the truth will out

1. The Beginning

Our marriage was a happy one as far as I could tell. Our whole relationship was happy... Or that's what I thought.
From the first date I knew there was a connection; butterflies in the stomach, tingles when I heard his laugh. It was easy.
We spent that first evening together laughing, eating and getting to know each other and from then onwards it was perfect. I slowly realised the more time I spent with him the more I loved him... Apparently it was the opposite for him.
Even the wedding was easy, of course I was nervous the night before: going over everything that could go wrong, but when I walked down that white path and saw him smiling at the end, trying to pretend he wasn't tearing up, it was like the path to heaven and everything felt complete.
Of course we had our moments, the arguments over working late or dirty laundry but we always worked it out.

Traveling was our favourite thing to do. If we weren't working we were flying off to another gorgeous location. Taking pictures aswell. We both bonded straight away over our love of capturing moments in film; the holidays, special occasions, even just sat out by the pool with the big sun hats on and martinis in hand. There's something special about photos, they say a million words. In the faces, colours, settings. They're nostalgic. As I sit here going through the 'Portugal 1999' photo album I remember it so clearly... The rose garden we walked through pretending paparazzi weren't watching, the streets we walked through looking at all the architecture, the morning breakfasts we'd have on the terrace... And there it was. The photo I'd been waiting for. The moment he got down on one knee, telling me how much he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, have kids, grow old together. I didn't even need to think it through, it felt right to say yes, there was no hesitation. The pictures show the shock on my face then the happiness as he placed the ring on my finger then the emotion as we kissed, both crying.

As if coming out of a daze, the photos come back into focus, as does the room I'm sat in as I realise I'm crying, the salty tears tracing down my cheeks. I sniff, closing the book with a snap and wipe my eyes. I place the album back into the box along with just a handful of the photo albums we have and re-adjust my tank top.
Maybe it's just how I'm feeling, with all the emotions running through me, but I can't help feel stupid, naive for really believing, especially in Hollywood, that it would last and that nothing would go wrong. Not like the other couples you see who marry quickly and burn out just as fast. I look over at Norman sat in his bed in the corner, I sigh, shaking my head and wipe away the last of the tears.

I don't know why I'm still in this house. All I have is Norman, I'm alone except for the memories, ghosts, of mine and brads relationship. It's haunting. As I stand in the door of our bedroom I have the overwhelming urge to run. Run as far away as possible. To escape the memories possibly? I don't know. All I know is that I have to get away from here...

Hi thankyou for reading this chapter. I don't know where the stories gonna go but I'm hoping to base some of it on things I've read other stuff will be completely made up. ❤️