Chapter Thirty-Five
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
SAVE YOU FROM ME
AbrAHAM
PRESENT
I don’t think life offers very many second chances, let alone third ones. It has not been kind to me in that respect.
I sit in my car outside of Sabrina’s house. It’s a house a rational person would choose if they were raising children. The neighborhood is quiet, the front yard is spacious, and it’s large without appearing obnoxiously so.
Although, I would likely have gone with a larger home because I lean toward obnoxious behavior.
I remain in my car, staring at the house I’ve seen in a picture, back when I hired a private investigator to find Sabrina. Back when I was too afraid to break up her family with my presence.
Back when I was a fucking coward who didn’t think I was good enough to be around her, let alone be a father to the child we’d created.
I still don’t think I’m good enough, but the moment I found out she’d filed for divorce, I couldn’t stay away. I had to see if my memory of her was so potent because we belonged together, or if I was just reliving a much easier time. A time where I wasn’t a complete piece of shit.
I glance up in time to see her front door open and she emerges, as beautiful as always. It’s still a shock to see her dark brown hair, to see the way time has shaped her, the way motherhood has filled her.
Her face is free of makeup, her hair piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing shorts and a tank top. Her feet are bare.
In another life, she’d be welcoming me home instead of inviting me inside the home she’d shared with another man. I turn the key, listening as the engine dies and I take a deep breath before I push open my car door.
“You can’t sit outside forever,” she reminds me, crossing her arms over her chest, one foot kicked out. “The neighbors will talk.”
I glance around the perfect homes surrounding hers and I shrug.
“I know, I know. You don’t give a shit.”
As I approach, I see her nose is pink, her eyes still a little watery. Her hands shake when she reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’ve been crying,” I assess, wanting to reach out and comfort her, knowing that isn’t where we are right now. “Talk to me.”
She steps aside and waits for me to cross the threshold before she speaks, shutting the door behind her.
“How am I supposed to live with myself, knowing I broke him?”
The cream walls aren’t at all what I expect, having experienced a much more vibrant version of the woman who wants me to help her through leaving her husband.
“Why did you file for divorce?” I ask her, turning to look at her, to witness the truth in her eyes as she purges her past to me.
Merda, she’s perfect. She’s everything.
“I felt like a ghost in my home. He could hear me, could acknowledge my existence. But it was like he couldn’t see me.”
I want to call him a fool. I want to promise her that I’ll always see her. To tell her that I’ve been searching for pieces of her in any woman I’ve met since the moment she left. But this isn’t the time for grand words that she likely won’t believe. And I don’t blame her.
“If the price you pay for wanting to be seen is hurting him, it seems like a fair trade. After all, you aren’t asking for much,” I reassure her, trying not to overthink the fact that we’re discussing the man who had her for so long. Who got to raise the child I never let myself know.
She nods, wrapping herself in her arms. I want to hold her, to pull her arms from her body and wrap them around my waist. To kiss her forehead before bending to taste her lips. To see her every day and try my hardest to never make her look the way she does now.
I thought that pretending I wasn’t dreaming of her was the best for everyone. And perhaps the daughter Sabrina gave birth to had a better life with a stable set of parents rather than with one who traveled the world and lacked the courage to know her.
“I feel so broken,” she whispers, her eyes on the ground. “How can I raise my girls to be strong if being strong means good people get hurt?”
“Being weak hurts people even more,” I assure her, looking her in her eyes, wishing she could see the apology in my eyes. “But all this time, I thought you were the one woman who could never be broken.”
“Is that why you handled me so carelessly?”
Her question stings and my hands itch to reach out, to smooth over her skin, to tell her that I was a fucking fool .
“That was my own shit,” I confess. “I…there are so many things I never got to tell you.” I lean my head back on the cream wall closest to me, trying to find a way to share myself with her in a way I haven’t been able to with anyone at all, ever.
But I’ll split myself open for her if it means she’ll understand the many years it took for me to get here.
“I left Italy,” I start, taking a shuddering breath, “for my studies. I was learning cinematography.”
If I let myself sink deeper into my memories, I can still remember the sound of my sister’s laughter.
“My younger sister was visiting, in awe of L.A. and the celebrity life. I was barely anybody back then, but I could manage to get us into some decent parties.” I sniff, wiping at the tears that’d formed and tracked down my face. “She wanted to go to this party—meet this fucking singer.”
I pause to laugh, a hollow sound.
“I was in the bathroom when it happened. I came out and…she was dead. They said she’d jumped from the balcony, but I never believed it. I still don’t. Dark things happen at these parties and celebrities are often above the law.”
I finally glance at Sabrina and her eyes are wide, her lips parted. I look away, shame filling me.
“I arranged for her body to be sent to my parents and I never went back.” I pause to digest the full scope of my actions before laying the last piece of the wretched past before her. “I…haven’t spoken to them since.”
“Have they tried to reach out to you?”
I nod, rubbing my hands over my face and leaving them there.
“But you know me. I’m good at being hard to reach.”
We stand there, unsure of how to move forward from this moment. So, I continue my life story, wanting to tell her everything. I heard once before that you couldn’t know where you’re going if you don’t know where you’ve been .
The possibility of Sabrina and I hinges on the idea that in order to move forward with me, she’d have to know me; understand every version of myself that I’ve ever been.
“I married my assistant once I got steady work. It made sense. She was taking care of me, anyway and I grew tired of fucking women who just wanted to be in movies.” I straighten and turn, wanting to see her as I say the next part. “Our divorce was messy. My reputation was dragged through the mud and just when I felt like I was only ever going to find momentary happiness in random lovers, I met you. I met you and that night…I was the person I would’ve been, had my life gone the way I dreamed it would. I let myself be the best version of myself, thinking I would never see you again. And when I did see you again, I was so angry. I was fucking mad that the person I wanted to be wasn’t who I was then. I wasn’t ready for you. But I decided, Stellina , I decided to be my best self for you. My untainted, free to love, self.”
She shudders out her breath and her hands find their way around her body again, like she’s holding herself together.
“And when it came time to let you go, I had to. I had to save you from me, from a life stained by my own shit.”
“When I saw you with her that day?—”
“I brought her there to see Tómas. My friend, the dean. I wanted him to see me with her, to draw his own conclusions so he wouldn’t worry about you ever again.”
I step toward her, finally feeling like this could be the right moment to touch her, too afraid to actually do it.
I still love her. It hasn’t dulled. If anything, it’s grown to fit the woman she’s become.
“And I let you think whatever you needed to so you could walk away. So, you never had to worry about my life ruining yours.”
Sabrina meets me the rest of the way, dropping her hands from her body and reaching for my face .
When she leans up to kiss me, I meet it with enthusiasm, pulling her close, wanting to never let her go.
“Tell me you’ve missed me,” she shudders out as she tucks her face into my neck.
My response is immediate.
“So much, Stellina . Too much.”