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I went into the confessional and allowed myself to speak without reservation. It seems fitting that the very space where I committed the most heinous act of my life is also where I found redemption.
I hadn’t realized how much I needed to do that until, with every word I spoke, the load I carried lifted. Oh, I'd confessed when I was a priest, but I was a different man then. Everything I've faced since leaving the Church has changed me. I've matured, and I've fallen in love. I found her, and she helped me find my faith. In a strange way, I had to lose myself completely to find the true me again. I know, I'll need more therapy to deal with the repercussions of the incident, and my later actions. But I know, coming full circle and revisiting the Church, where I found my faith and lost it, only to be united with it again, is pivotal in healing myself.
“Thank you, Baron.” I turn to him. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
Baron shakes his head. “The credit goes to you for having the courage to take the first step. I didn’t do anything. I—"
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and Baron pauses. I pull it out, then sit upright and answer it. "Wife, are you okay?"
76
Mira
"Let me through, that’s my wife in there," Eddie’s angry voice reaches us.
Dr. Kincaid and I exchange glances, but before he can say anything, my husband barges into the examination room. It’s a tiny room with just enough space for the exam table and the doctor—who is not a small man—and with Eddie’s big body in the space, it seems to shrink even further in size. He walks over to me and rakes his gaze down my features. I’m the one on the exam table, but he’s the one who looks pale, like he may be about to faint.
There are dark circles under his eyes, hollows under his cheekbones, and he’s lost weight. Just enough to make him look leaner, meaner, and hungrier than when I last saw him. And god, I’ve missed him so much. It took everything within me not to reach for the phone and call him over the last two weeks.
I left to give myself space to think, and I knew the only way I could work through my thoughts was if I focused on myself. I threw all of my efforts into the new preschool—worked on the curriculum, the staffing requirements, health and nutrition plans for the children. We decided to revamp everything and start from scratch, doing things a bit differently this time. I was in my element, and the fact I'm building something that is, in part, my own, makes me almost giddy with happiness. I feel fulfilled, for the first time in my life. But I also miss him.
It doesn't matter that he stalked me, was obsessed with me, and used my circumstances to steer me into marrying him. No matter what he’s been through, no matter the mistakes he’s made, I missed my husband. And when the motorcyclist hit me this morning and I crumpled to the road, my only thought was that if I died then, it would be without telling him how I feel about him. That I love him and want to spend every moment with him. Apparently, it took my life flashing in front of my eyes for me to realize he's in my corner. He's my ride or die. He's the man for me.
He takes my hand in his, then brings it up and kisses my knuckles. "Wife, you’re, okay?"
"I’m okay, honestly. The motorcycle just brushed me."
"You were hit by a motorcycle?" He sways.
"I’m fine; nothing is hurt."
"You have scratches on your cheek." He surveys my features. And when he brings his fingers to the bandage on my forehead, his fingers tremble. "Your poor face."
"It’s nothing, really."
"It’s not nothing." The skin around his lips tightens. "And your legs--" He looks down at the expanse left uncovered by my skirt.
"I know, I have a few scratches there, and a wound on my knee, for which I had to receive a couple of stitches, but really, I’m fine."
"Fuck!" He drags his fingers through his hair. "Stitches? You had to have stitches?"
"Just two," the doctor says in a dry voice.
"Don’t make it out to be less than what it was." He turns and points a finger at the doctor. "You’re supposed to make it all better. Instead, you’re standing there doing nothing."
"I’m a doctor, not a magician," Dr. Kincaid protests. "Also, she’s a little shaken, but the wounds are minimal. The man who ran into her called for an ambulance right away. In fact, he’s waiting outside, and—"
"He’s waiting outside?" My husband pivots and stalks toward the door, but the doctor steps in his path. "Easy, Tiger. Accidents happen."
"Not with her, they don’t," my husband growls.
"It would have been a lot worse if he’d gone on his way without bringing her in," the doctor says in a soothing voice.
"That’s no excuse."
"That’s true." He hesitates. "All I’m saying is, don’t go out there and beat him up. And not in a hospital, for chrissakes."
"Alright then, I’m going to drag him out and smash his face in, and—"
