Crossing boundaries

48.

Freen's PoV

When I came home from work, I could already sense something different in the air. Becky's excitement was palpable, practically radiating from her as she bounced around the apartment. The moment she saw me, her face lit up with a smile so wide it could have brightened even the darkest of days.

"I got the job!" she announced, her eyes sparkling with pure joy.

Hearing those words filled me with a deep sense of pride and relief. I had no doubts that Becky would get it, but seeing her so happy made my heart swell with affection. She deserved this, deserved to have something to focus on, something that gave her a sense of purpose outside of just caring for me.

As we sat down together to eat, we talked about how we would manage our new routines. Becky suggested that we split the household chores evenly so that we could both get to work on time and still have some time left over to relax together in the evenings. It made perfect sense, and I agreed wholeheartedly.

"I'll keep the keys," Becky said with a grin, her voice filled with newfound confidence. "Since I'll be coming home earlier, I'll get started on dinner. I've got the cooking part covered since you're... well, you know..."

I chuckled, knowing exactly what she was hinting at. My cooking skills were, to put it mildly, lacking. "Yeah, I'll stick to cleaning and laundry, and maybe I'll take on the job of loving you more," I teased, leaning in to kiss her gently on the cheek.

Days turned into weeks, and we quickly fell into a comfortable routine. Mornings were a blur of quick breakfasts and shared smiles as we both rushed out the door, eager to take on the day. Evenings were a mix of quiet conversations, stolen kisses, and laughter that filled the small apartment, making it feel like home.

But despite the contentment that our new life brought, I couldn't shake the emptiness gnawing at my heart. I missed my mom. Terribly. The void she left behind was something I couldn't quite fill, no matter how hard I tried. Becky had become my world, my everything, but there were moments when the memories of my mom would creep in, and I'd feel that familiar ache deep inside.

I never told Becky about it. How could I? She was so happy, so full of life, and I didn't want to burden her with my unresolved grief. So, I kept it inside, locking it away where it couldn't taint the happiness we were building together. Every time I felt that pang of longing, I would bury it beneath a smile, a laugh, or a kiss. I told myself that the past was the past, and what mattered was the present—was Becky.

When we got our first salaries, it felt like a milestone. We celebrated with a modest dinner at home, just the two of us, and Becky was so proud of us. We had worked hard, and now we were reaping the rewards. But as I watched her smile and laugh, I couldn't help but feel that something was missing. I wanted to share this moment with my mom, to tell her how far I'd come, how happy I was. But she wasn't here, and that absence lingered in the back of my mind, a shadow that refused to disappear.

We weren't physical yet, not in the way couples usually are. But we had our moments—gentle kisses, tender touches, and those quiet exchanges that said more than words ever could. Every time I held her hand or kissed her forehead, I felt a sense of belonging, of rightness. But there was also a part of me that was terrified—terrified of losing her, of not being able to love her the way she deserved because of the pain I carried inside.

One night, after a particularly long day, I found myself lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Becky was already asleep beside me, her breathing soft and steady. I turned to look at her, feeling the familiar warmth spread through me. She was everything I could have ever wanted, and yet, I couldn't bring myself to let go of the past fully.

I reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. She stirred slightly but didn't wake up. I leaned in and kissed her softly on the forehead, whispering, "I love you, Becky."

But as I pulled back, I felt the tears well up in my eyes. I missed my mom so much it hurt. I missed her voice, her hugs, her comforting presence that always made everything better. And as much as I loved Becky, there was a part of me that still felt incomplete, like a puzzle missing its final piece.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to focus on the present, on Becky. I had to be strong for her, had to keep going for both of us. But as I lay there, holding her close, I couldn't help but wonder how long I could keep this up—how long I could keep the sadness hidden away before it consumed me.

The nights grew longer, the ache more persistent. Yet, in the daylight, I wore my mask well. I laughed, I smiled, and I loved Becky with everything I had. But deep inside, I knew that I couldn't keep this up forever. Something would have to give, and when that moment came, I only hoped that Becky would still be there to catch me when I fell.

For now, though, I would hold on. I would keep loving her, keep building this life we had together, and maybe, just maybe, I would find a way to heal.

........