Chapter 68

I sigh when I hear heels clicking behind me, expecting my mother to walk into my living room like she’s done every day for the last week, just to scold me until I showered and ate. “Saved you the hassle,” I say, refusing to get up and face her. “I showered not long ago, and I ate something sometime today. I don’t remember what, but I remember doing it, so please, just leave me be today.” I’ve been sitting here ever since I got out the shower, somehow just not having had the energy to get dressed or do anything else.

Everything in my house reminds me of Sierra — especially my soap, and it’d just been too much. I’d stood there as I remembered the times she’d get in the shower with me, and I’d soap up her body, touching her suggestively as I pretended to clean her body thoroughly. She’s giggle, until her laughter turned into moans, and then she’d breathe my name in the moments before she’d come. Knowing I’d never get the experience that again was too much to bear, and I’d walked out of the shower and sat down on the sofa with nothing but my towel on, my body still dripping wet.

“I can… I can come back another day if now isn’t a good time. I’m sorry, I should’ve called.”

I rise to my feet in a rush and turn around, certain my mind is playing tricks on me. “Sierra.”

She smiles shakily, her gaze roaming over my body as she takes in how wet my skin still is, her cheeks flushing. I stand there, frozen as her eyes follow a drop of water running down from my neck, to my chest and abs, until it disappears against my towel.

My wife walks around the sofa, and my eyes drop to the book she’s holding, the one I wrote for her. “I came to return this,” she says, looking down at it.

My heart wrenches painfully, and I swallow hard as I follow her gaze. There’s one part of the story I omitted — just one. I’d started writing it because I’d planned to propose again on our one year wedding anniversary. The last few pages were meant to be all about how I’d give her the book and I’d watch her read it, mentally documenting all her smiles and little squeals as she reads, something I’ve really come to love doing. I’d sit with her in our library, until she got to the part where she’s reading all about how I got down on one knee in our front of her, and she’d have frowned, knowing that never happened, and then she’d have gasped when I do it in real life. I’d tell her, ‘the way this story currently ends is fictional, but I want nothing more than to make it our reality. I know I don’t compare to the heroes you read about, but I will never stop trying to make your wildest dreams come true’. I had it all memorized, spent months working on what I’d say. This was supposed to become her new favorite book, our story her favorite of all. Now it’s one she doesn’t even want to hold on to.

I reach for it wordlessly, but she pulls it to her chest, keeping it out of my reach. “The ending sucked,” she tells me, and my eyes meet hers. “So I rewrote it.”

“What?”

Her hands tremble as she hands it to me, and I stare at it for a few seconds, scared of what I’ll find. I’m tempted to stretch out this moment, desperately wishing I could stay here forever, in the unknown, where I don’t have to acknowledge that we’re truly over. “Read it,” she whispers.

I reluctantly flip the book open and navigate to the last few pages, the ones I’d left blank. Underneath my last sentence, in her handwriting, it reads: this isn’t how The Story of Us ends. It’s just one arc of our lives, the first real hardship we had to overcome as a couple. We nearly failed, you and I. We failed to understand each other, failed to communicate despite the promises we made, but we’ll learn from it, won’t we? This book is proof of it, of how far you and I had come together, before we let our efforts go to waste.

So here I am, offering you an alternate ending. Our story has veered off course, but what if we just rewrite it together? I still love you, Xavier Kingston, and you’re still the only man I’ve ever wanted, the only one I’ve ever loved. That kind of love is worth fighting for, so here I am, asking you if you’re willing to be vulnerable with me, to acknowledge the pain we’ve both caused and start healing with me.

After all, ‘Happily Ever After’ isn’t a moment, it’s a choice, one we must make over and over again, every single day. It’s a commitment to each other, a promise to keep working toward happiness, to never take it for granted or forsake it in favor of our fears and insecurities. Let’s uphold our vows, Xavier. Let’s honor the promises we made. Let’s rewrite this ending, together.

“I left some space at the end,” she says, her voice breaking. “Maybe someday, we can add a few sentences.” My wife looks at me with so much hope in her eyes, and my eyes never leave hers as I put the book down and reach for her.

Her breath hitches when I thread my hand through her hair and pull her closer, my forehead dropping to hers, her arms moving around my neck. “There is nothing I won’t do to rewrite our ending,” I tell her, my voice breaking. “I love you so much, Sierra. There’s nothing I won’t do for another chance with you.”

Her hand moves up my nape, into my hair, and then her lips come crashing against mine. I groan as I pull her against me, savoring her taste, and the feel of her. I’ll never take this for granted again. I’ll never forsake her. “I’ll never let you go again,” I whisper against her lips, grateful to have her here in my arms. There’s nothing I won’t do to ensure her happiness, nothing I won’t do to make sure she turns out to be right, and this’ll be just one arc in our story, one we’ll learn from and never repeat.