Page 162 of Halo

My desk is now a beautiful garden. Every morning before school, I’m greeted with another bouquet of incredibly realistic silk flowers—beautiful enough to look freshly cut, but carefully chosen so no one's allergies are triggered.

Oh Cowboy …

A very beautiful, very simple silver bracelet arrived the day after our fight. I slipped it on immediately. Every day since, a new charm for the bangle has arrived with a handwritten note explaining what it represents—something he appreciates about me.

I wear it every day. The charms jingle softly whenever I teach, each delicate sound making my heart ache for the man I’m still not ready to forgive.

The man bought lunch for the entire staff on Tuesday, which earned me several curious looks.

Even my precious Angus received a box of treats and rawhides.

I miss him.

God, I miss him so badly.

But missing Nick is the easy part.

The harder part is sitting with the aftermath of what he shared.

My family knows now.

Not just that my marriage ended or that Declan hurt me. They know the word I’ve spent years avoiding.

Rape.

Even thinking it makes my stomach turn.

Because calling it that means admitting there was never some misunderstanding between a husband and wife. It means accepting that all those nights I begged him to stop were exactly what I always knew they were.

And now I can’t shove that truth back into the dark just because I’m scared to look at it.

I grew up hearing what people said about women who were raped.

What was she wearing?

Why was she there?

Why didn’t she stop him?

Even when I tried to explain that something was wrong in my marriage, somehow the answer always came back to what I wasn’t doing for my husband.

It's always the woman's fault.

I told myself that giving in meant I consented. Fighting only made it hurt worse. If I stopped resisting, it ended sooner, and hopefully someday, I'd learn to enjoy it. Declan was happy. And that's what a good, Christian wife was supposed to do: meet his needs.

Knowing better now doesn’t erase years of being taught to blame myself.

And now my family knows.

I’m still furious with Nick. That truth belonged to me, and he had no right to take the choice away. But in some twisted way, he also said the words I couldn’t. He actually gave me a voice.

Maybe someday I’ll even be grateful for that.

I miss him.

I want him.

And I know we need to talk.