Won’t lie though, I didn’t spend a ton of time viewing old pictures. I flipped quick, singularly focused on the purpose of all this. Was she trying to remind me of our history?
The pictures of us morphed into pictures of Kacey. All the loose pictures I’d seen a few nights ago were now glued to the pages.
My pulse was still sky high, and I just tried to get to the end so I could find my wife. My gaze darted to the kitchen window again.
I suddenly stopped flipping, realizingthe pages had gone blank. There were frames and paper clippings, but no pictures. I leaned closer, reading a few labels.
The current page had a big empty frame with the label, “Kacey’s fourth birthday,” which wasn’t until September.
I flipped back a page. Another empty frame was labeled “family pool day.” Another “Daddy and Kacey.” Then there were two whole pages with the title “family pictures” dated for tomorrow.
I turned back to the first empty page. Right front and center, there was a large empty frame. The label said “vow renewal” and today’s date.
My breath tumbled out in a rush. Where was she?
I abandoned the scrapbook, believing I received the intended message: there was a future for us.
My heart kicked against my ribcage.
I moved toward the door as fast as possible without breaking into a jog. When the humidity of the summer evening hit me, I saw her.
She’d dragged our tiny patio table and two chairs out into the yard, situating it near the garden. A vase of fresh flowers sat on the table. And it looked like she’d repainted the bench.
And she was…
I swallowed hard, all the details of the scene falling into oblivion. She was seated at the table. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back in waves. Looked like gold in the softening evening sunlight. She wore a flowy white dress, the edges of it draping off the side of the chair into the grass. Sleeveless, meaning her shoulders and neck, in all their glory, were in full view.
“Miranda.”
Her gaze snapped toward the door and she jumped to standing. She smiled nervously.
I wasn’t smiling. I didn’t think I could smile.
I moved toward the table, numb with awe of her. As I got closer, I realized just how wonderfully the dress she was wearing accentuated her curves. Her chest was exposed in near perfection and a slit in the dress rose almost to her hip.
I stopped a couple feet away.
“Jack.”
“Miranda.”
We stood there for a few beats, just taking each other in.
“Jack, I need to get stuff off my chest. So just listen.”
I said nothing. Tried to calm the chaos in my chest.
“I want this. I want us.”
I sucked in a breath.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “In the hall, you said you wouldn’t blame me if I never forgave you. Well, I’ve spent a lot of time not forgiving you. And all that has done is hurt us.” She choked up. “But I need you to know that I do forgive you now.”
She ran a hand over her stomach. “When we were married before, I expected things from you I wasn’t even doing myself. Like, I wanted you to communicate, be patient with me, and understand me.” She lifted a finger to her eye, carefully swiping under her mascara. “But, I wasn’t patient with you. Or communicating with you about how hard I was grieving. I even kept some of our babies to myself because I was angry.”
She took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eyes. “I’m learning that fumbling—messing up—is just part of this crazy process. That we will accidentally hurt each other. But real love—the mature kind—grows together through those things.”
“Jack,” she said, her voice strained with tears. “I didn’t hold on for us. I should’ve been in freaking counseling. I quit because the striving hurt. I wasn’t willing to keep fighting and…itcost us so,somuch.”
