.” She leaned over and laid the side of her head on his hand. “You really know how to take care of me. Thank you, Peter.” She felt his fingers rest on her forehead, caressing slowly. “I hate being a failure to my parents. I'm trying to be a better person.”

“You’re not a failure,” Peter responded. “You’re doing the right thing.”

She thought she saw a photo of a woman with beautiful mahogany skin on his desk. He must have seen her peeking because he snapped the file shut. She didn't think anything of it.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Spring 1980

Mary Summers regretted having a night out with the girls. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Her son was at her father’s and her mother was out playing bridge. She called her friends; bottles of strawberry wine were exchanged. Diana Ross and Paul McCartney were played on a loop, then she couldn’t recall the rest of the evening. Now, the aftermath of her decision was kicking in, the groggy head, the aching joints. Hangovers were the worst, especially suffering them at work but she needed a break from her tumultuous home life

Mary remembered how her parents reacted to the news of her divorce. She knew it wasn't the ideal choice they wanted for her but the line of trust had been crossed. Her ex-husband’s attention had dived for the form of a young secretary from his office. She loved to play tennis. She had a perfect hourglass figure with smooth thighs, tight enough to bust an orange. She’d moved into the family home, sleeping in the bed Mary had once shared with Leonard.

It was a rough spike of reality to take and even harder to swallow. However, Mary wasn’t prepared to be second best. She needed to be with someone who loved her properly and not ignore her affections or their parental responsibilities. There was no way she was having that type of hostility and negativity surrounding her son, leaving the relationship was for the best. Even if it meant selling some of her belongings, moving her lifestyle to a small apartment.

She was on the front desk on this particular shift. The waiting area of the Emergency Room was heaving, some patients were having to stand because the chairs had been taken by others. Mary was filing paperwork when she heard it:

“Can you help me?” a voice said.

She looked up from the files. A young dishevelled pregnant woman was staring helplessly at her. The woman seemed exhausted, her skin was clammy and dirty, as if the whole world had been piled on top and it was too much to handle.

Mary rose slowly from her desk. The woman had dark brown hair;