Page 56 of Marc

Tears fall down my cheeks and land on my shirt as I quickly fill the trash bag with my belongings.

These might just be simple things like pillows, dishes, and placemats to most people, but to me, they symbolize my freedom from Jared.

I had to work long hours and struggle to pay bills just to make this house my home.

And in no time at all, Jared destroys my sense of peace and security.

Sometimes, I would skip dinner just so I could buy something new for my house, like a bed frame or a shower curtain.

My tears turn into sobs as I bend over and pick up a smashed picture frame containing a picture of two smiling young girls.

Marc walks over to me and rubs his hand across my back. “Is that you and your sister?”

“Yes.” My voice cracks as a ball of emotion forms in my throat. “My sister gave me this frame and picture right before she was hospitalized. She said she hoped I would remember how to let go and live life.”

Even back then, I was strict with my schedule and by the books when it came to following the rules.

This picture was one of the few things that survived my marriage and Jared’s wrecking.

How could Jared do something like this?

He was there for me every year on the anniversary of her death.

He knew how much she meant to me and how much her passing destroyed a part of me.

Did he pretend to care while he held me in his arms?

Was he pretending to care when he drove usback to the very same beach where we met every time I missed Teri?

I clench the picture against my chest and sob while Marc holds me in his arms like Jared once did.

Unlike Jared, Marc doesn’t rush me or beg me to stop crying. He lets me cope with my sadness and grief while drenching his shirt with my tears.

Marc doesn’t complain or try to move. Instead, he pulls me closer to him and wraps his arms tighter around me like a big, comforting blanket.

My head fits perfectly on his chest as he rests his head against mine. My tears become less frequent the longer I stand in his comforting embrace.

I close my eyes and listen to the beating of Marc’s heart. It’s almost the exact same rhythm as mine.

It calms and comforts me.

I inch my way closer to him, needing to feel more of him.

His hand trails up my back and rests on the back of my head for a moment before he gently runs his fingers through my strands.

“Move in.”

Marc’s voice is low and I can hardly hear him.

I take a step back and lean away to look at Marc. “Uh, what did you just say?”

Did I hear him right?

I know his voice was a light whisper, but I swear I heard him say move in.

Marc’s arms are still wrapped around my waist. He looks down at me and says, “Move in with me.”

I shake my head.

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