Chapter Nine
Now
A vague, uneasy guilt fills me as I lie in our bed with my husband peacefully sleeping in my arms even as thoughts about Ward swirl through my brain.
Part of me doesn’t understand why I can’t completely wipe Ward from my soul. Sure, we spent seven years together—literally living together—but I’ve spent twice that long now with Daniel, if you count how long we dated first.
Shouldn’t I have…moved on by now? Right?
Isn’t this moving on?
Then what thehell? I’m certain it’s likely tied to the lack of closure, granted.
Like I wish I could throw it in his face what he gave up by walking away from me. How he could’ve been the husband of a US Senator, and every picture taken of him would show his gorgeous smile instead of depicting a man who looks like he’s dead and forgot to lie down and stop breathing.
He could’ve beenmine.
Hell, the money we could’ve made together. Maybe I never would have gone into politics. If he’d asked me not to, I wouldn’t have. We could have practiced law together and amassed a comfortable nest egg and be semi-retired by now and having hobbies, spending time with my family.
We could have built our own family, together, full of love and joy and faith, instead of whatever it is that he thinks he has with that woman he has no business being with in the first place.
Sometimes, I’ll catch myself mentally composing e-mails to Ward, ones I know I won’t send, just another addition to the drafts folder. And I tuck those thoughts away and focus on my life now.
On Daniel.
Then, a few days later, it’s like this unslakable urge to write those thoughts out washes through me, and nothing else happens until I break down and just fuckingdoit.
That’s when I grab the old cell phone and use that to purge the accumulated garbage from my soul. Which is why I never log into that old e-mail account on anythingbutthat phone. It goes with me, back and forth, tucked into my briefcase for the journey from Massachusetts to DC and back, and stored in my desk at either residence while we’re there. I have the phone’s passcode set to Ward’s birthday, which is a code I don’t use for anything else.
Anymore.
Although, there was a time I used that code for everything. Now, I use Daniel’s birthdate for a lot of codes, or dates that are special to us but others wouldn’t easily guess.
On that phone, I also keep copies of pictures and video of me and Ward. I’m ashamed to say I spend probably way too much time looking through them when the urge grows too strong for me to resist. I have a backup cloud drive, too, but on the phone is the only place I have them where I can…touch them.
I know, I know. I should delete all of them.
But that was seven.
Fucking.
Years of my life.
Maybe Ward could walk away from that without a look back, but I can’t. Not like this. It feels like a betrayal to delete all of those memories.
If for no other reason than I want assurances it was real and not a figment of my imagination. I want to know I didn’t dream his smile, or how he said my name.
I want to know that it wasn’t all in my head.
Sometimes, I need to look at everything I’ve saved, and the things I’ve written to him. To remember that it happened and, at the time, I believed I was with my soulmate, someone I’d spend the rest of my life with.
Hell, I was alone for seven years, when I met Daniel. Double that we’ve been together now. Over twenty years now since I last saw Ward, and I can still picture the blue in his eyes when I close my own. I can almost…smell him.
It’s why it’s never a good idea for me to go grocery shopping alone. It’s frequently too tempting to hunt down a specific shampoo or deodorant or soap and take a long, deep inhale of its scent to remind me of Ward.
I carefully turn my head so as not to disturb Daniel, my nose brushing against his soft hair, and I deeply inhale the scent of him.
If nothing else, that always helps sweep out my mental cobwebs for at least a little while.
