The day I knew I loved her. Was too afraid to acknowledge it then, to realize what it all meant. The gravity of it.
“I love the rain.”
“Why’s that, darlin’?”
“Love the way it makes me feel.”
“Wet?”
She giggled, elbowing me. “No.”
“Then what?”
“I love when everything goes still, and the air smells new. When the light starts to change and, if you’re lucky, a rainbow stretches across the sky like a quiet little promise. A reminder that something beautiful always shows up after the worst of it.”
I stare into the dark, hoping to feel what she felt. Hoping for that promise.
But all I see is her.
All I feel is her.
And when my tears get lost in the rain streaking down my cheeks, the only person I want to kiss them away is her.
Chapter Fifty One
Warning: Trauma May Cause Regret and Other Side Effects
The silence is the worst part.
Not the cold floors, or the drafty windows, or even the shower that wheezes and gasps like an asthmatic dragon just to get lukewarm.
No.
The quiet is what gets me.
For a while, this place felt like a little country sanctuary. Old, but mine. A place I’d carved out of the chaos I dove into headfirst.
I learned the quirks of it like muscle memory—the way the light switches are reversed in the hallway, the constant buzz of the old fridge, how the second drawer in the kitchen sticks if you pull too hard. Learned how to make the shitty oven work in my favor.
Now, it just feels empty and cold.
And not because I left my favorite blanket back…there.
I’m wrapped in the same cardigan I’ve been wearing for three days, half a sleeve tucked under my cheek, the rest balled up in my lap. There’s a crusted-over bowl of soup I never touched on the floor, and the TV is playing reruns I’ve seen a hundred times but couldn’t describe to anyone if they asked.
I haven’t been able to eat. Not really. I tried toast from bread I’d made a while back, frozen and thawed yesterday and ended up gagging over the sink, a migraine splitting my skull wide open.
Food tastes like nothing. Coffee tastes like nothing. Everything tastes like nothing.
I feel like nothing.
I miss him.
God, I miss him.
His hands. His voice. The way he looks at me like I matter more than the air in his lungs.
But more than anything—I miss her.
