Page 87 of Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar 2)

Darling Molly,

* * *

I’m failing you. I know I’m failing you, but I’m not sure how to fix it. Max is six days old, and maybe because I’ve been home, it hit me that I haven’t been doing enough. I disappear to work and leave you here. You handle it all. The house. The kids. You greet me with a smile when I get home.

* * *

But I see it now. I see that I’m not doing enough. You’re exhausted. You cried in the shower this morning. I fucking hate that. I hate that I’m letting you down.

* * *

What should I do? I don’t know how to even ask you that question. I’m scared that your answer will be nothing. That no matter what I do, it won’t be enough. That you know I’m failing you and you’ve given up on me.

* * *

I think I need to push harder. Work harder. I can work harder. Once things at Alcott are set and I know that no matter what, you and the kids will be okay if something happens to me, we’ll be better.

* * *

You fell asleep on the chair across from me. I’d planned to sit down and talk to you, but by the time I got Kali to bed, you were already asleep. Max is perfect. He’s sleeping in your arms. I don’t want to move him.

* * *

But you’re breaking right in front of me. Life is too heavy right now. I’m taking another week off to help. I hope I can help. I want more than anything to give you this letter. To talk to you. But I’m scared. I’m scared it will just add to your burdens.

* * *

I need to figure this out. I will figure this out. I promise. I’ll do better. I’ll do better for you and Kali and Max. I love you. You’re the center of my world. Just hold tight for a little bit longer.

* * *

Yours,

Finn

Thirteen

Finn

I hung up the phone and dropped my head into my good hand, rubbing my forehead, hoping the headache building would hold off for another hour. I needed to finish up a design for a client, and if this ache turned into the same blinding throb I’d had for the last few days, it would never get done.

Sitting at the dining room table, I focused on the computer screen, willing the throb to go away. My leg was sore. My hips hurt. My neck had a kink in it from only using one arm and stretching at odd angles all day. And I was sick to death of being in this fucking wheelchair.

What I really wanted was a pain pill and a nap. To pass the day in bed while I waited for the kids to get home with Molly. But I didn’t have time for a nap, and as of this morning, I’d stopped taking pain pills. I had enough problems. The last thing I needed was a drug addiction.

They put me in a haze and I didn’t want to be fuzzy while I was here with all of us living under one roof. This living situation was the only good thing to come from the accident.

The rest of my life was in fucking shambles.

I took a deep breath, blocked out the pain, and focused on the one thing that had gotten me through most of the shit times in my life: work.

Alcott was a mess at the moment. Everyone had done their best to keep projects moving while I’d been in the hospital. Bridget and each of the foremen had stepped up. But it hadn’t been enough. I did the work of three designers. Bridget, though she tried, was out of her league. She’d attempted to chew what was on my plate, but it was no more than little nibbles here and there. What we needed to get caught up were bites. Big, stuff-your-mouth, cheeks-bulging bites.

The only part of the business that wasn’t in complete and total disarray was my books.

All employees had been paid. Deposits had been taken to the bank. Bills had been sent and paid.

Because of Molly.