12th February

Lydia still doesn't want a bar of me when she gets home from school on Wednesday afternoon. She's talking to me, small and only necessary sentences. But she's deflated and hurt and I understand it more than she knows.

I keep hoping that Josh will call and at least be honest about his plan not to come back into his daughter's life.

It's sickening, the conversation is on repeat in my head, the coldness in his voice and detachment on his face. The person I fell in love with in high school was not the person I confronted on Tuesday night.

The old Josh was so sweet and devoted. He had this kindness and gentleness to him that translated in how he loved me. It makes me wonder if I did something to change him. If I asked too much of him, if I nagged him too hard or neglected him. Perhaps there was something I'd broken in him and I just didn't want to admit that at the time.

Nathan loads the dishwasher, getting the kitchen clean before dinner. He's in sweat pants and a black Henley with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. I'm at the breakfast bar going over some notes I'm doing for Wiremu's tutoring. I have a new student coming tomorrow and then Wiremu again on Friday.

It's hard to focus though, when Nathan is wearing a couple of rings on his fingers and a few black bands tight around his wrist. His veins crawl up his sun kissed skin.

Looking down again, I read a sentence on punctuation for the fourth time. The words go out of focus as I drag my eyes back up to Nathan running dishes under the faucet.

He snatches a dish towel off the countertop and dries his hands, slowly sauntering toward me. His eyes flick up as gets closer and his lips curl into a grin, having caught me staring.

He's about to say something when Lydia appears from the hall. She's been in her bedroom colouring since she got home from school.

Marching right up to me, she slaps a piece of paper down on the work book I have open. Her hand remains spread on top of the drawing and when I look at her, she's glaring at me.

I can't stand it when she's upset with me.

Bringing my attention back to the drawing, I look at the stick figure people. Her pictures always amuse me because of the too big heads and the three long lines for fingers on tiny little arms. But when I see a momma stick figure yelling at a daddy stick figure, who appears to be sick, it's not so amusing.

Lydia's stick figure is in the corner of the page crying and I know this is her way of telling me, she's heart broken.

"Lydia," I swing on the bar stool but she runs off to her room before I can get a word in.

Nathan stands beside the breakfast bar with his shoulder leaning on the support beam. Worry wrinkles his forehead and he palms the back of his head, staring at the hall.

"You mind if I talk to her?"

His question stumps me for a second, but I give him a small nod, knowing that whatever he talks to her about, he'll handle it well. He's developed a sweet relationship with Lydia and he cares about her. Nathan gives me a quick kiss, his smile reassuring before he heads off to her bedroom.

After a moment, I slip off the stool and follow him. Creeping down the hall, my footsteps are quiet and I keep a decent distance from Lydia's door so there's no chance I'll be heard breathing or sobbing or whatever ends up happening to me while I listen to Nathan gently talking to my daughter.

"I don't know, kid, sometimes I don't have all the answers. It's hard though, huh?"

"It's sad because I haven't seen my dad in a long time," Lydia sounds sad, quiet. I lean on the wall, my hands behind me on the cold wallpaper. "What if mommy isn't telling him where I am."

Nathan's quiet for a beat, I hear his soft sigh. "You know your mom loves you, right?"

Lydia must give him a non verbal answer.

"Right," Nathan continues. "So if she loves you, wouldn't she want what's best for you? If she knows you want to see your dad, don't you think she'd do her best to make that happen?"

"Mmm," she hums. "But where is he then?"

"I don't know, kid. What I do know is that it's not her fault he's not around."

It goes quiet again, there's a scratching on paper, a marker moving fast. Lydia must be colouring.

"Can I tell you a secret, kid?"

"What is it?" Lydia asks.

"Your mom is sad about your dad not being around too. It's killing her and she hates that she can't fix it."

"Really?"

My chin starts to quiver because for the first time in a long time, it feels like someone's on my side and it means more to me than I realised it would. The strength in which these feelings hit me is startling.

Am I depending on him too much? Am I leaning on a shoulder that I shouldn't have put in this position. Nathan has told me before that he doesn't mind helping, but guilt still swells the centre of my chest and makes it hard to breathe.

"Really," Nathan confirms. "I think you two should team up, kid. Give each other hugs. You're both upset and your mom would do anything to change that."

"Maybe my dad doesn't love me now."

My heart shatters into a million pieces and I'm sure Nathan's does too. This is not the sort of conversation he should be forced to deal with.

His voice is strained when he says, "I wish I could ask him where he is and what's keeping him, but I know it's not your mom and I do know she's here and she loves you."

"I love her too," her voice is softer than earlier.

Nathan is quiet for a moment. "I— I love you too, kid. I'm glad to have you as a friend."

I crumble, I fucking crumble at his admission, his declaration to my little girl that comes at a time she needs all the love she can get. Tears spill over my cheek and I inhale a shaken breath, doing my best not to audibly sob and tip them off to my presence.

