Just Let Me Die Here (A Serialized Novel) 14

Please, don’t let me die here. Please, don’t let me die here. It repeats over and over in my head, echoing until the voice is not my own. It’s coming from somewhere else. From deep within me and beyond the mountains. Please, don’t let me die here. I fade in and out, the scene around me becoming blurry and then sharpening like a knife, driving through the colors of the world. A bright light and then darkness again. I try to move, but I am stuck, buried up to my chest in the wave of snow that followed me down the mountain. This can’t be happening. I scream for help and listen to my voice bounce among the trees, getting caught in the crisp afternoon breeze and blowing away down the valley. I am all alone. Except, I now remember, I’m not.

I can only see his back, lying crumpled against a tree, but he doesn’t appear to be moving. I watch, staring at his middle, hoping to see some evidence of breath. I think of all the times I have hovered over Millie in her crib, waiting for the same thing and the thought hurts. Millie. I have to get back to Millie.

And then that voice, the one that’s haunted me for nearly two years, my mother’s voice, returns to me, harsher than ever before.

You won’t though.

You’ll leave her just like I left you.

You don’t love her enough.

It fades into the valley and I am left with the silence of my choked back tears.

“Hey!” I shout in the man’s direction. A pain tears through my side. “Are you okay?” I say, lowering my voice just slightly to make the effort tolerable. He doesn’t respond. I am flooded with a mixture of worry and anger. This is his fault. He did this to me and now we are stuck here. I twist my head back towards where we came from and I am met with a sharp pain in my shoulder. Again, my vision blurs. I breathe deep, trying to stabilize. Trying to block out the pain. When the world turns vivid once more, I can see that there is no one up there. Below us there is forested valley. No trails that might have passersby to hear me.

“Help!” I yell again and wait, hoping that someone is coming behind us. Not many people are on this side of the mountain today and even fewer are attempting these side trails. Why was he even there? Why was I there? Why did I stop? I should have kept going, down the mountain to my life, to my family. Tucker and Millie. What will happen if I don’t show up soon? Tucker will be worried sick. I just want to hold my daughter. Please, let someone hear me.

They say a woman becomes a mother when she gets pregnant and a man becomes a father when the child is born. That’s where things were a bit backwards for Tucker and I. We had briefly discussed having children when we first got engaged. “Of course, we’ll have kids,” I had said. But I was in no hurry. “It will happen when it happens,” I had told Tucker one night when he brought up the idea of children again. I guess I just hadn’t planned on it happening so quickly. Not that I didn’t want to be pregnant, although that did carry with it a whole host of worries. I just felt like a good mom would be totally sure. And I was definitely not. Tucker, on the other hand, was completely ready.

“This is what we’ve wanted,” he had said when my shaky hand held up the peed-on stick for him to see. The two blue lines glared at me. “This is what we’ve been trying for.” I wondered when exactly he had decided we were officially trying. I had just started my assistant professorship and was looking at years of long hours before getting where I wanted to be career wise. I could see myself as the mature first-time mom. I would have already found success in my career, maybe won a few awards for my research, and be completely ready for the next step in my personal life. Mature parenthood, it was euphemistically and appropriately called. Mature, wise, prepared. Able to love the way a mother should.

But all that changed with those two little blue lines. I had definitely panicked. I called the doctor, booked an appointment, and prayed for a false positive. I was certain this wasn’t what I wanted at that particular time. And for a brief second, I considered some alternative paths. That led to one of the bigger fights of our marriage.

He had stormed out that night, driven off to god knows where. But when he returned less than an hour later, he was calm and completely empathetic.

“I am so sorry,” he had said, pulling me closer to him on the couch. “I know this is scary for you. I know you don’t think it’s the ideal time. But no time is ever going to be absolutely perfect. Everything is going to be okay. We’re going to get through it together. This is all for the best.”

And then the birth came and we almost lost her. Twenty hours into labor, her heartbeat started dropping and I was rushed into the operating room. I was terrified. I held Tucker’s hand and begged for this all to be over. For our little girl to be okay. I worried that this was all my fault. All those horrible thoughts I had had about not wanting her were going to lead to this ultimate consequence. I couldn’t lose her, I suddenly realized. I did not want to lose her.

When they pulled her from me, there was nothing but silence in the room and then, as if a switch had been flipped, chaos. Millie was whisked away to the other side of the room with Tucker following close behind. I was left alone. Open and scared. Had my doubts caused this? Did some greater power know I did not deserve to have her? I might not have been ready to be a mom, but I finally knew there was nothing I wanted more.

“Help!” The world dims again. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to center myself and block out the worrying thoughts that will consume me if allowed. Breathe in, breathe out. I feel my body expand and contract, pushing at the snow around me and then collapsing beneath it. Breathe in, breathe out. I must stay alive.

Just let go.

It will be better for everyone.

Leave her.

Leave her.

In the following silence, I hear something. Or, more accurately, I feel something. A strong pulsing vibration just above my hip. My phone. Zipped up in my inside pocket, it is ringing. But my arms are stuck. My only lifeline is buried underneath snow and jacket. It vibrates a few more times and then stops. I begin to cry at this loss of a savior.

A final pulse of the phone lets me know there is a voicemail waiting for me. It’s got to be Tucker. He must be wondering where I am. I haven’t shown up when I said I would and now he’s worried. If it gets to be much later, would he alert someone? Send out a search party? How long will it take before he realizes that I am missing and then how much longer after that until someone finds me? Would it be too long? Too late?

There is a tingle that runs down my left arm, down my body, into my left boot. Pins are pricking the entire side of my body until it goes numb with cold. The trees around me begin to sway and then twist, spiraling into a loop that spins around me. I look for the man who came down this fall with me, but his body is lost to the blur that is slowly creeping in on the edges of my vision. My body is pulled into an echoing dark chamber. I try to fight the urge to give in, let the mountain swallow me. I can’t give up. I have to see my husband again. I have to see my baby again. I must live for them. They are all that matter.

Not enough.

Not enough.

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