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It wasn’t fair.
It wasn’t fair that I was so damn crazy about him that it hurt.
It wasn’t fair that he’d proposed, and I’d basically said no.
None of this was fair.
As I ran deeper and deeper into the woods, I found myself growing tired and out of breath – two things I wasn’t used to feeling.
I ran until I reached a little clearing I knew about that had a tiny waterfall there, and when I reached it, I jumped into the water – polar bear form and all – and I swam deep into the pool of water.
Polar bears loved swimming, and I was no exception to this. I loved feeling the water rush over me. I loved just sinking beneath the surface of the ocean, of lakes, of ponds. I loved everything about water.
And I loved everything about Salem.
When I emerged from the water, I sprawled out on the grass beside the little swimming hole and just stared up at the sky. I thought about shifting back to my human form, but I just didn’t have the energy.
If someone happened to be hiking through the woods and came across a polar bear lying on its back staring at the sky, they’d probably think it was some sort of apocalypse and run away freaked out.
It wasn’t an apocalypse, and I was pretty sure I didn’t have polar bear depression, but I was exhausted.
And I was tired.
I felt like I’d been running from my pain for so long. I’d been hurting. There was a part of me that felt like all of the things I’d done – college, law school, becoming an attorney – had taken up so much of my time and energy because I’d let them. And if I was being honest, it was easy for me to do that because I didn’t want to let myself have any down time to feel pain.
I didn’t want to let myself have any time where I was going to feel sad or alone or uncomfortable.
I didn’t want to let myself think about Salem or our baby.
Only now, I was thinking about it.
I was thinking about the fact that there were complications with the miscarriage.
I was thinking about the fact that Salem had held my hand every step of the way.
I was thinking about the fact that he stayed with me even after the hysterectomy to save my life.
And I was thinking about the fact that I would never be able to give him a baby.
If we stayed together, I would not be getting a second chance at motherhood. There would be no child. There would be no little Salem running around the cottage.
Was that something he’d be able to live with?
Was it something I would?
I knew that shifters could adopt. I understood that. My own feelings surrounding adoption were complex and painful, though. I’d been adopted, and I loved my adoptive mom more than just about anything in the world, but I also missed my birth parents. I missed being able to have a life with them. And I missed the safety I had felt as a little kid before I’d been ripped away from them.
The world suddenly felt heavy, and I realized that I’d been lying by the pool for longer than I’d planned on. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but I needed to get back to Salem. The poor dragon hadn’t been able to come with me in the woods, but he’d seemed to be okay with that. He hadn’t tried to follow after me in his human form.
He hadn’t done anything like that, and I really appreciated that.
He hadn’t been clingy.
He’d just...
He’d given me space.
When I finally trekked back to where Salem was waiting, he was in the same spot I’d left him. Despite the fact that I knew a lot of time had passed, he hadn’t left. He hadn’t fallen asleep. He hadn’t panicked.
He’d just waited.
Shifting back, I knelt in front of him and placed my hands on either side of his dragon face.
“I love you,” I whispered. I took a deep breath. “I love you so much, Salem. I just don’t think I’m good enough for you.”