icarian ; paige & kieran

My therapist says that I have a tendency to self-destruct. Like she would tell all of her other patients, I'm sure, if anyone else in Ten could afford a session with her. But Kieran insisted, and as much as I would like to be one of those people who can magically put themselves back together again, I knew I needed the help. I just wish I could say that had been the worst part of it. Acknowledging the problem. Like pointing at a scar could be enough to make the skin close over.

"I'm not okay. I want to be."

I've always been stubborn, though. A little too prideful. Which is the funniest part of all this — because I know my faults, and dear God, so does everyone else in this district. Selfish, and impulsive, and so quick to check out when things go wrong. A bad mother, too. And that's the one stain I can't wash off. The drinking is one thing, the way my words are cruel sometimes, how I know I'll never completely deserve the marriage I have. It's the fact that when I held my firstborn, I found a reason to shatter.

That's what I can't come back from. What I'm trying to come back from, I should say. Exhale, fingers running through long strands of red hair. "Hold it together," because I have to now. There's no other option. As easy as it would be to crawl back into that bed, and close all the curtains, I'm trying to see past myself. Past Kieran, and our family, and putting all my focus on the future I need to give them. I stand up, and smooth out my dress, and I try not think about the fact that two of my children are only just learning who I am.

More than just a name. A shadow lurking in their father's room.

And the third, well. I'm sure that one day they will tell Eden that for them, their mother was a worthless failure, a coward, a ghost that let them down again and again. I choke back a small gasp, shake my hands and think of something good. It's in the little things, Dr. Bailey tells me. It's those small moments where you grab onto yourself that count, where you don't give yourself a chance to fall apart again. But I have so many years to catch up on, and within each of them is a very valid reason to hate myself.

"Kieran, are the kids ready?" I call down the stairs, taking my time in my heels as I descend to the foyer. As much as I'm trying to be more engaged, throwing myself into every school activity and club that piques their interest, I still can't deny that everything about being a parent just comes more easily to my husband. He's a father, and that can't be questioned. And even now that I'm playing my part, he still naturally takes on more weight than he should have to carry alone. He's their hero.

I'm grateful, and a little ashamed that I can't bring myself to do the same, but I remind myself that I'm here. I'm trying, and we're healing, and he tells me every night when all the stars are out and the house is quiet that he's proud of me. He stayed, through every single reason I gave him to leave, and now it's my turn to prove that he was right. That I'm still that girl he danced with by the campfire, and that this home he made for us is still sturdy enough to hold all of our dreams inside.

"Well, don't you look sharp," I say as soon as Eden comes into my line of sight. Then Elonna runs into view, and Emerson follows, and I pause for just a moment. It's a strange, scary thing — recognizing that there will always be an unbalance between my children. That the first two will always wonder why I missed out on so much of their lives, and why their brother had been enough to make me start being a mother again. For the first time. I swallow, and put on a warm smile. "Em, you remind me so much of your dad. It's crazy."

My daughter looks up at me, and as much as I want to tell her that I see myself in every inch of her, that's the last thing I want. The more like Kieran they are, the better they're gonna have it. And that's a toxic thing to think, I know, but I'll save it for the next session. "Honey, where has Dad ran off to?" I follow the rambled directions and pointed fingers straight to my husband, tousling Emerson's hair as I walk past him. "Ah, there's the man of the hour." Packing lunches in the kitchen, wearing his best suit, haloed by the sunlight.

He can do it all.

And when I walk up to him, and wrap my arms around his neck, I thank everything that brought us together. Even as our kids giggle, and make disgusted sounds, it just makes the moment more perfect. This is mine. This house, and this love, and this family that has always meant so much to me — even if there is proof otherwise, in the things I have done, I gaze up at him and remind myself that I have so much to be thankful for. That I have never taken it for granted. Because I can't let myself be negative. That will ruin my progress.

I focus on the light all around me, and the warmth, and I close the distance with a kiss.

With all my strength, and hope, I close the distance.