Letting Go (Healing Hearts) Read online

  “No, I’m not okay. What a stupid question. Do I sound okay to you?”

  “No. Are you saying you wanted to be pregnant?”

  She growled so she wouldn’t cry. “You have no idea what I’m going through.”

  “Um . . . what’s really going on? What’s wrong, Di?”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. She still loved him, yet she hated him more for playing her for a fool. Sniffling, she wiped her nose.

  “Diane? Please talk to me. I want to help. I’ll do anything for you.”

  She cringed at his obvious lie. “I have a tumor.” Fighting the urge to break down and sob, she focused on the knickknacks neatly arranged in her curio cabinet.

  “Did you just say tumor? Oh, Diane. I don’t know what to say. That’s awful.”

  The catch in his voice surprised her. Could he really love two women at the same time? Did he really care about her, maybe even love her more than his wife?

  It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.

  “Now I’ll have to have a . . . ” She inhaled deeply and tried again. “A hysterectomy.”

  “Wha—”

  “I was so happy when I thought I was pregnant,” she paused for the added effect, “until I found out you already have a wife and child. Now I hate you.”

  “But Di—”

  “Don’t you ever call me again, or I’ll find a way to tell your wife all about us. Then maybe she’ll hate you as much as I do. Goodbye, Randy.”

  “Wait—”

  She pushed the phone’s off button and flung it on the couch. But her anger quickly dissolved into hurt and a new rush of tears. She fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands. When she had no more tears to cry, she resigned herself to silence. Numb, painless silence.

  * * *

  “Jeanine, please tell my clients I’m ill. Reschedule all my appointments for the next few days. I should be in before the end of the week. Thank you. Bye.”

  Diane hung up after leaving the message and flopped back on her bed. Blowing her nose on yet another tissue, she tossed it on the floor to join the others. She had no reason to get up, eat, or even bathe. No one called to ask what happened or how she felt, not even from work.

  She’d never realized how few people she really knew. Had her life been so consumed with work and Randy that she’d never made any true friends? Acquaintances didn’t count. She had plenty of those. But people who truly cared? Nada, zilch, a big, fat zero.

  How pathetic her life had suddenly become.

  Not even her own mother called to see how she fared. Diane had left her a voicemail hinting that things weren’t going well for her, hoping her mother would call to clarify. It didn’t surprise her to hear nothing back.

  Randy certainly wouldn’t be calling. Now she almost regretted her threat. Almost . . .

  It really didn’t matter. She refused to forgive him. She wanted stability and security in a relationship. That could never happen as a mistress to a married man. And a jerky, two-faced married man at that.

  Sometimes she wondered why she even wanted to get married. Her parents had probably had the worst marriage in the world. She wanted a marriage the way it should be. But maybe that didn’t even exist.

  As a child, she remembered playing alone for hours. The boy doll always took care of the girl doll. He opened doors for her and came home on time for dinner. They never fought. He treated her with kindness and never put her down.

  I won’t go out with you looking like a hag. Come here, Diane. Now, give Daddy a big hug. See Lacy, this is perfection. Too bad you’ll never have her looks. Diane isn’t smart, but she’s smarter than you are. You’re just a stupid drunk.

  She flinched at the memory. Her father leaving them again. Her mother scowling for days, as if Diane had caused him to leave. At least when Daddy was gone, he didn’t bother her.

  She cringed when she realized Randy possessed a lot of her father’s traits. He had fawned over her, spoiled her with gifts, admired her body, took what he wanted—and all the while he was married to somebody else.

  Why did she fall for men like her father? And how she ended up dating married men time and time mystified her. When she discovered she was the “other woman,” she’d immediately cut off contact. But the next guy would be the same. Except for Ken. But he was in love with Katia. So what did she have that Diane didn’t?

  Maybe Ken had given her good advice the other night. Sex could never replace love or cause a man to care. No matter how hard she tried to be the ideal woman, at least according to all the magazine articles she devoured, she still found herself alone.

  Her shoulders sagged. Maybe if she dyed her blond hair a shade of deep sable. . . but that would be too superficial. She needed a deeper, more meaningful change. So far nothing she had tried worked. Something was missing, but she didn’t know what.

  The romance novels she read told believable stories. At least she’d thought they had. Each sensual story described a man pining for a woman because she looked like a model or was skilled in bed. For years Diane had dressed and acted the part, hoping to catch a mate for life. So why wasn’t it working for her?

  Her looks had never been the issue; she’d won first place in nearly every beauty pageant she’d entered as a child. If anything, her looks hindered her love life because men rarely wanted to know her as a person. Her dates wanted to touch her and enjoy physical pleasures with her, but no one wanted to know her true self. They just went right for the action, making her feel like nothing more than a trophy on their arm to show off in public. Or worse, a slut.

  Though she’d worked so hard at perfecting her outside appearance by jogging, depriving herself of food, and buying expensive clothes, her inside self still felt empty and unclean. She couldn’t remember the last time a man asked her how she felt about something, unless it built up his ego. Except Randy, and she’d been so wrong about him. How could she have been wrong?

