Page 133 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

That’s something I’ll have to push back against.

There’s no way he’s running my life.

I’m not the same anymore either. I’m hiding fractures he doesn’t even know exist.

It will take time for us to rediscover each other. To truly find our way back. But one thing is certain:

I want to try.

I start to sit up to make coffee when his arms tighten around me.

“Stay,” he murmurs.

I immediately curl back against him, letting his warmth and his scent wrap around me.

“Good morning,” I whisper against his neck.

I feel his smile against my hair.

“Good morning.”

Such an ordinary word.

And yet when you’ve walked through hell, even the simplest words and gestures taste different afterward.

Tears sting my eyes, and I fight to hold them back.

This embrace soothes our still-raw hearts.

It isn’t healing.

Not yet.

Just a direction.

It will take hundreds—maybe thousands—of moments like this for us to fully heal.

Good.

I’ll savor every single one.

As though he sensed my emotions, he leans back slightly and locks his gaze onto mine.

And just like yesterday, our eyes anchor to each other without filters, without defenses.

I lift a hand and brush my fingertips against his face, slightly trembling.

His cheek is warm, his beard rough against my palm.

He closes his eyes for a second before opening them again.

They’re shining a little too much.

My hand drifts up to his hair.

I forgot how soft it was.

His face blurs, and a tear rolls down my cheek.