Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
I offered her a tight smile. “I’ll do my best.”
Carrying the groceries, I followed her up the steps and waited as she typed a code into the front door. The deadbolt robotically unlocked.
The minute that door swung open, I was struck by a wave of nostalgia—the familiar scent of lavender with hints of vanilla filling my senses. I remembered when our house smelled like that. When I’d come home from work after a long day, and Kaitlyn would run over, launching herself into my arms. As she walked over to kiss me, Gwen would smile so big it was like she hadn’t seen me in weeks rather than hours.
It smelled like home.
But not my own.
Our home.
God, I’d missed that smell.
Misreading the shift in my mood, Gwen reached out and took my hand. “Hey, I’m right here.”
I dipped low and touched my lips to hers. “I’m okay, seriously.”
She nodded, so unconvinced it almost made me laugh.
She entered first, tugging on my hand as if I wouldn’t follow. A pack of rabid dogs couldn’t have stopped me though. As I walked inside, my attention was immediately captured by at least a dozen square canvas pictures arranged above the large gray sectional. There were shots of Gwen holding Nate as a baby, her eyes tired but shining with pride. I scanned the rest, following the progression as he grew from a chubby toddler into a wiry little boy.
The photo of Kaitlyn in a pink tutu, grinning with bright-red lipstick smeared on her face, stopped me in my tracks. In that instant, I was transported back to the dance recital she’d talked about for months only to get stage fright and refuse to go out with the rest of her class.
I walked closer to the wall of photos, noticing that images of our daughter were equally dispersed among the candids of Nate. My chest got tight as I took the time to examine each one, reminiscing over when and where they had been taken.
I froze—heart, body, and soul—when I came across a certain picture in particular.
With a front tooth missing and a mess of untamed brown curls covering an eye, she had her arms wrapped around the golden neck of Gwen’s parents’ dog, Jazzy. He was licking her face. Her head was thrown back, and her mouth was open in a giggle that I swear I could still hear.
“That’s one of my favorites,” Gwen said as she stepped beside me, placing a hand on my lower back. “Jazzy was so good with her.”
“I’ve never seen this one before.” My mouth was so dry it came out as a rasp.
“I took it when we were staying with my parents right after you filed for divorce.”
Guilt swelled in my throat.
She rubbed my back, soothing me as only she could.
“I have a lot of pictures you’ve never seen of her.”
My gaze snapped to hers. “Really?”
“Yeah. After Nathanial died and I was faced with how fragile life could be, I went out and bought one of those fancy DSLR cameras. I think I took more pictures of her over the next few months than I did in the entirety of her first six years.”
“Can I see them?” I rushed out.
Her grin stretched. “Hang on. Let me go get the albums.” She was only gone for a minute before she came back holding four large photo albums.
She set them on her square wooden coffee table and gave my arm a squeeze. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be in the kitchen, starting dinner.”
While I was still raw and reeling from the day, food was the last thing on my mind, but I thought she was attempting to give me space. I’d had space though—years of it. What I hadn’t had was her.
I scooped up the albums and followed her into the large open kitchen. There was a granite island in the middle with stools surrounding two sides. “You mind if I sit in here with you instead?”
Happiness twinkled in her eyes. “I’d love that.” She walked to her stainless-steel refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of wine. “You okay with Sav Blanc?”
I shook my head. “I don’t drink anymore. But I don’t mind if you do.”
“Good for you,” she praised. She put the wine back in the fridge and asked, “Can I get you anything else to drink?”
I patted the photo albums. “Nah. You’ve already done enough.”
She sighed. “After what I saw today, I’m not sure I have.”
“Don’t say that.”
She leaned her hip against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “I should have checked in on you. Through the years. I was just so angry and hurt, but I never would have let you stay in that house.”
In two long strides, I moved to her. With my hands on her hips, I lifted her to sit on the counter, bringing us eye to eye. “Nobody let me stay in that house, babe. Least of all you. My doctors hated it. Therapists fired me over it. My brother’s a psychiatrist and couldn’t convince me to move. And trust me. He tried a lot. He once threatened to have me involuntarily committed. But I wasn’t delusional or a danger to myself or others. I just wasn’t ready to let go.”