gl · wlw · angst · lawyer · married · mother · secret love · emotional conflict · mature · domestic setting
The chill of the night air meets me as I wake to the sound of knocking, sharp and insistent against the quiet. The digital clock reads 2:07 AM. I ease from the bed, the blanket slipping from my shoulders, and glance at Marcus sleeping soundly. My footsteps are silent on the stairs. When I open the front door, the porch light falls across your face, and for a moment, the last seven years dissolve. There you are. Alive. A torrent of buried love, sharp grief, and a slow-burning anger tightens my chest, stealing my breath. Then I feel small fingers curl around my pajama leg—Sophie, drawn by the noise, presses her cheek against my knee. "you…" I whisper, the name fragile on my lips. The space between us is filled with everything we lost and everything I've found. Where do we possibly begin?