Page 139 of Before Dawn

“I’ve tried so many times to think of a new way to say it, and it’s still I love you.”

~ Zelda Fitzgerald

The weeks blurred—work, therapy, home, repeat.Some mornings, just getting up felt like a battle. The weight of everything sat heavy on my chest, my body trembling as I walked toward the door. Then came the pain—sharp, persistent. My endometriosis flared again, each cramp stealing my breath, draining my energy. The exhaustion, the discomfort, the tangled mess in my head—it all made everything harder.

But therapy helped.Slowly.

“You’re holding yourself to a past that isn’t yours anymore,” Dr. Green had said, voice gentle but firm. “His anger isn’t what hurt you. It’s the echo of what came before.”

Istared at my hands, gripping them tight in my lap.

“How do I… move on ?”

“By reminding yourself that you are safe. By letting yourself see him for who he is, not who your fear says he might become.”

And he was there.Always.

Mornings, parked on the curb, silent but steady. No words, just the soft click of the car door as he drove me to work. Even when I knew he should’ve been in a meeting. Even when he should’ve been running his empire. He still chose to be here.

One afternoon, I walked into the bookstore and found him waiting—a slice of chocolate cake and a Chipotle bowl on the table. No expectations. Just a quiet offering of comfort.

The next morning, I woke up aching, body heavy with pain. But on the kitchen table, a bouquet of primroses waited for me, along with a note:

You’re gonna be okay, baby.

I stared at it for minutes, my vision blurring, my fingers tracing the ink like it could hold me together.

After work, he showed up with barbecue ribs, sat beside me, and held my hand. Didn’t fill the silence with words. Didn’t need to.

Some nights, when I couldn’t sleep, I’d hear faint rustling outside my bedroom door. I never opened it, but I knew he was there. Close enough to catch me if I shattered, far enough to let me come back to him on my own.

And then, one night, I stepped out of the bookstore, drained and distant. And there he was—hoodie, street light glowing behind him, a smoothie in his hand.

Before I could say a word, his fingers softly brushed mine.

“Take all the time you need,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And I believed him.

He never went anywhere.

When I was too exhausted to make dinner, food appeared—my favorites, still warm. When my body ached too much to move, the heatingpad was already plugged in. When my anxiety crept in, my phone would vibrate:

Breathe, baby.

I’m here with you.

I’ve got you.

He should’ve been at board meetings, press conferences, expanding his empire. Instead, he was outside my door. Choosing me.

We sat together, talking about nothing whileBeauty and the Beastplayed in the background. And as the weeks passed, the safety I thought I’d lost slowly returned.

One night, I finally reached for his hand first.

His breath hitched, just slightly, before his fingers closed around mine.

His voice was quiet, reverent. “I missed you,mi reina.65”

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