Page 37 of Shattered Choices

I look through the window where the sun has started to rise. I turn and look to the other side of the bed. Is there a dip? It looks like someone was sitting there.

My eyes drift to the pillow on the other side of the bed, and there it is, a rose and a note.

He was here, like always. Now I’m sure he was watching me sleep. I take the rose and the note from the pillow and place them in my lap before I take the pillow and bury my nose inside it and inhale.

Salvatore was here.

He slept on this pillow. I smile into it, hugging it as I inhale his spicy scent.

Is this what he’s been doing the whole time? Watching me sleep? Leaving before I wake up and leaving the rose and note on the pillow for me to find.

I exhale and lie back, taking the pillow in one hand and the rose and the note in the other.

I lie on my side with my head on the pillow with Salvatore’s scent and read the note for today.

I want you to sleep in my arms again.

I want to inhale your scent before I fall asleep.

I want to inhale your scent when I wake up.

Love, Salvatore.

P.S.

By now, you should have guessed that I sneak into your room every night.

The question is, why aren’t you doing anything about it?

I inhale his scent one more time before I go back to sleep, hugging the pillow and the note, thinking about his question.

The days have become too long; I keep looking at my watch for when the day will be over so I can go back home, eat my dinner, and get ready for bed.

For the past week, all I wanted was to go to sleep, even if I wasn’t tired, just so I could wake up the next day and find a rose and a note from Salvatore.

I never told anyone. It’s a guilty pleasure, and I’m keeping it to myself.

My thoughts spiral every day. How long is he willing to keep this going, asking for my forgiveness? Am I ready to forgive him? Do I want that? What happens if I do?

All these questions are overwhelming me, and I ignore them and fall into the bliss of the notes that keep showing on my pillow.

At night, I can feel his eyes on me, but I let dreams take me and keep sleeping in the bliss of knowing Salvatore is watching me. Knowing he is suffering.

But what do I want?

I miss being with him. I miss his touch. As I think about him, I’m realizing I don’t know much about him as a person. I don’t know his favorite color, or the music he listens to.

Our marriage started as a deal, turned into lust, turned into love. I saw pieces of him. Ones no one else has. But that is all I got from him. I have a lot to learn about him, and I know these small notes are helping me because men like him don’t show how fragile they are to anyone.

And him showing it to me has to mean something.

I just need to find out what that means to me. Can I move on and forgive him?

sixteen

Salvatore

I unlock the door of the basement with the key Domenico gave me. Like all those nights before, I sneak toward Isabella’s room. I clutch the key in my hand, grateful for the support I have from Isabella’s father. I questioned his decision, contemplated the ulterior motive of this. Every time I walk through this door, I expect someone to catch me, and I’ll end up being beaten again or dead.

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