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“I love you, Ro.”
A knot grabbed my throat. “I love you too, Shepherd.”
His eyes filled with tears and was startled by the rare show of emotion. I hadn’t ever seen Shepherd cry before.
He took my hands into his. They were cool and clammy.
My stomach began to swirl with a mixture of nerves and excitement.
“Do you remember the first time we met?” he asked, his voice cracking.
Tears filled my own eyes. I nodded, swallowing deeply.
“There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
“What?”
“I kept that pen.”
I chuckled. “That’s okay. I have more.”
“No, Ro, I mean I kept it because I wanted to remember that day for the rest of my life. I knew there was something special about you from the moment I laid eyes on you in that stupid, awful children’s shelter. You were like a ray of sunshine in a world of black. What you don’t know is that I used that pen—your pen—to finish high school, to sign the paperwork on my first job, to sign the loan on my first car, to write a letter to my father.”
“Oh my God, Shep.” Tears rolled down my cheeks.
“I used that pen for every monumental thing in my life.” He was crying so hard that he used the back of his hands to wipe away his tears. “And now… Now I’d like to use it to apply for a marriage license with you.”
I began sobbing.
Shepherd gently grabbed my face, tilting it up to meet his own teary eyes.
“You say that I saved you, but Rowan, you are the only reason I am still alive, too. You are the only reason I get up every morning. You are the only reason I remember how to smile. In this crazy, fucked up world, Rowan, you are my sunshine. Please marry me. Please be my wife. I love you, Rowan.
“I love you.
“I love you.
“I love you.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
AMBER
Mark is sitting on the back patio when I get home at half past eight. Unusually late for me, but after receiving Emma’s request to meet her, I couldn’t say no.
That’s a lie. I jumped at the chance to avoid going home. It’s been a hell of a day, starting with spending the morning at the clinic getting Connor’s bloodwork done for his tests. He screamed bloody murder and had to be held down. It was awful. And just now, over cocktails with Emma, I broke down. Literally, sobbed like a baby right there in the restaurant. I had to spend twenty minutes in the parking lot gathering myself and fixing my makeup before coming home. I want it done, I’ve decided. When I meet with the divorce attorney next week, I want to draft the paperwork. Rip off the band aid, so to speak. I want out of my marriage.
I pause at the sliding glass door and watch my husband. He is blankly staring into the darkness of our small back yard. Despite the cold and drizzly weather, he is wearing a T-shirt and his feet are bare, kicked up on an overturned trashcan.
I lean against the wall and a feeling of deep sadness comes over me.
How will he react when I tell him I’m leaving him?
How will Connor react to the separation?
How will I react to their reactions? Will I stay strong or will I crumble under guilt? Will I wimp out and justify “staying for the kids”? Will I remain miserable for the rest of my life? Will I forget that I deserve to find true happiness?
As if sensing me, Mark turns his head. His profile is illuminated by the dim light pooling from the kitchen window.
