Page 50 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
As I read through the documents, the scope of what they'd done became clear. The organization had committed to selling thepurse and using the proceeds to fund a paid training program for domestic abuse survivors—computer skills, job placement support, career guidance. Everything focused on helping these women rebuild their lives.
But that wasn't all. Buried in the paperwork were volunteer agreements. Both Caden and Macy had committed to donating three hours every month, helping wherever Project Place needed them most.
I paged through brochures, testimonials, sponsoring organization information. It was beyond anything I could have imagined—not just getting rid of something that had caused pain but transforming it into something that could heal others.
I was speechless. Completely blown away.
My phone pinged.
Caden: Did you open it?
I called him. "I did."
He rolled right into an explanation. "The necklace — Macy and I came up with it together. It's supposed to symbolize our love for you, to make sure you know that you are seen. That while I completely fucked everything up …" Another pause—"Felicity. Honey. I fucking love you so much. I am so sorry. Words honestly cannot describe the way I feel. I'm just so damned sorry." I could hear him crying as he spoke. I started to cry again. Damn it. I'd finally stopped and now I'm ugly crying again.
"God, Felicity. I just—I don't." He sighed. "Will you stay home today?"
"What?"
After a moment of silence. "Stay home. I'll come home. And we could just spend the day together. No phones. No work. Just you, me, and maybe we could marathon our show. Just spend it together on the couch, eating pizza, popcorn, and praline ice cream—like we used to. I know it's a lot to ask. I know you may just want to tell me to go fuck off. But I'm asking you—take a chance on me for today. Will you do that?"
I sat there for a moment—my phone on speaker, staring at the screen. I looked at his name in bright letters across the front, seeing the timer for the call ticking up. Thirteen minutes and eight seconds … nine … ten … eleven … by the time it got to twenty, I heard myself whisper, almost inaudibly, "Yes."
"Yes?" He practically shouted. "Did you say yes?"
"Yes. I'll let my boss know I won't be in. Come home. Let's spend time together and just—be."
"YES! I'm leaving now." He rushed on, "I'll be there in twenty, depending on traffic. I swear, if I could fly there I would. Don't go anywhere. I'm coming." I could hear banging of things on his desk, I'm assuming he was grabbing his bag and getting his stuff together to come home. And I found myself smiling.
He sounded like a teenager in love, not a man trying to repair a broken marriage. And somehow… I didn’t hate it.
"Okay. I'll see you soon."
"I love you, Felicity."
"I love you too, Caden." I disconnected the call. I looked across the room at the mirror while I sat on the bed. It wasn't a solution. It wasn't a fix. But it was a beginning. I still didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But I knew that today, I wanted tobelieve in this version of us—messy, mending, trying. And that was enough.
Chapter 22: Got Your Favorites
~Felicity~
Twenty-three. That's how many minutes it took before I heard the garage door opening—who was counting though? I'd been pacing between the kitchen and den, touching the locket clasped at my neck over and over. Repeatedly forcing myself to stop touching it—then touching it again. The weight of it felt strange and comforting at once—like wearing someone else's centuries-old heirloom that somehow felt made for me.
The door from the garage opened. Caden's keys hit the hall table with what felt like more force than necessary. I heard his footsteps pause in the kitchen—I could swear he was out of breath.
"Felicity?" His voice carried that same nervous energy from the phone call.
"Right here," I said as I rounded the corner. I'd jumped up from the couch, once I heard him come in. I'd thought the couch would help me look casual, but who was I kidding? My heart was hammering against my ribs and wait—was I the one who was out of breath? I forced myself to calm down. In for five, out for five.
We stood there, facing each other—him in his work clothes, me in a t-shirt and leggings. He looked disheveled in a way that was totally unfamiliar—tie loosened, hair mussed, eyes bright. He was holding a pizza box from Florina's. He must have swung by on his way home. It's been our favorite pizza place since evenbefore we got married. The sight of that box made something flutter in my chest.
"You got the pizza," I said, pointlessly stating the obvious because I didn't know what else to say.
“I stopped on the way. Got your favorite—extra basil, pepperoni, ricotta, and eggplant,” he said, setting the box on the coffee table with deliberate care.And yes, it smelled incredible.
“I may have grabbed caramel corn too—it’s in the car. I wanted to make sure you were here first.”
His vulnerability hit me square in the chest. This man was always so sure of himself, and now he looked afraid I’d vanish before the box cooled.
