Chapter Twenty-Four
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Melanie
A s I gradually drift wake up, a distinct feeling sweeps over me; being watched. I squint an eye open to find Weston, my husband, staring at me with an intensity that sends warmth flooding through my veins. His face is softened by the morning light, yet the dark circles under his eyes and the marks of passion peppered along his neck are remnants of last night's unrestrained desire between us. The familiar soreness of my body as I stretch feels like a badge of honor; a testament to what we shared, what I've yearned for, what I'm finding all over again, with him.
He's propped up on one elbow, looking at me in a way that makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. "Morning," he rumbles, his voice velvet deep with remnants of sleep, sending tremors down my spine. It's a voice I never knew before, one matured and weathered by time, a voice entwined with the silent promise of whispered secrets and midnight confessions. Back when we were just kids wearing wedding bands, his voice hadn't yet found its depth. Now, as I trace the ink that sprawls over his skin, I see the man time crafted in my absence, more interesting and raw.
"Good morning," I reply, the words catching like something spicy at the back of my throat. "Thank you for last night."
His laugh barks out, rich and rough, echoing the same gratitude I feel. "No, thank you. It's been a while." His bashful smirk puts goosebumps along my arms.
For me too, I think, but the words get lost somewhere between thought and breath, wrapped in the quiet understanding that unfolds between us.
He rolls to his back, fingers raking through his hair. There's a heaviness surrounding him that I desperately want to get rid of. "I hate to sound like a broken record, but we gotta talk now."
"I know," I nod, my agreement silent but firm. "And I fully plan on it. But can we get dressed first?"
Once dressed, we're nestled back into the bed, his arms enveloping me, a fortification against the ghosts of our shared past. His presence is a balm, a promise that maybe, just maybe, wounds could slowly weave themselves into scars and fade.
“When…” I begin, trying to steady the jumble of emotions swirling inside. Licking my lips, I try again. "Leading up to us getting married, I had been sick. I think you knew. I was having dizzy spells and losing weight. It was like I could never get full. Remember?"
"Yeah." His fingers trace soothing patterns on my arm, a tender connection that encourages the truth that needs to come forth. "You told me it was a growth spurt and hormonal things."
"I did," I admit softly, regret mingling with vulnerability. "But I didn't tell you that I was diagnosed with diabetes and... there were complications."
His breath hitches slightly, tightening his hold around me, a silent plea for courage to step into the light of hurtful truths.
"When I was diagnosed, I assumed it was just something to manage, a lifestyle change," I continue, voice trembling under the weight of the memories. "But the tests showed co-morbidities, my kidneys were affected."
His grip tightens, grounding both of us as the sting of memories resurfaces. Beneath his quiet strength, there's a shared fear of what is yet to be said. His eyes are shadowed, as if he knows there are worse things I haven't disclosed yet.
"The day I found out it was not recommended for me to have children, I left." My voice cracks around the admission, a raw cut you've long tried to ignore, getting salt in it and stinging like a son of a bitch. "I just... I ran because my parents were assholes about the whole thing, and made my think you might be, too."
The mention of them draws a palpable tension in his muscles; his jaw sets tighter against my shoulder. A visceral reaction that resonates with my own long-standing resentment.
"They opposed... everything," my voice is thick and I let a few tears drop to my cheeks. "They didn't see you the way I did, never could comprehend the depth of my love for you, and they definitely never missed an opportunity to make life harder for me."
His murmured curse is a low rumble against my skin, indicative of restrained anger, an instinct to fuck up whatever or whoever hurt me. He's always been like this, and I had wanted him to do the same on that day. But the fear I faced was too much.
"Somehow, they got hold of my medical details," I reveal, remembering the bitter taste of betrayal. "They approached me, asking how I'd survive, if I'd expect them to bankroll a kidney transplant... if I failed to give you children. They assumed I would come to them for help, because they thought I wouldn't be able to hold onto you." I swallow roughly.
Every word scraped from my lips re-opens wounds I hoped were healing, the acrid sting of salt ash over old scars. My mother, her steel-cold voice asking, 'How would you feel if you couldn't have kids?' still echoes through time.
With each secret I reveal, his hold tightens, drawing me closer as if protecting present-day me from the decisions past-me made.
"We had dreams," I remind him softly, an echo of everything we lost. "Getting married, raising kids. I was so young, confused, terrified. They painted me as less, a woman less, unworthy of love, and I believed them..."
All the denials I internalized spill out in a cathartic stream, overwhelming but essential. Weston listens, absorbing each word without flinching, just anchoring me now in the here and now.
"I felt like a failure," I whisper, more tears slipping down my cheeks. "As if I'd hurt you less by leaving than by asking you to stand by me with such a burden."
His silence is an eloquent testament to his shock, him, a man who embodies action, head resting against mine as if drawing strength.
"And when months later, when that suffocating fog lifted,I realized you'd love me no matter what... It felt too late to mend what I broke."
I sigh, laying myself bare before him isn't easy. I knew it wouldn't be and it's one of the reasons I've put off telling him. The relief I feel after finally revealing this to him allows me to take a deep breath again. It gives me hope - something I hadn't dared to have before now.
"I'm sorry isn't enough,I know that. But telling you this now...as terrifying as it still feels, is the truest thing I've ever done since walking away."
"Why did you come back?" he asks gently, his chin resting heavily against my shoulder.
"Because running solved nothing," I confess, voice a quiet vow. "I missed you. Every day. Love didn't fade, I found myself wondering what you were doing. What your life was like. Then I decided that I was missing out on the best years of my life, and joined a dating site," I swallow roughly. "I met a man, and while everything seemed to be on the up and up, he wasn't you. In the end, I found out that he was planted by my parents. At that point, I knew I needed to come back. My heart was only halfway in it, and I was comparing him to you. I knew I always would," I admit.
Fear and relief settles around us, a shared understanding that finding each other again is both an end and a beginning. He's vibrating with barely held together feelings, holding me like his lifeline.
"It's gonna take a bit, Mel, I've loved you my entire life, but trust... that's not so easy," he admits, his voice rough, as if it's pulled from his throat by a wrecker.
"I know," I reply softly, intertwining my fingers with his, hoping that the connection will keep us grounded. "If we love each other, we'll figure it out... together."
"We can," he agrees, "But you have to be honest from here on out, we can't fight if we're not on the same page."
"Agreed," I promise him, reminding myself that I could've prevented this had I been brave enough to come forward. "I promise, Weston, always."
"Okay," he assents, his tone full of gentleness and resolve. "Let me give you something, something I kept. I tried to throw it away more than once, even did. But then I went back and got it. "
He's up and away as I watch him stride to the dresser, pulling out a small, familiar box. I hold my breath as he approaches and kneels beside the bed, revealing our rings, the light reflecting off the gold, engagement and wedding. The two rings he bought me before we got married in Gatlinburg.
"You kept these?" I murmur, surprised, yet knowing the type of man he is. The one he's always been.
And I gesture to a delicate chain around my neck, where I've kept his high school ring. We don't slip them on each other, not yet. But I know that we're heading that way, and I'm gratefully looking forward to the future. For the first time in a long time.