Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
It never became the place where my sister and I created all the family memories. And I don’t know if that’s a fair feeling or not, but it’s mine. It was as though Mom were somehow enshrined… and existed in her shadow. And I hate how much that grieves me. How it rips my heart into two. Because I would have given anything to just stay in my pumpkin-smelling home with my parents.
“I hate how ungrateful that makes me sound,” I admit. “I feel very guilty about it, but that’s the truth.”
“There’s nothing wrong with the way you feel. You were a kid, Mira. This is going to be complicated.”
You can say that again.
Hartley crosses the kitchen and pulls me into his arms, nuzzling me under his chin. He kisses my forehead as tears stream down my cheeks. He says nothing, but he doesn’t have to. His touch says it all.
“After they were gone,” I say softly, swaying back and forth against him, “I couldn’t fill that hole they left behind. I couldn’t just accept this new world, no matter how grateful I was. It felt disrespectful, and I remember sitting in my room at Lolly’s, wondering how everyone could just move on so easily. Then I got bitter about it.” I look up into his eyes. “Then I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid of never feeling like I truly belonged anywhere.” My heart wobbles. “Scared that if I ever loved anyone—like I loved someone enough to need them—I’d lose them and have to survive that kind of pain all over again.”
He leads me into the living room, sitting on the couch and pulling me onto his lap. We don’t speak for a while. I don’t know if he’s processing what I’m saying or giving me the space to work it out myself. But admitting this to him—saying it out loud and not having the world cave in on me—feels like a weight has been rolled off my shoulders. The tears keep coming as if they were stored under the weight, and now that it’s gone, the pool can empty.
“You know that I’m always here for you, right?” he asks, stroking my back. “I always have been, and I always will be.”
I nod against his chest.
“Everyone processes grief differently, Mira. You ran from it, and I planted myself square in the middle of it. Neither is right nor wrong.”
“How did you heal, though?” I ask.
“It’s a choice you make every day. Are you going to let yourself get fucked up today? Or are you going to make the best of it and try to have a good life?”
That makes sense, and it sounds so simple. It’s not. It’s not that easy—at least, not for me.
“How did you become someone who can love so easily?” I ask. “Doesn’t it scare you to be that vulnerable? To know you could end up feeling the same debilitating pain that we’ve already survived?”
I sit up and pull back so I can see his eyes.
“Of course, it does,” he says with a shrug. “But what’s the alternative?” He brushes a strand of hair from my face. “If you want to love someone the way they deserve, you have to hand them every part of you. And yes, that means giving them the power to hurt you, whether intentionally or not.”
“That’s a big ask.”
His thumb traces my cheek. “Not for me. I’d rather risk the pain of losing you someday than spend the rest of my life wondering what it would’ve been like to love you.” He grins. “Because I’ve been in love with you my whole life. Getting to love you is a whole different thing.”
My breath catches as a new wave of tears stains my cheeks.
“Because there’s pain in that choice too,” he says softly. “You just have to decide which pain is worth living with.”
I face him with one knee on either side of him. With his face in my hands, I press a kiss to the center of his lips.
God, I love this man.
And I’m so lucky to be loved by this man.
The realization settles over me with equal parts terror and wonder. I want to tell him that. I know he wants to hear it. Even more, he deserves to hear it—to know that he’s the best thing to ever happen to me.
But, if I tell him now, he’ll think I’m only saying it because I’m emotional—that I’m caught up in the moment and let those three little words go.
He was patient enough to wait for me all these years. I can be patient enough to find the perfect way to tell him how I feel … and that twelve months isn’t going to cut it. I’m not sure twelve lifetimes would even be enough. Spending the rest of my life loving a man, and hopefully our children, sounds like a great way to spend eternity to me.