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My house was quiet, still, lonely. Precisely as I had left it last night.
Back when Charlotte lived here, I never knew what to expect when I got home. Would she be burning dinner in the kitchen? Waiting for me in the doorway, naked and ready to jump my bones? Or so deep into her writing she barely noticed when I arrived? It never bothered me when she was wrapped up in her stories. I found it inspiring. I loved taking care of her, and she always gave as good as she got.
Our marriage was short lived, but I was beginning to think it had been the best years of my life.
Fuck, I missed her.
Losing her had set me up for over a decade’s worth of heartbreak. Not only did I lose her, but I had also lost every possibility I would ever have to find love, because she was it for me.
Last night proved it.
For the first time in years, I felt alive again.
How had I failed to see I had been living in the dark all this time without her? I should have fought harder for her.
And how would I come to terms with the fact that the best years of my life were the exact same years she regretted?
