Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
I don’t want to admit it to myself, but there’s another reason I didn’t call the cops.
Evan would never hurt me. I know it in my soul.
My eyes burn and I scrub at them with the heel of my hand. I need to continue to focus on my recovery and my self-defense classes. I even sent in an application this afternoon for a ground floor position at a design firm. I’m making strides.
I’m just so…bereft.
I miss him.
There, I admitted it.
I think he really did love me.
It was in every touch, every hug, every action, the vibration of his voice. And I loved him, too. Even in the storage unit, I looked at him, at all of his lies and deceptions and I felt a crazy, untamed, singular kind of love. It teems inside of me now, too, stronger than ever. I ran away from him. I accepted his offer to never see him again. But I would do anything to have him walk into this room and overwhelm me with his affection, his touch, his kiss.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I take my car keys off the peg and drive to the storage unit. I’ve driven by a couple of times over the last two weeks, but never gone inside. Perhaps I should be scared. Perhaps it’s unwise to come here alone after dark, but the urge to be near Evan in some way is so undeniable, I’m walking into the building without a backward glance.
I recall the code he punched into the security pad for the unit because it was my birthday. My throat feels tight at the memory, but I swallow and enter the four digits, wringing my hands as the door trundles open.
Nothing.
It’s empty.
No…wait. There’s a large box pushed into the far back corner, hidden in shadows.
I advance on it quickly, like it might disappear, using the flashlight from my phone to illuminate the surface. There’s nothing distinct about it. Just a plain, cardboard box.
But when I open it, I find hundreds of light bulbs. All sizes and shapes and brands. Filling the box all the way to the brim. And there’s a note on top.
So you’ll always have light.
I go down on my knees in front of the box. The tears that have been threatening to fall for two weeks finally erupt, pouring down my cheeks in heavy torrents of grief.
When I turn the note over, I’m expecting a way to find him. There’s nothing, though. Not an address or phone number. He’s left me no way to reach him. What am I supposed to do? I made a decision after finding out he’d lied and now I have to live with it forever? There are no qualifications or second thoughts? That’s it? He just vanishes and leaves me to reel without him? I just want to see him one more time. Just one more time.
I pull my knees up against my chest, rest my head on my knees and sob.
I’m not sure how long I sit there pressed beside the box of light bulbs, aching for my husband’s arms around me, but I start to hear his voice. It comes to me in snippets of past conversations. I think of the first time we met, the first night we spent in bed together and something pops into my memory. Something I haven’t thought of since he said it.
This is where it begins, angel eyes. Listen to me. It begins here. If you ever feel lost, come right back here to the beginning and find me. I’ll always be right here.
I can feel his body moving inside me as he makes that vow.
What did he mean, though? Or was he just saying words in the heat of the moment.
No.
No, that isn’t like Evan.
He’s purposeful and organized and thoughtful.
He built an entire persona so he could make me his.
He planned. A lot. And executed.
I’m standing before I realize it, running out of the storage facility toward my car. I peel out of the parking spot and break the speed limit to get home. I fumble with my phone to get the house lights on and push through the front door, sprinting to the bedroom. I waste no time flipping over the mattress and…
I stumble backwards.
A map has been drawn on the bottom of my mattress in black marker.
On one end, a house has been drawn. On the other end, connected by a long, squiggly line is water, boats, all set to a backdrop of cliffs.
There’s a lighthouse, too. It’s the only part of the drawing with color—red.
Is Evan telling me this is where I’ll find him?
It has to be.
And it’s not lost on me that he’s chosen a beacon of light to await me, to bring me back to him, because he’s always thinking of me and my needs. In this case, my affinity for light at all times. If I needed any further proof that there is so much good in this complicated man, I’ve just gotten it, and I can’t stay away any longer. I want my husband back.