Sitting at the piano, I stare at the keys. My fingers hover over them, poised to play, but it’s like they’ve forgotten how. I slam the lid down and rest my forehead on the cool polished wood.
I need to think. To breathe. To stop the walls from closing in around me. But it’s no less than I deserve.
An image of her face torments me. Mia Stone, the woman I tore to pieces because I’m a selfish asshole who can’t give her what she needs. I can’t give her what she deserves. Mia should have every single thing her heart desires—just as long as that something isn’t me.
Except I could grant her everything she wants, couldn’t I? The wedding and the kids and the happily ever after—the entire beautiful fucking future I dreamed of last night after I made love to her like she was the other half of my fucking soul. We could have everything together. But why should I get a happily ever when Anya couldn’t have hers? What gives me the right to a joyful future with Mia when I promised my wife on her fucking deathbed that I would never love anyone else ever again?
Anya’s letter healed me in ways I never expected, but I can’t give myself permission to move on. I can’t offer another woman the future I was unable to provide for my wife …
And I can’t do it for Mia.
She was so perfect last night. I saw people watching us, and I know that they saw it too—how right we looked together, how fucking incredible she looked on my arm. Like everyone forgot that another woman once occupied that place. They forgot my beautiful Anya. But worse than that—I forgot her too. Not once did I think of my wife last night, and the weight of that guilt is heavy enough to crush me.
What if I stop thinking about her altogether? What happens to her then? What if I forget the feel of her skin against mine? The scent of her hair. The sound of her voice. How she curled up on my chest whenever she was tired. Who will remember all of those things about her if I don’t? If I stop thinking about her every day, she might be lost forever.
Balling my hand into a fist, I curse the day I met Mia Stone. Rage is an emotion I know how to deal with. Anger is all I’m good at now. If I’d never met her, I wouldn’t have made love to her last night. I wouldn’t have broken her heart.
I wouldn’t have betrayed the only two women I’ve ever loved.
And I never would have felt my own heart shatter for the second time.
