Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
She chuckles softly. “Twice the help around the house, too.”
“That’s true.”
Her smile fades before she asks, “What about the other things we’ve discussed? This darkness you’ve mentioned—is that something you’re sure you can handle? Because—and this is my role as your therapist to remind you—you’re leaving behind everything you’ve ever known and moving to a new state with these two. A pair of men whose darkness has frightened you in the past. Are you sure you’re secure in this?”
Part of me wishes I hadn’t been quite so honest with her, but it’s really not my problem whether or not she believes me. All I can do is tell the truth.
“Yes, definitely. It’s not going to happen overnight, but they’re both learning to control it. They were just as affected by their life in that house as I was—only they had years and years of it.”
“It could be they would both benefit from therapy. Maybe you should suggest it to them. It’ll be a lot easier than trying to do it all on their own.”
It’s not a bad idea, and if I thought they would listen, I would suggest it. Maybe I’ll ask them to do it for me, since they would never come up with the idea otherwise. It’s fine to encourage me to get help, but for them? They’ve come a long way on a lot of things, but there’s still a long way to go. “What’s most important to me, though, is that they know I love them no matter what.”
“Both of them? You can say that now?”
“Yes.” That one I don’t need to explain. I know it’s true. I just needed to give myself permission to say it. I had to remember it doesn’t matter what the world thinks. The world doesn’t come home with us. The world isn’t in our bed or our kitchen in the morning. The world doesn’t know how they make me laugh. How safe I feel when I’m with them. Safe to be me.
“I wish you the best of luck, Leni.” Before I leave the office for the last time, she places her hands on my shoulders and holds me in place in front of her. “It’s time for you to rewrite your story. You’re strong enough. You have the tools you need. Now use them.”
“I will. Thank you.”
I carry her kind words in my heart as I leave the building, stopping for a second to let the last of today’s sunlight warm my face. A deep breath of fresh air fills me with hope.
And a light tapping of a horn makes me smile. Always so impatient, both of them.
Jogging across the street, I shake my head the whole way. “What, did you think I forgot you were here?” I ask Colt, leaning over to kiss his cheek while Nix snickers from the backseat.
“I told him you were, like, having a girl moment or something.” When I stick my tongue out, he laughs. “I was waiting for you to close your eyes and spin in a circle with your arms stretched out.”
“Maybe that’s what I would have done if I wasn’t interrupted.” After nudging Colt with my elbow, I buckle in, and he pulls out onto the street. This is another area I won’t be sorry to never see again. I don’t ever want to look at the place where Dennis drugged me. That’s in the past.
Like Dr. Miller said, I’m writing a new story now—one that involves packing boxes and tape and conversations about downsizing and decluttering and how there’s no way two people should have so much stuff. Wrapping every plate and glass, asking myself if we can just leave everything in the apartment and buy new things after we move. Somehow, it all got done without more than a few arguments.
But there’s one more thing I have to do before we leave tomorrow.
My heart gets a little heavier the closer we come to the cemetery. I know Mom isn’t here—not really. Her spirit is all around me. If I want to talk to her, all I have to do is talk. It doesn’t matter where I am.
But there’s still something sad and emotional about leaving the place where she’s buried. We are the only people who will know who she was. That she was a person. That she existed, and she was real. That she had a hard life with a lot of rough breaks. That, she honestly thought, at least in the final months of her life, she had finally made it. That all of her worries were over.
She never knew, until it was too late, exactly what she had found in James. That new beginning was what led to her ending.
For years to come, people will walk past her headstone and know nothing about the woman the words etched in marble represent. I hate the thought, but I guess that’s what happens to all of us. Just another part of life.