Despite our short time together, everything was so much better with Erin in our lives. I started to feel like a person again, like I was whole or at least someday could be.
Jackson took it all in stride when I told him I’d ruined things with Erin as we drove away from the reception. How I’d told her about my night terrors and that sometimes I thought about dying by my own hand.
I’d never told Jackson that I was sometimes suicidal. He looked hurt, worried, but he hadn’t looked surprised. No doubt he wasn’t. He knew me better than my own parents, better than any other friends I’d had in the past.
He reassured me that none of it was my fault, that I hadn’t asked for PTSD. Somehow I would have felt better if he’d been furious, screamed at me, punched me. Jackson telling me it was okay, that
