Her voice falters, and a flicker of something bittersweet flashes across her face. “It wasn’t until after the honeymoon that I found out about Mary.”
“Mary?”
She nods, her gaze distant. “His wife.”
My mouth falls open. “Wait. You’re telling me Charlie hadn’t…?”
“Bothered to divorce Mary before marrying me,” she finishes.
Well, doesn’t that sound uncomfortablyfamiliar.
“What did you do?”
Her lips press together. “At first, I was devastated. Furious. I felt like such a fool,” she admits. “But then I realized something. I loved that man, flaws and all, and he loved me, too, even if he had a funny way of showing it.”
She rests her hand gently on mine. “Charlie made a terrible mistake, but he owned up to it. He divorced Mary, begged for my forgiveness, and we spent the next fifty years making up for that rocky start.”
Fifty years. She says it like it was simple. Like it was just a matter of deciding to move forward. “How did you ever trust him again?” I ask, my voice quieter now, almost afraid of the answer.
“It wasn’t easy,” she admits. “I learned that love isn’t about finding someone perfect. It’s about finding someone who’s willing to work through the mess with you. Charlie proved himself every single day after that.”
I nod slowly, turning her words over in my mind. She’s placed a truth I’m not ready to carry right in front of me.
“It’s never too late to try, sweetheart,” she adds, her tone gentle but certain. “Love takes patience and understanding, not perfection. Take it from someone who’s been around the block a time or two.”
I try to smile, but I’m not sure if it reaches my eyes.
“And I’ll tell you this,” she continues. “It’s not just the block I’ve been around. I’ve ridden it more than a few times, if you know what I mean.”
I choke on a laugh, my face going pink. Leave it to her to drop a bombshell of unhinged honesty all while keeping that wicked glint in her eye.
Can I really wipe the slate clean and just…put it behind me? Part of me wants to believe it’s possible, but there’s this other stubborn, bruised part of me that keeps circling back to the same question.
Can I trust him again?
Maybe love is supposed to be patient, supposed to weather the storm and come out stronger on the other side. But how much patience can one person give before it just…runs out? Before the hurt starts to feel heavier than the hope?
How do I know this time will be different?
thirty-nine
JULIETTE
Bree and I are just sinking into the couch, wine glasses in hand, when a heavy knock at my front door interrupts us.
“Who would that be?” Bree asks, her eyebrows pulling together in confusion as she sets her glass on the coffee table.
I shrug, but my pulse picks up a beat. “No idea.”
I push off the couch and make my way to the door, unsure of what to expect. When I open it, I’m met by a grumpy delivery man lugging a large suitcase.
“Is this yours?” he asks flatly.
Relief floods me when I recognize the battered bag. “Yes! Thank you so much,” I say, rushing forward to take it from him. “Only took ten days,” I mutter to myself, rolling my eyes as the delivery man gives no response and turns back to his truck.
Bree steps up beside me, her smirk fully intact. “Well, look at that. You’ve been reunited with your worldly possessions. A touching moment, really.”
I let out a laugh, nudging her with my elbow as we head back inside.
