My Peace (Beautifully Broken 5)

“I will.” My throat chokes up again. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

We hang up, and I suddenly feel stronger than I ever have before. We’re going to survive this. Pax will survive it.

* * *

I’m waiting in the commons room of the rehab facility ten minutes before visiting hours begin. I’m fidgety and my foot taps on the floor.

“Is this seat taken?”

A voice from behind me. My husband’s voice.

I turn, and leap from the chair, and throw my arms around his neck.

He smells like wood, and the outdoors and man.

He laughs into my hair, and his hands are stroking my back, and his arms are strong.

“I missed you,” he tells me, his lips against my cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

“Trust me, you couldn’t have kept me away.”

“I know. I tried that before. It didn’t work,” he agrees.

I snarl at him. “Don’t do that again. Whatever happens, we face it together. Do you understand?”

He nods. “Yeah. I do.”

I hold his hand as he gives me a tour, showing me the grounds and his room.

“Is everything all right at home?” he asks as we sit on his bed. I nod.

“Yeah. Roger is fussing about like a woman.”

Pax laughs. “I told him to keep an eye on you.”

“Sasha is trying to hire a new housekeeper for me, but I’m not ready yet,” I tell him. “I just… I can’t.”

She can’t open our home to a stranger again. I completely understand.

“At some point, we’ll need one, if we stay in that house,” I point out. “It’s too big to manage alone.”

“Do you want to stay there?” I ask him. He shrugs.

“I don’t know. Do you? You were the one locked in our room.”

“For some reason, I haven’t struggled with that,” I tell him. “The only thing that bothers me is the living room. Sasha had the rugs replaced, because of the blood, but I’ve kept the doors closed and we don’t go in there. It feels….well, it’s got bad energy.”

“I’m going to talk to my father,” he decides. “We’ll see what can be done.”

“I don’t care about that right now,’” I tell him. “I just want to spend time with you.”

He pulls me into him, against his chest, and he holds me there. I listen to his heart for minutes and minutes, before I speak again.

“I want to come to therapy with you,” I tell him. “I want us to face this together, as much as possible.”

He’s quiet, then he nods. “If you’d like.”