“How did you two meet?” our new neighbor asks as she grips her drink in both of her hands. She looks between the two of us with a smile on her face. “You’re such a good-looking couple,” she says. I wish the smile that wants to come to the surface were genuine, but it’s not.
She’s not the first to ask.
And a part of me deep down is terrified that they’ll all find out the truth. Another part wants to scream it out loud and tell everyone what we’ve gone through. Together.
I keep the smile on my face as my husband wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to him. A lie slips so easily from his lips. It’s a struggle every time, to listen to words that are false, meant to hide the truth.
No one wants to hear our story. The real story. When they ask how we met, no one would expect the harsh reality of our pasts. No one would be able to understand. They would judge us. And they’d never forget it.
I sure as fuck won’t.
It’s dark and twisted.
But that doesn’t make it any less of what it is.
A love story. Our love story.
* * *
And I’m so grateful we got a happily ever after. Stories like ours aren’t meant to end like this. It’s only because we stayed together. Only because our love was stronger than our pain.
* * *
The End