  How to please a man . . . Yeah, right!

  She slid out of bed and marched into her kitchen. Pulling a paper bag from her pantry, she snapped it open and headed for her home office. Every steamy romance novel she owned would find its new home in the dumpster behind her condo. Today.

  Romance, huh? They don’t know the first thing . . .

  Scanning the bookshelves from top to bottom, she plucked out the paperbacks that instigated a yearning for male attention and pitched them into the bag. As she dropped each book inside, a renewed sense of hope surged through her. By the time she’d filled the sack to the top, she felt empowered to take back her life and make better decisions.

  With a grunt, she hoisted the bag up and carried it to the large community dumpster in the alley behind her condo. Dropping the bag into the trash, she brushed her hands together with a sense of accomplishment, smiling for the first time in days.

  Next she went to the magazine rack and scanned the titles, noting how each focused on vanity. She flipped through several issues with a new perspective, each article stinging like tiny pins pricking her empty heart. Every picture or story centered on selfish behavior such as how to please a man, look beautiful, lose weight, and so on.

  The tips and beauty secrets that had given her energy and motivation in the past now felt like a noose around her neck. She picked up the phone and canceled each subscription, amazed by the freedom she suddenly felt. She scanned the living room for other offensive items, for things that contributed to her misery.

  I knew you’d look great in that, sweetheart. Come here.

  She marched into her bedroom and pulled open the top drawer of her dresser. Yanking out several lacy, slinky, revealing garments, she threw each one on the floor. She refused to shop at those specialty stores in the mall again.

  She choked when she spied her first real gift from Randy. She lifted her favorite cream-colored silk nightgown from the drawer. Burying her face in the satiny material, she reflected on their first night together in her condo. He had been so loving and tender.

  Oh, Rand
y . . . why did you have to be married?

  Having those items in her bedroom dresser only reminded her of the nights she’d spent with him in her home, nearly worshipping him. Her grief turned to anger. She refused to pine away for their lost relationship. She could never forgive him. Somehow she had to kill her feelings and find the strength to move on with her life.

  She emptied the drawer, carried the lingerie into the kitchen, and with her eyes closed stuffed them into the trash bin. But her newfound sense of empowerment was no match for the thought that she’d never be able to bear children or that she might even die. White spots danced in her vision, converging on each other.

  Twenty-nine seemed so young. Who’d want her now?

  She sank into the thick cushions of her couch and laid her head on her arms. The anticipation of her upcoming surgery constricted her lungs. She didn’t know if she could go through with it, especially not alone. She didn’t know a single person who would visit her because they cared. Maybe some people from the office would stop by out of duty, but not because they really wanted to know how she was doing.

  Who wanted to marry a woman who could never bear a child? Who would support her and take care of her while she recovered? What about her advocacy cases? And fighting for the children she desperately wanted to protect, the precious children who needed her?

  In the midst of her internal clamor, a self-destructive urge clawed at her. The thoughts crowding her mind blended in an eerie, enticing tone.

  You don’t have to suffer . . . Go ahead. Take those pain pills in your medicine cabinet. Spare yourself needless suffering.

  As she listened to the tormenting thoughts, the desire to give in to them pulled at her. She shuddered. Part of her wanted to fight, to assault the urge to take the easy way out. Yet the worn out, weak woman she’d suddenly become wanted to end it all.

  She fell from the couch to her knees. With tears streaming down her face, she cried a scream of agonized rage. “I can’t believe this is my life!”

  Crumpling on the floor, she curled into a ball. “Why me, God? Why do you hate me?”

  The pills. Take them. You’ll fall asleep. It’ll be so peaceful.

  She stopped wailing and scrubbed the tears from her face.

  Peace. You’re tired of looking for love. You’ll never find it. What your heart longs for doesn’t exist. Go ahead. Just do it.

  Without considering the consequences, she rose and went into the bathroom. Before opening the medicine cabinet, she leaned against the wall and peered at her reflection. Eyes red-rimmed and swollen stared back, bereft of hope. Who was the strange woman in the mirror? She didn’t care anymore.

  With trembling hands, Diane grabbed a bottle of Valium. She stared at the label. The words blurred as her eyes flooded with more tears. Endless tears. She hurt so much.

  With shoulders shaking, she twisted the lid off the bottle, then filled a glass with water. She tossed the pills into her mouth, dumping many of them on the floor in the process. Tipping her head back, she washed them down, empting the glass.

  She stood for a moment, waiting. A strange feeling came over her. Her chest tightened as she realized the severity of what she’d done.

  When had her life gotten so out of control? Clutching her stomach, she leaned against the wall and slid to the floor.

  “Oh, God, help me!”

  Chapter 4

  Dave paced across the carpet in his bare feet. His hands stuffed in his jean pockets, he stopped in front of the large, flat-screen television that hung on the wall. Ignoring his son’s caseworker, he stared at the picture, trying to calm down, but failing.

  Rolling his head to work the kinks out of his neck, he finally bent down and grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned off the news. His life held enough drama.

