Thephotobooklaysopenon the bed as I walk back into the bedroom, towel drying my hair, having washed off the day.
I pull on my underwear and stare at it, biting my nail.
I’m tired of letting my past dictate my future.
I hate it when he’s right. I’ve been doing exactly that for years. Years I’ve put it in a box, years I’ve not dealt with it. Years it’s been this shadow casting darkness onto me. There was absolutely good in between the shit—I mean sure, not the teacup ride for me—but even though James was a horrible piece of shit, there was goodness between.
He was a father to begin with. But I’d spent years remembering the bad, letting it taint me, taint Maria, hell, taint my memory of Owen.
I have to remember the good. I have to accept the past so that I can move forward and be the person he needs me to be in this moment.
Not broken Lucy, not broken Kara. But me, unapologetically me. A new version.
And to do that, I have to find closure with what happened.
I sit on the bed and work my way through the book, focusing on the good memory of each picture. The gratitude of that day.
The positive, not the negative.
Us at the theme park, together as a family. Us, standing near the pond. Me in front of a birthday cake, smiling. Me, surrounded by butterflies as we walked through a greenhouse.
Me and Owen, together, happy.
Because we found happiness and solace in each other, just like we do now.
I run my hand over a picture where Owen is talking to me, a moment captured forever. I’m around thirteen, Owen fifteen, who’s leaning forward, trying to grab at me. We are both laughing.
I close my eyes, trying to remember who took the photo. James was deep in the drink by then, so it had to be Maria—or maybe one of our friends.
Whoever it was, the happiness is there. I feel it in the warmth that floods my chest, the flutter in my stomach.
Even then, I was in love with him. Thirteen, but older in all the wrong ways. Laughing together, even in the dark.
Owen loves me. And staring at the snapshots of our broken childhood, searching for something good, I realise I don’t have to look far.
It’s right here, between us.
Just like it always was and always will be.
Fuck me, I’m stupid.
Even now, I’m pushing him away by walking away from him.
What am I even doing?
Why am I trying to protect my heart from something that happened years ago? I loved that man as a child, I loved that man as a teenager, and still I love that man.
I walk to the bedroom door and yank it open. Owen’s on the sofa now, his bare feet tipped up on the coffee table, laptop in his lap, glasses still on.
Yup.
The glasses.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt.
He meets my eyes, which I’m sure are slightly feral looking as I cross to him and sit down next to him. I grab the laptop and place it on the side as Owen removes his feet from the table.
“Okay…” he says, eyes squinting, the frown line masking his forehead.
