THE MORNING LIGHT COMES too soon. It filters through our curtains, bringing with it the heartache from yesterday, and reaffirms my future without Tyler. Its relentless cheeriness mocks me with glimpses of what could’ve been. A life wrapped in the security of strong—yet gentle—loving arms. The man who now owns my heart.
I didn’t plan for it to happen. I loved my husband immensely. But he misused that love—abused it—until it all fell apart. It became a fragmented mess of what it previously had been. Now as I lie in his arms, I’m wishing they were someone else’s.
Guilt weasels its way in and pulses in my head. The confusion I feel is disorienting. How do I reconcile my old feelings with the new ones that have formed? The man lying next to me is not the same man I married. Though he wants to be, I’m not sure it’s possible. He’s gone too far away from that man. He’s done horrible things. Despicable things. And I can’t let the person he shows me today distract me from the person he can be.
Should I give him the benefit of the doubt?
Should I allow my heart to come out of hiding and grant him access to its care?
I fear the repercussions would leave me unsalvageable.
“Good morning, Pixie.” Nick’s smooth voice draws me out of my thoughts.
I clear my throat of the leftover struggle and reply, “Good morning.”
He snuggles into my hair, inhaling deeply as he squeezes me tight. For so long, I’ve missed the feeling of his arms around me, but now it feels so foreign. I’ve become jaded in the presence of his touch. And it makes me sad.
Nick senses my dismal mood and asks, “What’s wrong? You’re not thinking of him, are you?” His irritation bites in his words. When he shifts up on his elbows to look me square in the face, I know I need to diffuse the situation…quickly.
“No, of course not. I chose you, remember?” His shoulders relax. His short fuse seems to be dampened by my statement, and his anger diminishes. He settles back down onto the mattress and resumes snuggling me into his side.
“I really want to make this work, Pixie. And I need your help. I can’t have you thinking about another man when you’re supposed to be mine. You know how crazy that makes me.” His hand lightly strokes my hair while his arm rests behind my head. He dips his head to kiss the top and speaks into the strands. “I need you to be devoted to me if I’m going to be able to control myself. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Is he threatening me or is he being sincere?
The hairs on my arms stand on end with nervous energy. I don’t know how to decipher his real intent anymore. His objective is no longer clear. It blurs with each mood shift, and I’m getting dizzy from the constant changes.
I hug him tighter and hope it expresses my willingness to do what he asks. My devotion has to lie with him. There’s no other option. No more people can die so that I can live the life I want. If he needs me to be his, I’ll be his. Because the violence has to stop now.