Immediately, she noticed that there were many paintings in the room. Some were stacked against the walls, some framed, others leaning against old trunks. All of them had the same man and woman on them.
“Are these…” Rachel felt her throat tighten at the realization. “Are these your parents?”
“You were able to tell quite easily,” Simon nodded.
His voice was composed, but Rachel could tell that he was restraining himself from showing emotion.
“Is this why you…”
“I want you to look around first,” he stopped her mid-sentence. “Now that you are here, I would like you to.”
She nodded, respecting his wishes.
The room felt as though it had been preserved in a certain moment in time. She moved toward the center of the room, hereyes scanning the heavy trunks lined up against the far wall. Their lids were closed but not locked.
“This is…” she sighed, composing herself. “Is this all their belongings?”
“Yes,” Simon nodded. “I have kept everything here.”
“And that is why you do not let anyone ever come in here?” she went on.
It was starting to make sense to her why he had been so secretive and protective about this space.
“You seem to have figured everything out,” Simon replied.
“Am I the first person you have allowed to come up here?” Rachel swallowed the lump forming in her throat.
He nodded.
“And what about yourself?” she asked. ‘Do you come here often?”
He let out a quiet exhale.
“Only when I have to remind myself that they were real.”
It was such a simple statement, but it nearly broke her heart. For the first time, she saw the grief that Simon carried with him all these years.
Slowly, she stepped closer. “Why show me?”
Rachel wondered if she had gone too far with her questioning. Would he even answer? He had already revealed something so deeply personal to him. It was possible that he would not be willing to reveal anything more.
“Because you asked,” he replied after a moment of pondering.
It was a simple answer, and one that Rachel suspected was not conveying all the truth.
She took another step toward him, her hand reaching out once more. This time, he didn’t stop her. Her fingers rested lightly on his wrist before trailing up his forearm, settling against his chest.
“You didn’t have to hide this from me,” she whispered.
“It is my sorrow to carry.” His voice came out hoarse. “Why bring another into it?”
Rachel lifted her other hand to cup his cheek, her touch gentle but firm. “No, Simon. You don’t have to do this alone.”
She didn’t give him time to push her away again. Instead, she leaned in, pressing her lips softly against his. It was the only thing that she could think to do in that moment—for she could not stand how heartbroken Simon looked. She wanted it all to go away—the pain and the grief.
But no words would suffice, so instead, she poured all she had into the kiss.
Simon didn’t move at first, as if caught off guard, but then his hands came to rest at her waist, his grip hesitant but present.
