Free Wicked Intentions (Steele Secrurity Book 4) by A.D. Justice Page B

because I didn’t care. It wasn’t that I was mad at you. I was just so very lost in mourning, afraid to hope, and afraid not to hope.
    When the doctor came in to tell us our perfectly healthy eleven-week-old baby boy couldn’t be revived, whatever was left of my grasp on reality completely and utterly shattered. I remember crumpling to the floor because I wished it would just swallow me whole and put me out of my misery. I remember your strong hands catching me before I hit the ground with the full force of my weight. You kneeled behind me, pulled me into your lap, and wrapped your arms around me.
    Holding on to your arms was the only thing that kept me from completely checking out of my sanity. I couldn’t tell you then because I couldn’t even speak, but you were my lifeline. You were the only reason I continued to hold on and not give up entirely. I wish I’d told you then. I wish I’d been strong enough to explain everything I was thinking and feeling. But planning Dalton’s funeral became another nail in my own coffin, and the deep depression soon overtook me.
    Hindsight really hasn’t been my friend because it so brilliantly highlights my failures. I have so many regrets. There are so many things I want to go back and do differently. Besides the obvious regret of not staying up all night with my eyes glued to Dalton to watch over our son as he slept, there are so many things I didn’t give you enough credit for doing. I now realize so many things you did for me, to take care of me, that I took for granted. But I didn’t do the same for you, and you deserved to have the same consideration you so freely gave me.
    When I stood beside his little casket for hours without moving, you were beside me, holding my hand.
    When they lowered his casket into the ground and my legs wouldn’t hold me up, you stood behind me, supporting me.
    When I had a complete mental breakdown after I realized I’d never see or kiss his little face ever again, you stood in front of me, protecting me. Shielding me. Putting me first. Even though you were dying inside, too.
    I needed you, and not once did you let me down.
    You needed me, and I repeatedly let you down.
    At the time you needed me the most, I failed you. My lapses are truly unforgivable.
    Yet, in your goodbye letter, you took all the blame. You’re still protecting and supporting me, even though I retreated inside myself from the intense grief I didn’t know how to deal with in my own mind.
    Even though I have no right to ask this of you, I have to try. Please forgive me and give me a chance to make it up to you. I’m here for you, Braxton. I want to stand beside you and hold your hand. I want to stand behind you and support you. I want to stand in front of you and protect you. I want to take away the responsibility you feel for Dalton’s death because it doesn’t rest on your shoulders. I want to take away all the pain I’ve caused you in my ignorance, selfishness, and weakness.
    I’ll wait for you to come back to me for as long as it takes. My life is with you — it always has been, and it always will be. People say we’re still young, we can still find love and happiness, we can still have a family one day. They’re exactly right, Braxton. We can still find it all in each other — love, happiness, and a family. You’re all I want, all I need, and I won’t settle for anything less than what we already have together.
    I’m waiting to hear from you.
    I love you, Braxton. With every ounce of love I possess, I love you.
    Your wife,
    Heather Reed

    H eather walked into the kitchen where Bryan and Jackie Reed sat at the table and held up a thick envelope. She was so grateful to them for taking her in and letting her stay in Braxton’s old room. The apartment had become suffocating, and not from the small size. All the memories it held were impossible to escape during the best of times, but being there alone every night had become unbearable.
    “I’ve written