“People are still talking about why you brought a date to your wife’s memorial.”
I’m about to remind him once again that she wasn’t my date. That she helps with the kids and it could be good to have her there, especially if he insists on them attending, but I don’t. He’ll only read into it more than he should.
I’m not sure I want Rowan there anyway. Especially now.
It was different when she was there as emotional support for Presley.
Now that we’re sleeping together, inviting her to my dead wife’s birthday memorial seems a little strange.
“She won’t be there,” I assure him.
A flicker of satisfaction crosses his face. “Good.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I say calmly, returning my glasses to my face and gesturing toward my laptop, “Ineed to review some case notes before seeing my first patient.”
He lingers a second longer, searching my face for something. Probably the same unbearable guilt that’s weighed me down since Cora’s death.
He won’t find it.
I refuse to continue burdening myself with the past.
In just one weekend, Rowan’s taught me the importance of letting things go.
I can only imagine what one month with her will do.
Do Ihavea month with her?
I don’t know.
And I’m surprisingly okay with that.
I’ve always lived my life structured. One milestone after another. High school. College. Med school. Residency. Marriage. Children. Promotions.
Always moving forward.
Never remaining still.
Then Cora died, and everything stopped.
I’ve been standing in the wreckage ever since.
Until Rowan.
When I’m with her, I’m not calculating what’s next. I’m not replaying what I should have done differently.
I’m just there.
Enjoying the moment.
Although, I am very much looking forward to later tonight when I can feel her again.
“Of course,” Robert says finally. “I’ll let you know more details once I have them.”
I give him one last nod before he retreats into the hallway.
When the door shuts behind him, I release a slow breath.
My chest doesn’t feel tight.
