Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 110549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
But that was why West was always meant to have us both. Because some days, it would be all she could do to just breathe—like today. And I knew these episodes randomly hit her out of nowhere. It was a side effect of her bipolar depression, which I felt that Dr. Gresham would need to revisit with her on top of everything else.
West really needed to be on a good combination of meds to completely stabilize her moods so this would stop happening so much.
I pulled a couple of slices of pizza from the box and set it on a plate before I handed the plate to her. “One for you, one for Lincoln,” I told her. “Eat up, baby girl. You haven’t eaten anything all day. You need your strength to take care of Hope.”
She huffed. I knew she didn’t have an appetite, but she really needed to eat something. And she knew Lincoln and I wouldn’t budge on it.
“Come on, baby,” Lincoln coaxed as he nuzzled her neck. “I’m not going to eat if you don’t eat,” he told her, knowing that would get her to eat at least one slice. She hated it when we didn’t take care of ourselves. But it was a two-way street, and we knew how to play her game.
I knew Lincoln would hold true to his word as well. If she refused to eat, he would go hungry to prove his point to her.
She frowned up at him. “That’s not playing fair.”
He shrugged. “Choosing to not take care of yourself isn’t fair, either, baby,” he told her, ever the brutally honest one. “It’s not fair to me and Jessie or to Hope. It’s selfish.”
She picked up her pizza slice and took a bite out of it. He pressed a kiss to her temple. “That’s my girl,” he praised, and her eyes brightened the tiniest bit at his words, warming my own heart.
One day, those beautiful eyes would shine more than they ever dimmed. I knew it would take time, but I was determined for West to be whole again.
And I vowed that one day, she would be, no matter how long we had to push her, no matter how long it took.
West
Meghan took a seat next to me on the porch swing, both of us watching the guys play a small game of football in the front yard. Meghan’s kids were playing in the dirt a few feet away from us, and Hope was in her pack ‘n’ play in the house asleep, and the baby monitor was sitting beside me so I could hear if she needed someone.
Today was a better day—still hard, but better. Meghan had come over to spend time with me and help me with Hope, giving Lincoln and Jessie a little break.
I felt horrible. They dealt with her so much. Wasn’t I, as Hope’s mother, supposed to push aside all of my feelings and put her first?
Why the fuck couldn’t I do that? It was like sometimes, there was a damn blockage in my brain that prevented me from being a mom to Hope.
“West, come out of your head,” Meghan coaxed. I blinked and slowly turned my head to look at her. She grabbed my hand in hers and lightly squeezed it. “Talk to me.”
I sighed. “Why can’t I be a good mom?” I blurted.
She gently squeezed my hand again. “West, you’re not a bad mom. You’re still trying, despite all of the negative feelings and thoughts. That makes you an amazing mom. You love her, and every action shows that.”
“You went through worst things than I did.” I frowned. “So, why can’t I be like you?” I asked her. And she really had. Between a shitty mom, and being raped and beaten twice, she’d gone through so much. Yet, she came out on top.
“Oh, West,” she breathed. “Hun, it’s not that simple. We may be blood, West, but we both have different mental illnesses. I suffer from depression and anxiety. You have bipolar depression, something that never goes away. You just finally find a treatment plan that stabilizes it. I craved Holden so badly after losing Oliver early in my pregnancy.” She swallowed thickly. “It made it easier for me to be his mom. I was fucking ecstatic to be having him.”
Oliver was her first baby and the one she tragically lost while pregnant.
“I never wanted children,” I hoarsely admitted. “But Hope—I want her so badly. Why can’t I just get the rest of my fucked up brain on that same page?” I asked.
“That’s the horrible, tragic part of postpartum depression, West,” she told me softly.
Hope began to cry. I quickly got up and went inside, moving to her pack ‘n’ play. I lifted her up and put her head on my chest, but she only continued to scream. My heart began to thump extremely fast, and I swallowed thickly, willing myself not to panic. I’d done this before. I could do this again.