For a couple of weeks, I’d been able to run interference with her family. First, she was sick. Then Ava was. Then we had plans. But it was exhausting, and Lexi was getting suspicious. It was unlike Sierra to go days, let alone weeks, without seeing her family, and I was at the end of my ropes trying to hold them off. Part of me wanted to break down and tell someone, but the other part of me knew Sierra would be furious if I told anyone before she was ready.

Like I said.

I was drowning.

But what could I do? I didn’t have any answers, so I just kept on, letting the waves of grief crash down on me, hoping like hell I’d reach the eye of the storm soon.

The day my forecast changed? It’s one I will never forget.

When I left that morning, guilt consumed me. It was my first full day back at the office, and I hated that I was leaving Sierra home alone to wallow in her grief. Hated that Ava was missing her lively, loving mom. The same guilt crept back in as I pulled into the driveway, because I was terrified of what I was going to walk into. Terrified that Sierra couldn’t come back from this. That we wouldn’t come back from this. And I couldn’t take it anymore. Something had to change.

I was grieving, too. But Sierra couldn’t see that. As much as I needed her, she couldn’t see through her own haze of mourning, and it was killing me. That had been my unborn baby, too. My kid. And it hurt like fucking hell that I’d never meet him. Sierra was blaming herself for that, but why couldn’t she see that I didn’t blame her?

Didn’t she know that I wondered if I were to blame, too?

But none of that mattered anymore. Because, at the end of the day, we were still there. Ava was still there, and we owed it to her, and ourselves, to remember that.

I was Copper. She was Tod. And I’d never felt farther away from her than I did then.

I had no idea how to fix it. Or if I even could.

I’d never hated going home to Sierra, but that evening, when I parked in the garage, I had no idea what to expect. Dread filled me, and I hesitated when my hand twisted the knob on the door that led to the kitchen. Justified dread, because as soon as I stepped into the house, I heard her. Ava’s cries echoed down the hall.

I threw my keys on the kitchen counter as I followed the sound of her hiccupping sobs. My breath caught when I entered the living room and saw her standing in her playpen, her arms stretched out wide, reaching for her mommy. Her face was red, covered in tears, and Sierra had her back turned to her, her eyes fixated on the television. Her expression was glazed over, and I wasn’t sure she was even watching whatever show was on.

Rage welled up inside me. I wanted to smash that television in. I wanted to shake Sierra until she came out of her haze. I wanted to scream at her for what she was doing to us, and at the same time, I wanted to wrap her in my arms so we could cry together. Grieve together. Whatever we needed to do—as long as it was together.

But first things first. My daughter needed me.

I sighed and crossed the room to pick my baby girl up. She clutched me immediately, and I softly rubbed her back as I rocked her in my arms.

“Ava, baby, Daddy’s here,” I whispered. Then I started crooning “Blue Moon,” singing until she settled against my shoulder. She hiccupped once or twice then let out the sweetest sigh.

“Mommy’s sad,” she whispered, and my heart shattered.

All the while, Sierra paid us no attention. In that moment, I wanted to hate her.

But how can you hate the one you love more than your own life?

The answer?

You don’t.

You examine your heart. You identify with how badly she’s hurting. You don’t try to fix her. You don’t push. You simply be. And, moving forward, that’s what I did for Sierra.

I was.

I was there, and I always would be.

And, when she was ready, she’d reach her arms out and take hold of her family again.

At least, I hoped that’s what would happen.

Somewhere off in the distance, I could hear a child crying.

It sounded like a baby’s cry. I squeezed my eyes shut. Why was there this constant cruel reminder of what I’d lost?

It wasn’t until Jeremy was cursing and scooping Ava up that I realized the cries were hers.

Oh, God.

What kind of mother was I?

Something in the recesses of my mind tried telling me to snap out of it. That we’d be okay. I’d be okay. But, like a foggy windowpane, nothing was clear. There was no end in sight to the pain that was stabbing my heart.

I missed my husband. I missed my baby girl. But, even so, I had no idea how I was supposed to come back to them in one piece. Or if I even could. Would I ever be whole again, or would I spend the rest of my life with missing pieces in my heart?

As if reading my mind, Jeremy crossed the room and brought his thumb to my chin, tilting it up so I was looking at him. I blinked, and through my haze, I finally saw him for the first time in weeks. Shame prickled when I recognized the anguish in his eyes. He was living with this pain just like I was, yet he was still doing that.

Living.

“Sierra, I love you, and I’ll do whatever it takes. Anything you need. But I can’t do this on my own. If you need someone to watch Ava while I’m at work, I can ask your mom. Whatever you want, whatever you need. But I refuse walking into another scene like this one again.”

My heart faltered. My initial reaction was to scream, “Yes!” and I hated myself for it. Guilt burned deep in my belly, and I was so tired of feeling that way. Jeremy was reaching out to me, and after weeks of pushing him away, I realized how tired I was. How much I missed him. And he was right. He couldn’t do this on his own. Neither could I.

So I blinked twice, shook my head, and watched as he exhaled a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Jeremy’s expression softened, and he shifted a now-sleeping Ava to his other shoulder. “Baby, you don’t have to be sorry. For anything. Just be here. That’s all we need.”

I nodded and let his words sink in deep. It’d take some time and a whole lot of effort, but I promised myself that I would do as Jeremy had requested. I’d be there.

Then, for the first time in weeks, he placed Ava in my arms. She settled into my embrace, giving off a sweet sigh.

And, for the first time in weeks, I smiled. It wasn’t overwhelmingly big or bright, but it was enough.

Eventually, we’d be okay. I just needed to remember that.

AFTER MY EXCHANGE WITH Jeremy, I’d like to say things got easier, but they didn’t. I did, however, try harder to be present. Little did I know, our worlds were about to be rocked in an entirely different heartbreaking way.

I’ll never forget the day I got the phone call. Jeremy was getting ready for work, and Ava was unusually still fast asleep. I was making his coffee and preparing his lunch, trying to get myself back into a routine, hoping it’d put me back in a place of normalcy.

I had no idea that, when I picked up my phone, Mom would be hysterical and sobbing on the other line. Dad had to take the phone from her, and even he could barely choke the words out.

“Sierra… There’s been an accident. Oh, God.” He paused, and I could hear their sniffles. “Sweetheart, it’s Ty. He’s…he’s gone.”

My breath caught. “What?” I asked, hoping it was some kind of sick joke.

“Car accident. Lexi’s in a coma in Indiana,” he continued.