"I deserve to feel angry," she whispers, before repeating, with welcomed irritation bleeding into her tone. "I deserve to feel angry! For being neglected. For being ignored. For being erased."
I nod, encouraging her.
"You erased me. You didn't have any pictures up in your office; it was like we didn't even exist. I trust that you weren't flirting with Aubree. I trust that you weren't flirting with anyone... but feeling erased like that really hurt me, Atlas."
"I know, baby," I whisper, nodding. She stops pacing and turns to me. I hold my hands out between us, and she looks at them before placing hers in them. I close my hands around hers and gently squeeze. "Never again. I am so, so fucking sorry."
She glances at our joined hands before locking on my eyes.
"I love you, Wendy. You are my entire world."
Wendy stares at me for a long moment before she gives me a small smile.
"I forgive you, Atlas."
Forgiveness.
It's not something I was activelyseeking,because Dr. Wilson told me that forgiveness isn't owed to me by anyone I've hurt; it's always up to the ones I've hurt to give.
Forgiveness is personal. Some people have a larger capacity for it; others do not. I certainly don't forgive myself, not yet.
But my wife is kind and loving, and she forgives me, and I will never, ever take her for granted again.
Whatever coil that remained wrapped around my body finally loosens. I feel almost weightless as I look into my wife's eyes.
She has a small smile on her lips as she gazes back at me, and I bring our joined hands to my mouth, pressing long kisses to her soft skin and breathing in her scent.
My wife, my Wendy.
Wendy looks just as affected by the forgiveness, her shoulders dropping and her fingers flexing in mine.
"I love you, Atlas."
Her words hit me like a bolt of lightning, jolting my entire body.
All of my nerve endings, all of my tendons, my veins, right to my bones. I feel those words sink deep in my marrow, into my fucking DNA.
Because that is my purpose on this earth—to belong to this extraordinary woman.
I don't know if soulmates exist, but I do know that if they do,Wendy is mine, and I am hers.
And that's a fact, not a feeling, not fear, and it can't be washed away from the intrusive thoughts in my brain.
No matter what, I love Wendy, and she loves me.
She moves first, but I follow.
I always will.
My hands come up to gently cradle her face as she presses her lips to mine.
Her words were electric, but her lips are pure fire, soft and warm and moving against mine in a rhythm that's all our own.
When was the last time I kissed her? Really kissed her, not just a quick peck before I rushed out the door. I can't even remember, and that's a problem, because my Wendy deserves to be kissed, to be adored every second of every day.
So, I'll make that a new mission. Morris' words echo in my brain—I'm going to kiss my wife as if every single time is the last.
Wendy's plush lips feel fucking amazing, but I pull back because my pants have become uncomfortably tight and I want to take her to dinner.
