Begin Again

February 9th 2018 ( part 2 )

The sobs racked my body, every breath feeling like a thousand knives cutting through my soul. I was convinced the pain would be permanent—a life sentence carved into my chest. But then, two strong arms wrapped around me. Philip held me, anchoring me, shielding me even though I knew he was just as shattered as I was.

For a long time, I had blamed him. I blamed his stress for the miscarriage, and I had vowed to keep him away from the site of my heartbreak. When he tried to visit, I pushed him back. I let his parents come for the sake of my baby's memory, but never him.

But tonight, standing by that cold marble, I realized that I couldn't be whole if I stayed trapped in the dark. I needed to pour out the last of my anguish.

"Chase... help Mama, okay?" I whispered into the night, my voice breaking. "I'm hurt. Mama needs your comfort."

Philip didn't pull away. He tightened his hold, resting his chin on my head and murmuring soft, reassuring words against my hair. Slowly, the crushing rock that had lived on my chest for two years began to dissolve.

I pulled back, searching his face. "I'm so sorry for letting you down. You and our son... I lost you both."

"Yes, you did," I said, catching his gaze when he tried to look away. "And you know what I realized just now? I want to forgive. I want to continue my life. And I want you to set yourself free, Philip. Let's do this for our sanity and for our baby."

Philip's eyes welled with tears. "I'm happy for you, Fen. I've been seeking your forgiveness in my dreams for so long. But I'm sad, too. Because this means I have to let you go."

He was setting me free? After all this time, he was choosing to walk away if it meant my happiness?

I looked at him—my husband—and suddenly, the anger felt like a wasted effort. I remembered the endless nights, the travels, the food trips, the way we used to fit together. I realized I didn't want him to let me go. I wanted to start over. I wanted the dream wedding, the white and yellow tulips, the red carpet, and a life that didn't feel broken.

I stood up, shaking off the dust, and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. I looked at him, my heart hammering against my ribs, and asked the only question that mattered. "Do you really want this? For us to be over?"

He stared at me, his eyes hooded and intense, and slowly shook his head.

My tears flowed freely, but this time, they weren't tears of grief. He rested his forehead against mine, his hands holding me as if I were the only solid thing in his world.

"I am so in love with you, my wife," he whispered, his voice vibrating through me.

He pulled me onto his lap, his hands warm and possessive against my skin. The air between us was electric, heavy with the hunger we'd been denying ourselves for too long. He massaged my stomach, his touch sending shivers down my spine. I traced the neckline of his shirt, my nails grazing his skin, feeling the way his breathing hitched.

He nuzzled into my neck, his scent—the one I had missed for two years—enveloping me. "I can't wait to be inside you," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous promise.

He moved his lips from my neck, trailing kisses that set my skin on fire. "Don't be afraid," he murmured, his eyes locking onto mine with a wicked, loving glint. "Get used to this, because we're going to do this every day... every night... every single hour."

My breath hitched as he bit down softly on my neck.

"Ready, wife?" he asked, his smile both a challenge and an invitation.