“Yeah?” she asks, reaching up and grabbing my necktie. “And you look like you’re wearing entirely too many clothes.”
She tugs my tie and walks backward, leading me down the hall and to my bedroom. Our bedroom. No, it’s not anything official, but she’s slept here every night since we returned to Rockland Falls. It’s where she belongs.
As she drags me to bed and throws her arms around my neck, pressing her lips to my own, I forget everything.
Including those papers in the drawer.
Everything but Freedom.
Chapter Twenty
Freedom
I think I’m coming down with something. Even though the sun is shining high in the late morning sky, I’ve felt…off. Tired. Like I’ve been staying up way too late at night participating in a variety of games in the Bedroom Olympics.
It’s true.
I have.
My sleep pattern hasn’t been what it usually is while I’ve been in Samuel’s bed. Not only do we fall asleep a little later, but several times, we’re woken up in the night with a need that only the other can quench. For someone who’s had decent sex in the past, I’ve never experienced anything like it. This all-consuming desire that takes over, day or night.
I think he feels the same. I find him touching me more, even when we’re at the office. Two weeks ago, that wouldn’t have happened at all. I did my job and he did his. But now, when I’m there, he pops by the office often just to see how I’m doing or if I need anything. And his hands always seem to graze against my skin, especially my neck. It’s soothing and exciting, all at the same time.
We’ve even stayed up way past Samuel’s self-imposed unofficial bedtime, and he has barely grumbled.
I’m smiling as I collect my things. I have a massage appointment and Reiki healing treatment over the lunch hour, and then I’m helping Harper at the boutique again. Her part-timer had to have a tooth extracted this morning, so I agreed to help a few hours a day for the next handful of days. I don’t mind, though. Spending a little extra time with my bestie is a bonus on this Friday.
As I head out the front door, our mail lady is approaching. “Hey,” she says pleasantly, pulling our mail out of her bag. Well, Samuel’s mail. I never did a change of address for my apartment, mostly because the plan has always been to go back once it’s finished. However, now, I’m not so sure I want to go back. I kinda like living here, with Samuel.
I like it a lot.
“Good morning,” I greet as I take the stack of envelopes. There are a few regular-sized envelopes, mostly bills, and a larger one. The mail lady waves as she heads back down the sidewalk and toward the neighbors to deliver their mail.
Since the door is still open—don’t tell Samuel—I head back inside to throw the mail in his mail drawer. The return address on the large envelope catches my eye. Las Vegas. When I look at the addressee, my heart stutters in my chest. Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Grayson.
Ripping that envelope open like it’s Christmas morning, I smile down at the papers. It’s our marriage certificate. It seems so official, seeing our names printed on the fancy document. My fingers slide over the paper, the simple double rings on my left ring finger shining beneath the sunlight.
I realize I’m smiling so wide it hurts my face, and even though we’ve been living this life for the last month, seeing our names on the certificate, makes it real, and a bubble of hope erupts in my chest. Hope for our future. Hope for our relationship.
Maybe before I come home tonight, I’ll stop by the store and grab a frame. I could have the certificate framed and on the counter when he comes home tonight. I pull open the drawer to add today’s mail, and find a large envelope already shoved inside. It was roughly thrown in there, the papers crumpled a bit and sticking out of the top. I remove it from the drawer to properly store the documents inside, shocked that Samuel would have put it away like that.
The heading catches my attention immediately.
Petition for Divorce.
I scan through the documents, which basically says we both keep our pre-marital assets and neither contests the divorce.
Irreconcilable differences.
My stomach drops to my sandals, a wave of nausea sweeps in. The papers blur as tears fill my eyes. Samuel still wants the divorce. Even though he hasn’t mentioned it in weeks, he still plans to go through with the legal separation. I thought we’d been connecting, getting along. The way he holds me and kisses me doesn’t scream divorce, but apparently, I’ve been blind. Blinded by my own happiness and the love I feel for him.
He doesn’t feel the same way.
And he never will.
My hands shake, but I read the entire document. When I get to the last page, I see the line where I’m supposed to sign. Sign my name to grant Samuel the divorce he’s seeking. You can’t make someone love you. I know that now. That’s why I grab one of the many ink pens from the mail drawer and sign my name. I scribble it across the paper, the tears slightly blurring the line. But it’s there.
Done.
My heart aches. It hurts more than ever before. More than being left in the hospital to fight an illness alone until my grandmother came to get me. More than learning how to thrive in an actual home, surrounded by things and people, when I’ve never known it. More than when my grandma passed a few years ago, and my own parents didn’t even attend.
I move to my bedroom. Not the one I’ve been sleeping in for weeks, but the guest room. The one I was supposed