"I love you too, Nathan," Lydia shouts, sounding like a brand new child, her voice inflated with a burst of new hope. "You're kind of like a dad sometimes."

He lightly laughs, but he doesn't sound uncomfortable. He sounds like he's been given the greatest gift in the world and that gift is her, their friendship.

Before I can't contain the bubble of emotion building in my throat, I slip into my bedroom, close the door and sink to the floor, crying. Tears for the hurt that's been caused, and tears for the new hope we've been given. I'm flooded with a concoction of different feelings and none are bad. They just. . . are.

Even the pain isn't bad, it's necessary. It's part of the path I've been given no choice but to walk and I won't resist it.

I won't take the euphoria Nathan gives me without remembering the agony that brought me to him in the first place.

            Later on, the fire is going, Lydia is in her PJs and slippers and Nathan is outside chopping wood. The television is showing football and Lydia gets excited when she sees Drayton being interviewed by ESPN.

"Mommy," her tone is absent while she watches her uncle. "Can I please have a hot chocolate before dinner?"

At this point, as long as she's talking to me, I'll give her whatever she wants. Which, I know isn't necessarily top notch parenting but I don't claim to be perfect.

I go into the kitchen, slipping a finger under my glasses and rubbing my lid. I'd swapped contacts for spectacles when I'd cried earlier. "Yeah. Not too much chocolate powder. Just a little bit."

She holds her arms straight out to the side and twists from side to side, nodding. I head into the kitchen and start getting it ready and of course, Lydia bounds in to help me as soon as she realises she's not micromanaging the prep.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I tell her, pointing as I walk backward out of the kitchen, her brows are up, giving me a look as if to say, okay and? "I'll be right back. Don't touch the kettle."

"Hurry, I need to poop."

Of course she waits until someone else declares their need for the bathroom before she mentions that. As I walk up the hall, I can hear the thud of Nathan's axe outside. I peep out of the window in the back door and can see him faintly in the dark.

He picks up a log with one hand, setting it on his block and lifts the bottom of his hoodie to wipe the sweat off his face. His shoulders do a little lift, his fingers adjusting their grip on the axe and then he lifts it above his head and slams it down, splitting the log in half.

I'm practically watching the start of a super hot porn.

Before I go out there for the next part of the story, I duck into the bathroom, a little bounce in my step that I get to sneak into his room tonight.

The scream that comes a few minutes later, while I'm washing my hands, is one that no mother wants to hear, but it raises every hair on my body. Instinct and adrenaline hits me like a supernatural force and I'm in the kitchen before I even remember leaving the bathroom.

That's where I see Lydia, the kettle on the floor, her hands red and her face covered in tears while she continues screaming.

She can't even talk, her mouth open and her gasps so strong it's winding her.

I pick her up, panic coursing through me. Her pain guts me as I rush over to the sink and turn the tap on, sitting her on the edge of the bench.

Her silent screams cause me to shake, I can't even see as I turn the tap on and look at her hands. Is it both? I can't fucking tell. She holds them in front of her, sucking in a big sharp breath as I grab her wrist and guide it toward the tap.

She fights me, screaming, I can't even get it under the streamline. All of a sudden, Nathan appears beside me and snatches her up.

"Go and turn the shower on," he orders, not an ounce of panic in his voice. "Cold. Quick."

I do what he tells me, running up to the bathroom with him cradling Lydia close behind. He crouches down with her, taking her slippers off.

"Your feet get burned?" He asks and she nods, still gasping for air as her tears streamline down her face. Once he slides her socks off, which are wet, we can see the blotched patches of red on the top of her feet.

"Where else, kid?" Nathan lifts her top to check her stomach, there's a few small red patches, the size of a coin on her torso.

Nathan looks at me as he rips the shower curtain back. "Undress her, stand her in there and soak those spots in cold water for half n hour. She's going to hate it, but it's important. I'm going down to the drug store to get some burn gel and bandages. You got this?"

I nod, feeling grateful but also ashamed that I'm not handling this how I should be. Ashamed for needing him to be in charge of the situation when I should've known what to do and been able to do it without panicking. Lydia, still holding her hands limp in front of her, cries harder and harder.

"It hurts," she wails, the first words she's said this entire time.

"I'll be right back," Nathan grips my chin. "She's fine. She's hurt but she's fine. Get her in the water."

He stands up and leaves us, swinging the door closed behind him. As hard as it is, I undress Lydia down to her underwear and put her in the shower, detaching the head to run water over her burns. This might've been easier with a bath but the worst part is Lydia cowering in the corner, screaming her little lungs out at the cold water hitting her burns. I feel like a monster.

"I know," I start to sob and cold shower water splashes back at me, pin sized droplets all over my sleeve. "I know, but we need to cool the burns, baby. I'm sorry. What were you thinking pouring the kettle?"

