Read Online Vivienne's Guilt by Heather M. Orgeron - Free Book Online

Matilda good night. My sweet girl. My whole world. She is all I have left, and once again I am pushing her off on Cassie. But, as I feel the burn of the tears threatening to fall, I know that I am not strong enough for this right now. I have to get out before I completely break down in front of her. I can’t scare her like that. She’s seen enough of my tears. I turn back to Reid, wishing him a good night, and then carry myself on wobbly legs back to my sanctuary.
    I throw myself back onto the bed with tears streaming down my cheeks and reach for my phone. Without thinking, I open to the contacts and my finger hovers above his name. He’s always been my first response...my go-to. And, when I realize what I’ve done, it’s like losing him all over again. How can a heart already so broken continue to break? I stare at his name, crying so hard that I can barely make out the letters, and then I press my trembling finger to the screen. Abbott’s phone is dead, so it goes immediately to voicemail. I listen to his greeting over and over again . “You’ve reached Abbott Parker, and I’m unavailable at the moment, but if you leave your name and number, I’ll be sure to call you back. P.S. If this is my gorgeous wife...Vivie, I love you.” I love you too. God, I love you so much . I’m like an addict getting her fix. His voice is music to my starving ears. It sends chills down my spine and a knife right through my heart. One day, I will be able to listen to it and smile.
    But, not today. I’m not there yet.

Vivienne
    “Come on in, Vivienne, and have a seat,” Dr. Benson beckons from behind his cluttered desk. He’s an older man in his fifties or sixties with a full head of salt and pepper hair. He’s fit, very attractive for his age, and has the kindest eyes. “I’m very sorry to hear about Abbott,” he adds sincerely as I seat myself across from him in a worn armchair and inhale deeply to calm my frazzled nerves. His office smells of paper and dust—like an old library.
    I began seeing Dr. Benson a few weeks after Tillie was born. That’s when the panic attacks first started. I wasn’t sure what was happening to me. I thought that I was dying. Random spots on my body started to go numb. I was dizzy and having heart palpitations. Abbott ended up bringing me to the emergency room when I almost dropped Tillie one night. After a battery of tests was run to rule out any neurological or heart problems, I was diagnosed with postpartum. And still, after a clean bill of health, I was sure that those doctors hadn’t a clue what they were talking about. Women with postpartum hate their babies, right? I was convinced that they just couldn’t figure out what was wrong because I saw the moon and stars in my baby girl’s eyes. There was no way that she was the cause. But, at the hospital’s recommendation, I came to see Dr. Benson, and he confirmed that postpartum is not always depression and that what I had was anxiety. He put me on a daily pill for a few months, and after I was feeling better, he prescribed Xanax to take as needed.
    I look up to meet his glistening brown eyes with tear-soaked eyes of my own. “Thank you...I still can’t believe that he’s gone,” I say, already fighting back tears. “That he isn’t just on a business trip and coming back home to me.”
    “I can only imagine how hard this all is for you. I would ask how you’re doing, but I don’t really think that’s necessary,” he says, folding his slightly wrinkled hands together on the top of his desk. “Why don’t you start? Tell me what you’re feeling.”
    Dr. Benson patiently waits while I gather my composure. I really like that about him. I know it is his job, but he is so calm—never pushy. “I don’t really know where to start,” I say, and those damned tears fall anyway. “I feel like I’m losing my mind,” I choke out.
    He passes me a handful of Kleenex, and I dab at my eyes and nose. “I’m trying so hard to be normal