Chapter 2
Two
Sabine
Sitting with my back against the front door, I listen to Astor’s footprints fade down the driveway.
On a long exhale, I close my eyes and drop my head in my hands.
For three months this has been going on.
Like clockwork, twice a week, on Saturdays and Wednesdays, Astor shows up at my cabin. After I ignore his knocks, he lays a letter on my doorstep and disappears, leaving me with my heart in my throat and my stomach on the floor.
At first, I was shocked that Astor knew I was alive. And also that he knew I’d left my Las Vegas apartment, and moved to Louisiana. But then I remembered he’s Astor Stone and his entire life revolves around espionage.
Every time he visits, I wonder if it will be the last. If not, I wonder when he will give up.
I wonder when I will finally give up on him.
The last three months of my life have been horrific. There’s no other word for it. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
After Astor left me bleeding out on the airport hangar floor, I dragged myself across the concrete as the building burned around me, passing by the dead bodies of Prishna and Carlos. By the time I made it outside, the first responders had arrived. After strapping me onto a gurney, they rushed me to the hospital, where I was treated for a bullet wound.
I was extremely lucky, they’d said. The bullet had gone through my lower abdomen, but miraculously didn’t enter the abdominal cavity. Instead, the bullet had lodged itself behind the pelvic bone, in the buttocks, without causing any damage or fracture. According to the doctors, it was a miracle.
It didn’t feel that way.
Once released, I went back to my Las Vegas apartment, promptly packed my belongings, and using a large chunk of my savings, purchased an isolated cabin in the one place I was certain Astor Stone would never visit. The Deep South.
I was wrong.
I’d bought a burner phone (so that he couldn’t track it), rented a U-Haul and drove myself here.
At that time, my entire being focused around one thing: to never speak to Astor Stone again. The anger and betrayal I felt was all-consuming. The hurt, devastating. But the worst part was knowing that while I had been left for dead, Astor was back with his wife, tending to her physical and emotional wounds.
I could never— would never —forget that I had been offered in exchange for her, then forgotten the moment she reemerged in his life.
I know Astor loves me. And I also know he doesn’t love her—not in the way that he loved me. But this fact doesn’t console me.
I’ve learned that, when the inevitable storm hits, being let down by the person you love the most outweighs the love you share when the waters are calm. Because that’s when we need them the most—not in the calm before the storm, but when we’re drowning. Anyone can love anyone when things go as planned. It’s in the chaos that relationships are either bonded or broken.
And Astor broke me.
It wasn’t forty-eight hours before he showed up for the first time. He sat on my doorstep for hours, calling my name, begging me to answer the door.
That night, he slept on the doormat, while I slept on the other side of the door.
The next morning, Astor tried again, for hours, to no avail. When he returned four days later, he was prepared for me not to answer.
This time he brought a letter.
Four days after that, the same thing—another letter.
For three months I sit against the door and wait until he leaves, with tears streaming down my face.
In the beginning, the letters were gut-wrenching apologies, leaving me in a puddle of tears on the floor. But, as the season has changed, so too have the letters. Today’s reads:
Dear Butterfly,
One of my favorite books is The Art of War.
One of the key principles of this book is that a war must be won before it’s begun. Decisions are made in forethought, not as a reaction to events that have already happened. It’s about selectively choosing to win, regardless of the hurdles before you, and preparing accordingly.
I will win you back, regardless of time or circumstance. I will not give up on you, or on us. I will wait for you for as long as you need. My success—our success—is predetermined and my focus is singular. You.
My reason for waking up is you.
My motivation for continuing to live is quite simply: You.
You will accept me back, Sabine. Because I am yours, and you are mine. We are written in the stars, in my heart. Tattooed on my soul.
I will not stop. I will keep showing up.
I will continue to prove to you that my love for you is eternal. Until one day—one day—you will open that damn door and allow me the opportunity to be the man you’ve always needed me to be.
You, Sabine, have my heart. Please allow me the honor of holding yours once more.
Yours now and forever.
Always waiting,
Astor