  Marching back across the room, he stopped abruptly in front of Nancy, his eyes narrowed. “How did the State screw up again? Are the clerks in the attorney general’s office overloaded, or just idiots?”

  Nancy stared back at him, eyes wide.

  Rubbing his face, Dave inhaled deeply and sat on the couch. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I know it’s not your fault.”

  She patted his knee. “I forgive you.”

  “It’s just that . . . I’m in shock.”

  “I’d be upset too if I were you. Stuff like this happens too often, I’m afraid. I think mistakes like this actually burn out caseworkers more than the actual job does. But that’s not all. Um . . . ” She cringed as if she knew he’d be ticked. “They’ve located Joey’s birth mother.”

  He jumped off the couch and stalked across the room, his arms flailing. “No! This can’t be happening! I won’t let it.”

  Stopping in front of her, he stuck his finger in her face and growled through clenched teeth, “If the state hadn’t missed the deadline again for publishing his mother’s name in the paper, my little boy would be free for adoption right now.”

  Nancy remained mute. She knew he was right. He could see it in her eyes.

  He scowled at her. “Why can’t anyone see that?”

  “Um, well . . . that’s technically true. But now that Joey’s birth mother has been located, Child Protective Services has to give her due process, regardless of what we may think is right.”

  “But why can’t they follow through as planned? So you found her. So what?”

  “We can’t terminate her parental rights on charges of abandonment until we publish her name in the paper and she fails to come forward to claim her son. Since it wasn’t done within the proper timeframe, it matters a lot. And unfortunately, this time we found her.”

  His throat constricted, and he groaned. “But it’s not Joey’s fault. Why punish him for someone else’s mistake?”

  She motioned at him to sit. He obeyed.

  “I’m sorry I yelled in your face again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You’re not the one I’m mad at. It’s the system. The system failed my son!”

  “I know.” She hesitated. “There’s more.”

  He moaned. “No. Don’t tell me it gets worse. Please . . . ”

  She stared at the large case file on her lap. “I’m sorry, but it does. His mother claimed she entered a drug treatment program last year and was only allowed one contact upon admission. According to the notes in the case record, she left a message with the former case manager regarding her son. Unfortunately, the call occurred before Joey was six months old.”

  “I don’t get it. What does a stupid phone call have to do with anything?”

  “Six months is the cutoff. Any contact the parent makes with the state before the child is six months of age completely eliminates abandonment as legal grounds for pursuing termination of parental rights.”

  Dave stared at her, unable to breathe. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

  She nodded, then stared at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  His voice cracked. “This is exactly what I was afraid of when you placed Joey with us.”

  “I wish I could say situations like this are very rare, but that wouldn’t be honest. Mistakes happen. Parents unexpectedly show up. It’s the risk you take when you accept a child who is not yet legally free for adoption.”

  “Yeah, but one stupid phone message from his birth mother, and she still has a chance to get him back?” Dave snorted. “What’s wrong with this picture?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. The problem lies in the way the law is written.”

  He frowned and scratched his head. “Do you have any other proof backing up her claim—I mean, other than case notes?”

  “Her counselor at the drug treatment center verified her statement about the phone restriction. She couldn’t make any more phone calls. It was against the rules.”

  “And she didn’t complain or try to fight it?”

  “Apparently not. But now CPS must work to reunite Joey with his birth mother since she has requested custody.”

  The look of pity on her face cau
sed Dave’s breath to shorten. He fought back tears as he sputtered, “They have to?”

  “Yes. But remember, just because Mom wants to parent doesn’t mean she’ll win her case in court. But we have to give her a chance.”

  Dave’s mouth pulled tight. “No. We don’t.”

  “If she loses, it makes his adoption more secure, so it’s in Joey’s best interest.”

  “Is that supposed to comfort me?” Dave scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “His mother has finally been located—and in jail of all places—and now you’re just supposed to drop everything regarding the adoption? That doesn’t make sense. How can she parent her son when she’s in jail?”

  Nancy cleared her throat. “She gets out next month.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, great.”

  “I know it’s awful.”

  “That still doesn’t tell me how she’ll care for him. Does she have family that can help?”

  “No. She has no one. Because of her unusual circumstances, the same drug treatment program has guaranteed her a spot in one of their halfway houses. The facility she’ll be living in is a home set up specifically for recovering mothers with children.”

  The more Dave thought about all of the ways contact with the birth mother could harm Joey, the more terror gripped his heart. “What about visits? Please tell me Joey won’t have to go to the jail to have contact with his mother.”

  “Yes, there’ll be visits. But his mother agreed to wait until she goes to the halfway house. She said she doesn’t want her son’s first memory of her to be associated with the jail.”

  “How noble to think of him for one second.”

  “I know this is hard, but try to be supportive so the visits will go easier for Joey. You can’t change anything by being negative and hostile. You’ll just upset him.”

  Dave grimaced. “I know.”

  “Since the name on the birth certificate is Little J, you need to be prepared for her to start calling him by a different name.”

  “Just what he needs,” he groaned, “more confusion. It’s bad enough he doesn’t understand what happened to his Momma Merilee. Now he’ll have a split personality.”