I look out the window and gasp.
A beautiful two-story stone estate sits set back from the road, its main entrance marked by a rounded, ornate stone archway. A small flower bed blooms under the bay window. It looks warm, and charming yet solid. A home.
But what catches my breath isn't the architecture; it is the massive, ancient oak tree in the front yard. Its branches spread wide like protective arms, casting dappled shadows on the lawn.
And hanging from one of the lower branches is a wooden swing, swaying gently in the breeze.
“Dorian,” I whisper, turning to him. “Where are we?”
“We’re home,” he says simply.
We get out of the car and walk towards the house.
“You bought a house,” I say, looking from the swing to his face.
“It’s not just a house,” he corrects, his voice rough with emotion. "It’s our house. I knew it, felt it the moment I saw that swing... and I saw you."
Words leave me and dreams start flooding in. My heart beats like a drum as I start walking slowly towards the house, like stepping on clouds. Dorian follows me in a slow pace, watching me with a smile stuck on his face.
The air itself smells of fresh hope, long forgotten dreams, and a new promise.
Dorian unlocks the front door and we step inside. The foyer is bathed in warm, natural light streaming through a bay window.
There are no shadows here.
“Come,” Dorian says, leading me into the heart of the house, and I feel as if this is exactly where I should be.
* * *
Dorian
Seeing her face light up, her eyes shining and her fingers barely touching the counter as if needing a proof this is real, finally quiets the storm inside me. The ache in my side is numbed, replaced by a heart that is burning, alive and terrifyingly full.
We are in the kitchen, which flows into the family room. Della goes straight to the French doors facing the generous, luxurious garden. Sunlight floods the space, contouring her silhouette in gold. I can’t take my eyes off of her and when she turns smiling at me with that fire in her eyes, my knees buckle and I need to lean against the island counter. My Della.
“This house is amazing, Dorian.”
A sharp pain slices through my ribs and my knuckles turn white on the marble counter as I grit my teeth.
“Are you ok?” she comes to hold me. “You need to sit down.”
“Yeah,” I lie, though I let her guide me to the stool. “Don’t worry.”
I reach for her hands and pull her closer, between my knees, resting my forehead on hers. Just holding her this close is enough anesthesia for my pain.
I lift my head. I need to clear the air. I can't start this life with her until I tear down the last wall between us.
“You asked…” I say, my voice dropping, heavy with the weight of five years. “You asked what would have happened if you hadn't come back to Chicago.”
“I remember,” she whispers.
“Only after you said it, I… I really saw the truth.” I admit “I do not have a grand, movie like explanation. I don’t know. I felt numb for years. I was a coward, Della.”
I look up, letting the raw vulnerability show. I don't care that it makes me look weak. It is the truth, and she deserves to know it.
“But I thought about you every day and night. I almost flew to you a dozen times. I even bought tickets a couple of times, but I stopped. Because I… I was terrified. Terrified that if I came to you, you’d look at me and see theman who let you down. A broken man. I was terrified that you would not love me anymore. But I was wrong. And I was a fool to think I could live without you.”
I take a deep breath and squeeze her hands tight, needing to anchor myself to her reality.
