Amahle and Jey thought they had overcome the worst of their challenges of their relationship. Their love, forged in the fires of adversity, seemed unbreakable.
But, as they settle on their new paths they both try to tackle, unforeseen obstacles beg...
Hey my babies, Sorry for dropping this a little late. I had a death in my family, and is taking it one day at a time. I have the next chapter half way done, once it's done I'll schedule it to be published.
S/n: Happy Holidays babies. Stay warm and take care of yourselves 🤎
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JEY|
It had been a month, maybe two, since we left that resort and came back home. The place felt too quiet at times, the kind of silence that wrapped itself around you and made every noise feel amplified. But that was just how it was now. Things weren't the same—not with everything we'd been through. Not with what Amahle had been through.
She'd gotten stronger, I could see that much. But the nightmarish memories were still there, lurking just beneath the surface.
She'd wear that scar above her left eye like a constant reminder of what happened, and I hated it. But every time I looked at her, I reminded myself that it wasn't the scar that defined her.
It wasn't the bruises, or the blood, or the pain that she'd endured. It was her strength. And I'd be damned if I didn't show her every day that I saw that, that I recognized the warrior she was, even when she didn't feel like one.
I still found myself watching her sometimes when she thought I wasn't looking. She'd sit on the couch, lost in her own thoughts, her fingers grazing the scar like she was trying to erase it, like she could somehow make the past vanish by sheer will. But the past couldn't be erased, not that easily. It would follow her, even when she couldn't see it. I could tell it haunted her.
I hadn't pushed her to talk, not yet. But when she looked at me, I saw it—the weight she carried, the pieces of herself that had been broken and needed to be put back together. I could feel her trying to find herself again, struggling to piece together the fragments of who she was before the nightmare started.
I wasn't about to let her go through this alone, though. I didn't care how much time it took, how many late nights it would be before I saw that spark of her light up again. I'd wait. I'd always wait.
One evening, after she'd finished her phone call with the therapist, I saw something in her eyes that I hadn't seen in a while: a glimmer of hope. She was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, her gaze far away like she was somewhere else entirely, processing everything. When I sat next to her, she glanced at me, a soft smile playing on her lips.
