Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106298 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“It is to me.”
“I don’t want to talk about my father,” she replies, raising her voice again. “You know he left me!”
“And I’m right here because I’m not him.”
“You’re right. He had the courtesy of walking out without a word instead of lying to me.”
“You can push me away, but I’ll be here through the highs and the lows. I’ll be here when you finally realize I married you for love. Not a damn rental agreement or loan. I married you, Lauralee, because I’m so fucking in love with you that I can’t live life without you in it.” Shock overwhelms her, widening her eyes and causing her head to jut back on her neck. “And here’s the kicker, Shortcake.” I lean down, making sure our eyes are padlocked together, and say, “I know that’s why you married me, too. Though you do a much better job of lying to yourself than you accuse me of doing.” I step aside, giving her the room to make her own decision and go where she pleases, even if that means putting a door between us.
Tears saturate her pretty browns before she looks at the bedroom door like it’s her savior. Her feet stay in place, though her breath staggers as she looks back at me with conflict in the lines of her forehead.
I wish I wasn’t a debate to her, but I’ve lost her trust. I can only work to earn it back from here. If she gives me the chance.
I say, “I’m not going anywhere. You can push me away all you want, but I’ll still be here waiting for you to return. Hoping you do one day.”
Her lips part just enough to take in a bigger breath, but then she shakes her head. “What if it takes a lifetime?”
“I’ll wait.”
I can’t handle the silence she finds comfort in. Each passing second is a painful reminder of my misdeeds and how I ruined everything. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe I need to feel what I’ve done to make sure it never happens again. “I’m sorry.” The ache is astounding, my hand covering my chest as it splits wide open. “I was doing what I thought was right. I was making an effort to correct my mistakes. I’m sorry you have to suffer because of it, because of me. I’m sorry for not talking to you sooner.” I glance at the large envelope on the coffee table again. “I swear it’s all in there.”
Her eyes chase mine, but when they return, it’s not anger I see despite it streaming through her tone earlier. It’s disappointment, which makes it worse. This cycle is too vicious to break. I’m losing her. I can feel it.
With nowhere left to go and my own tears clouding my vision, I drop to my knees in front of her. “I don’t want to lose you. I swear on my life I was fixing this mess from the moment I found out.”
“Lowering the rent would have been a lot simpler because fixing one problem doesn’t negate the anguish you’ve put me through.” Impatience quickens her response, “It also doesn’t explain why you married me either.”
“For love,” I reply, still holding on to hope like a lifeline to save us both from drowning in the pain.
“I wasn’t asking for love. I was asking for a marriage to help with a loan to save my business.” Like a spear to the heart . . . But her breathing picks up, and she struggles to control the upset in her tone. “So much damage has been done that could have been avoided. Mistakes—”
“We weren’t a mistake.”
Turning off her emotions as fast as a faucet, her expression turns indifferent. “I’m asking for time because I’m too tired to fight with you anymore.” She releases a heavy sigh. “Please. I need time. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but I need to sort through this without the pressure of you wanting everything to be normal again. If you give me nothing else, will you give me that?”
Every fiber of my being screams to fight harder, but her own mask is fully intact and nothing I say will remove it. I’ll only cause her more pain. I’m not giving up, but it’s no longer about me. I need to do what’s best for her. So I’ll give her the time requested because she needs it.
There’s no talking her out of the decision and I shouldn’t anyway. It won’t serve either of us in the end. I bow my head in defeat and move back into the bathroom to put on my shirt. Carrying my shoes and socks in hand, I return to the living room, stopping just shy of the door. I’m so tempted to look back once more, to take her in and lock the image in my memories. I don’t because I also need to believe I’ll see her again.