I regret the words as soon as I've said them, now isn't the time to get on her case about the do's and don't's she's so aware of. My glasses are getting droplets all over the lenses so I slip them on to my head.

"I thought I could," she sobs, gasping again, sucking in lungfuls of air just to start screaming at me all over again.

"I know, baby, I know. Forget I said that," I soothe her as best I can, but it's useless.

There's no consoling a little girl who's just suffered a traumatic injury and then proceeds to get showered with cold water. It feels like a form of torture. I don't think I'm ever going to forget how her voice sounds right now. It's like barbed wire on my bones and skull. It's nauseating.

Nathan comes back twenty minutes later and stands outside of the bathroom with a paper bag from the drugstore. He looks at me through the gap in the door, watching me where I stand outside of the shower with the head, aiming it at Lydia's feet. I'm soaked from getting her arms earlier and getting the splash back of her flailing objection.

"How's it going?" He asks.

"Not great."

"Those areas get cooled though?"

I nod and he nods back, his jaw clenching at the sound of Lydia's screaming. He ducks his head and blows out a breath.

"I shouldn't have left her in the kitchen alone."

He shakes his head. "Don't do that, Gabrielle."

I sniff, it's hard not to blame myself. I should've known better than to think my warning would outweigh her determination.

After we've switched off the shower and I've carefully towel dried Lydia, being cautious and gentle with her burns, I put her robe on her and carry her out to the living room where Nathan is waiting on the sofa.

He looks devastated at the sight of her red feet and hands. The worst part is her little whimpers. She's not screaming now, but she's trembling and her eyes are damp with lingering tears.

I sit down and perch Lydia on my lap, Nathan slides her feet onto his thigh.

"Listen, kid," he picks the bag up off the floor and pulls bits and pieces out of it. "We have to get some gel and bandages onto those burns or it could end up bad. It might hurt a little. But we got this. You're the bravest kid I've ever met. You're gonna handle this like a champion, right?"

Lydia has her head resting on my chest and gives him a little shrug. I don't think I've ever seen Nathan look so broken. He's never seen her like this before, defeated, in immense pain, devoid of her usual energy.

"This gel is going to help with that hot pain," he tells her, unscrewing the lid and then we'll put some bandages on to keep them safe from bumping things and I think you might have a little time off school."

Shit, I don't know how I'm going to work. Perhaps Linn will let me take her. She can watch television while I clean, I'm sure it won't be a big deal.

Lydia finally nods, curling even further into me when Nathan starts putting the gel on her feet. He's so gentle, careful, considerate of when she needs him to stop for a break. Once he's done, he bandages her feet and hands. Her stomach has a little gel on it but the burns aren't as bad as her feet and hands.

That must've been where most of the water went. I give her some pain relief and set her up on the sofa with a movie. Lasagne was cooking in the oven, but we offer to get Lydia whatever she wants, which is sushi, of course. I go out and get it, needing the private time in the car to cry with overwhelming guilt.

If Nathan wasn't there, how much worse could that have been? I feel like a fucking failure and it's brutal.

When I come home, Nathan is brushing Lydia's hair while she sips on water through a straw. I stand beside the door, watching him sit behind her, brushing slow while she giggles at her movie. It's a small giggle, barely audible but it's still a relief.

Nathan turns around, looking at me over his shoulder, his mouth tilts up. "She wanted to feel relaxed while she heals."

His tone is amused, like he thinks her request is cute and while it is, the fact that he's sitting there doing it because she asked, it overwhelms me.

I walk over to the breakfast bar and put the sushi down. "Nathan, can you come here for a second."

I feel like I'm going to shatter into a thousand pieces as I walk up the corridor, his footsteps behind me a few moments later. When I get into my bedroom and turn around, his dark thick lashes blinking with confusion, I soak him in and feel breathless.

"I love you."

That's it, the words are out and I crumble at the relief, a sob hitching my breath as his lips part. I didn't want to tell him that. I wanted to keep that to myself, I wanted to wait for a long time, I wanted to be sure we had a future before I went and vomited the truth all over him. 

But I couldn't wait because when I look at him, all I see is the person I want to be the other half of me. And how am I supposed to pretend that he isn't the end. The end of where I begin, the end of loneliness, the end of all the what if's I've ever asked.

He and I aren't just a beginning, we're the all of the chapters, the good ones, the bad, the prologue and the epilogue. I want him on every page for the rest of my life.

He steps closer to me, his breath quickening. "You beat me to it," his voice catches. "I had all these big ideas, big declarations. You beat me to it."

"Nathan, I love you."

He closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around me so tight, I'm crushed and I hope this is the only sort of pain I ever have to feel again. "I love you, Gabrielle," he whispers, his mouth hovering beside my ear. "You have no idea how much I love you."