An excerpt from FRACTURED.
Lloyd
calls. He’s working late. Again. It’s the story of our married life. This time
it’s something about an ugly custody battle. Not the toy poodles.
The
house is empty. No Lloyd. No baby. Even though I turn on the television for
company, it is ever-so-clear that I am totally alone. I panic.
To
think, I used to spend many hours alone in this house, listening to music,
reading. I was once happy for the quiet moments, the me time. I longed for the coziness of a good read or the indulgence
of a TV sitcom. In fact, since we’ve been married, I’m used to being the only
one in the house. Now the idea of sitting in a noiseless room with my nose
pressed inside a book horrifies me.
My
breathing begins to labor. And I’m sure it’s the hand of God, deflating me like
an air mattress. I think to myself that I will definitely be able to forgive
Him if only He would send my baby back to me. Like the restaurant server who
accidentally gives you the wrong plate and you say I ordered the orange roughy not the chicken. So she switches the
plate. A simple mistake. All is forgiven. The rational part of me knows that won’t
happen. But the part of me that believes in miracles, the part of me that knows
this order was meant for someone else, keeps hoping for the mistake to be
corrected.
So
I search the house for something to do, something to keep me less frightened
and less alone. I turn to the refrigerator—still a fruitless endeavor as I
cannot find the nerve to go to the supermarket with so many people and so much
emptiness inside. The linen closet, the laundry room, and my old diaries all
prove just as bare.
I’m
not sure how to calm the terror, but I know that I cannot be alone.
riveting!
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