Home is Where the Sunflowers Grow

PROLOGUE

A FEW MONTHS LATER

I stand on the grass, my feet bare and my sandals dangling from my hand, a lone tear rolling down my cheek.

“I don’t know why I’m here, because you never listen to me anyway,” I say, looking at his smiling face, the large sunflower I hold in my hand partially hiding it. “But you need to know that I am mad. Mad about all those things you haven’t said to me. Mad about everything you hid and lied about. Mad that I had to learn about all of this in letters, when you could have told me in person, before all this happened.

“Did you think I would not understand? Did you believe I would not support you?” I ask, but get no answers. “Because I love you and I would have, no matter how painful it would’ve been.”

A strangled sob breaches my throat and I close my eyes. My heart is waiting for him to talk back. To explain. To apologize, anything.

He doesn’t.

The wind is picking up and the sound of my flowy baby blue dress flapping around my calves and knees is the only thing I can hear.

“But I forgive you. No matter how broken my soul is, I forgive you, and I love you.”