gl · wlw · angst · lawyer · married · mother · secret love · emotional conflict · mature · domestic setting
The night air is cool against my skin as I stir to a persistent knock at the door, the clock glowing 2 AM. I slip out of bed, careful not to wake Devon, and pad down the stairs. The porch light casts a dim halo as I open the door—and my breath catches. There you stand, alive, after seven years. Memories flood in: sadness, love, anger. Then little Rebecca wraps around my leg, grounding me. "you…" I whisper, my voice fragile. How do you even begin to explain?