“Okay,” I respond softly, my voice anything but certain. And I want to ask him how he knows it’s temporary—need some kind of concrete here—but know it’s useless to ask. This is hard enough for both of us as it is, so why throw false promises in there too?

“I feel like I’m selling you out for the donations—”

“No—”

“But we need these funds,” he murmurs.

Desperately. Non-profits always need funds. I’ve been doing this way too long to know there’s never enough and always so many we can’t help.

“I won’t risk the project, Teddy.” And I know he’s having a hard time finding the right words to ask me to step down. And the fact it’s hard for him shows just how much he believes in me, and that means the world to me. “I’ll step down effective immediately.” I choke on the words as tears clog in my throat and drown out all sound momentarily, my mind trying to wrap itself around what I just said. Colton’s reaction is reflected in the tightening of his fingers on my shoulders, and I immediately shrug out of his grip, push myself up off the couch, and walk to the far side of the room. It is almost a reflex reaction to feel the need to come to terms with this on my own. Yet when I turn to look at Colton and the unwavering love in his eyes, I know I’m not alone. Know together we are a unified front.

“Ry . . .” The resigned sadness in Teddy’s voice is like pinpricks in an already gaping wound.

“No. It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m just . . . it’s okay,” I reiterate, unsure whether I’m trying to assure him or myself. I know neither of us believes it.

“Quit telling me it’s okay, Rylee, because it’s not. This is bullshit,” he swears into the phone, and I can hear how he feels in the single word that keeps coming up over and over.

“But you’re handcuffed. The boys come first,” I say, immediately hearing Colton’s earlier words said in such a different way. “They always come first, Teddy.”

“Thank you for understanding the situation I’m in.”

I nod my head, unable to speak, and then I realize he can’t see me. The problem is that I don’t understand. I want to rage and scream, tell him this is a railroad because the video does not prevent me from doing my job whatsoever and yet, the die is cast. The video is viral. My job is not mine anymore.

Holy shit. The one constant in my life for as long as I can remember is gone. Talk about going from having a sense of purpose to feeling completely lost in a matter of moments.

How can one video—a single moment in our lives—cause this gigantic ripple effect?

“I need to see the boys one last time.” It’s the only thought I can process.

“I’m sorry, Rylee, but that’s probably not a good idea right now with . . . with everything.”

“Oh.” My plans for them before I took maternity leave are now obsolete; the bond I was building with Auggie will be non-existent when I return.

If I get to return.

The thought hits me harder than anything else. With Teddy still on the line, I drop the phone and run to the bathroom where I empty the contents of my stomach into the toilet.

Within moments I feel Colton’s hands on me: one holding my hair back and the other rubbing up and down the length of my spine in silent reassurance as dry heaves hit me with violent shudders.

“I’m so sorry, Rylee. I know your job and the boys mean the world to you,” he murmurs, as I sit there with my forehead resting on the back of my hand atop the toilet seat.

The first tear slips out; the only show of emotion I allow. I can feel it slide ever so slowly down my cheek. With my eyes closed and the man I love behind me, I allow myself to consider the endless uncertainty.

Is this all about me? And if so, whoever did this just got exactly what they wanted. To devastate me. To take my heart and soul—my boys—away from me. To hand me a punishment capable of breaking me.

Taking Colton or the baby away from me would be the only thing worse they could do. And that sure as hell isn’t going to happen.

I may be down, but I’m not out.


“LET’S HOPE WE NEVER NEED it.”