Then she turned and walked away.* * *The journal mocked me from the table where it had been sitting since I walked in the house. I had stood and watched Megan move across the beach, away from me. Her figure grew smaller as the distance between us lengthened. I watched her until she disappeared, struggling not to run after her and beg her to tell me what was in the book. That it didn’t matter, because I loved her. I wanted her to let me hold her until I felt the horrible pain ease away, and I was strong enough to be what she needed. I would prove to her I wasn’t ever going to leave her again.
I didn’t want to hurt her anymore.
I pulled the book closer, almost with fear. I opened the cover; flipping to the page where the satin red ribbon marked the spot I stopped. That last, awful day when I allowed my insecurities to blind me to the truth—truth I was too weak to believe. Megan’s unique, almost old-fashioned script filled the pages. I flipped to the last page, noticing, for the first time, the book was only about two-thirds full.
I sat on the sofa closer to the fire, an unusual chill running through my body. The contents of this journal were going to change my life, of that I had no doubt.
I looked out the window, watching the waves as they surged and ebbed. I felt my tension easing as I matched my breathing to the long swells.
Finally, I lowered my gaze to the book, wondering if I was strong enough to read it and accept what it said.
Two hours later, the book fell from my hands as hot tears poured down my face, her words swirling around in my head. So many emotions flooded my heart. Her raw pain at my leaving and how she struggled tore at my soul. I left her alone at a time I should’ve been beside her; giving her what she offered me so freely: unconditional love and support. I had failed her in so many ways, yet her words brought with them the flash of another emotion: hope. Hope for the future, hope for us. With that hope, came joy for the news our story contained.
Bending down, I picked up the book. She hadn’t finished our story. The pages were still blank as if she was waiting, unsure how to finish.
I had to get to her. Plead with her to allow me to be part of those blank pages.
To allow us to finish the story together.* * *MeganI shivered under the blanket at the cold that seemed to be a permanent resident inside my body. I thought I was prepared to see Zachary. When Karen told me he was back and what she had done, I was shocked—and furious. Her decision, she told me, was based on the fact he seemed as lost and struggling as I appeared to still be, even though I tried hard to cover that fact. When she told me he was waiting for me, I almost didn’t believe it.
Seeing him this morning, it took all I had not to throw myself into his arms. The way he looked at me almost broke my resolve. His insistence he hadn’t read the last journal to the end, that he was still in love with me, made it all that much harder to believe he was even standing in front of me. He didn’t give second chances. He told me that multiple times—why would he change his mind for me?
The sudden fury I’d felt when he was standing in front of me was shocking. The anger I denied, the names I refused to allow anyone to call him, fell from my lips…and he took it. He took it all and let me rage until the moment passed, his gaze never wavering. He stood tall and firm, admitting it was his own doubts that he listened to, his own fears he allowed Jared’s words to penetrate. He apologized continually, asking for only one thing.
For me to give him a second chance. To believe in him and us enough to allow him back in my life. My aching heart and weary soul wanted to give him what he desired. I still loved him, but it was no longer only about me. He had to know the whole story. One of the hardest things I ever did was to turn from him and walk away. The next step was his and his alone to make.
I burrowed deeper, once again feeling exhausted. It hit me at the oddest times and nothing could stop my eyes from closing. My body demanded rest, and with a sigh, I gave in.* * *Sun streamed in the window, warming my face as I slowly woke up. When my eyes opened, they found Zachary, sitting, a silent sentinel, watching over me. In his hand was the last journal. His face was inscrutable, but his posture was rigid, his fingers clenching the journal so tight his knuckles were white. I shook my head, clearing my throat. “I guess I forgot to lock the sliding door.”