Jon waited for her to call. Every time his phone rang, he jumped just in case it was her. He raced to answer the door; he would sit outside at the local diner and watch people passing by just in case he might catch a glimpse of the woman who had completely invaded his thoughts and his heart.
God, he really was pathetic.
Jon slumped on his couch with a beer in hand. He had exhausted all his options. There was no hope of finding her to tell her how wrong she was about him. She had never been a burden to him. He had gone out of his way for her because he wanted to, not because he had some twisted sense of duty to her or her family. How could she even think it?
Or just maybe she didn’t feel the same for Jon as he felt for her. Maybe she felt nothing past the camaraderie of a lawyer and a client. He had thought that she was interested in him. He knew he was attractive to her. He could have sworn that she cared for him as much as he did for her. Maybe he was wrong. The idea hurt. His chest constricted and tears burned the back of his throat.
Jon shook his head as he drew the bottle to his lips. Drinking was never something he did to cope with stress, but he felt at the end of his rope. He hoped that maybe a beer or two would help dull the pain that had bloomed in his chest over the past month. All he could do was wait. Wait for her call. Wait for her to see the truth. Wait for her to tell him to leave her alone. Wait. Wait, wait, wait. He hated it. But then, she had already sent a pretty clear message, hadn’t she? If she hadn’t contacted him by now, she wasn’t going to. Sarah was out on her own, and she didn’t need him.
A knocking at the door interrupted his brooding. Yeah, he admitted it. He was brooding. And for the first time in four long weeks, he didn’t jump to answer it. In fact, he was kind of irritated that someone was interrupting him.
Whoever it was didn’t see fit to go away. The knocking came again, louder. With a roll of his eyes and an exasperated sigh, Jon hefted himself off the couch and stomped to the door. He yanked it open and let it hit the wall behind it. “What?” he snarled.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll just go,” a familiar female voice said. Jon’s heart leapt and stuck in his throat. It was Sarah. She was outside his door. She looked fantastic. Her hair was longer, lying loose around her shoulders. Her stormy grey eyes were wary and tired, but beautiful, just the same. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, ones that fit. And he had just snapped at her. She was turning to hurry off when his wandering mind finally caught up. She was there. And she was leaving!
Do something! He stepped out of the door into the hall. “Sarah, wait,” he called to her. She stopped and stood with her back to him. “Please,” he said, “Come back.”
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said, turning to face him.
“I don’t mind,” he answered. Her eyes dropped to the hand still holding his beer bottle. He glanced down just as the disapproval colored her gaze. “Shit.”
“I should go,” Sarah said.
“No,” he said, a little too quickly. “I mean, I would really like it if you would stay.”
“I just, well…”
“Come inside, Sarah, and we can talk about it.”
She shrugged but followed him into his apartment. Jon immediately poured his beer down the drain and dropped the bottle into the trash. Of course she wouldn’t approve. Look at what the last man she let close to her did. He drank. A lot. Not that Jon did, but the difference may not have been so obvious to Sarah.
“I’ve been trying to get in touch with you,” he told her. Sarah was pacing the living room, holding a folder to her chest like a shield.
“I needed to be alone,” she explained.
“I see,” Jon said, even though he didn’t see. He wanted to demand her to tell him why she shut him out, why she avoided him. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her.
“I just thought I would ask you about my story,” she said.
Huh. Oookayy. “What about it?”
“Never mind,” she said and turned for the door. Jon raced in front of her and held his palm over the door, keeping it shut.
“Don’t run away from me, Sarah.”
“I can’t do this,” she said.
“Do what?”
“The beer. I thought if I came to see you that I could finally finish it, but I can’t do it. I can’t do it, Jon. There’s no way I can go through that again.”
“Sarah, if it bothers you, I won’t pick up a drink ever again. It isn’t something I do often, and I don’t need it. I swear to you, I mean it.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Jon.” She gave him one of her don’t mess with me looks. It brought a smile to his face.
“Why did you come see me?”
“It doesn’t have an ending,” she said.
“I don’t think I’m following,” Jon said, easing back from the door to give Sarah some space now that he was relatively sure she wouldn’t bolt.
“This stupid story,” she whined. “I’m done except for the ending. I wanted it to have some happily ever after, but it doesn’t. It sucks. It’s horrible crap. If Jenny reads this, she’s going to tell me that I’m ridiculously morbid and that I can do better. But it’s a true story! It doesn’t have a happy ending!”
“Do you want a happily ever after?” Jon asked quietly.
“Every girl wants a happily ever after. But I’m not going to get one. I’m a murderer. No one will-“
Jon silenced her with a finger to her lips. Her eyes widened as his head lowered. Then, he did what he had been itching to do for two long years. He kissed her.
EPILOGUE
Sarah stared at the crib with an overflow of emotion. The little mobile was made up of dainty little flowers, pink and white. The blanket was pink too, as were most of the things in the nursery.
“What cha thinking about?” Jon asked as he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her swollen belly.
Sarah leaned back into his strength. “I was just imagining what she will look like in here.”
“She’ll be beautiful, just like her mother,” he said, planting a quick kiss to the side of her neck.
“Do you really think everything will be ok?” she asked, worried.
“I do.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“What for?” he asked, drawing back so that he could look at her face. It had filled out a bit with her pregnancy, the color high on her cheekbones. Jon thought she had never been more beautiful.
“For loving me,” she answered.
“It wasn’t hard to do,” Jon answered.
“I love you, Mr. Jonathan Wellington.”
“I love you too, Mrs. Wellington.”
Acknowledgements
For Jon, who never gave up on me, thank you for loving me and for being my rock.
To my readers:
So many women today base their self-image on what other people think. They alter their bodies with plastic surgery or wear the clothes that are popular, or act as they are expected to behave by society. Or worse, how a man thinks they should look or act.
Don’t ever let a man decide who you are.
You are you. Beautiful and courageous, smart and funny in your own way. Perfectly flawed and wonderfully unique. Wear what you want. Be who you are. It is our individuality that makes us beautiful. Never change who you are to please someone else, whether it’s your man, your mother, a friend, or the general public. We do so many crazy things in search of love and acceptance.
And we do it for no good reason.
When we let someone else dictate who we are, we suffer. Not them. Us. It’s stressful and worrisome to try to be someone we are not. Stress can lead to very bad things, trust me, I know. And please, never stay in an abusive relationship any reason.
Somewhere out there, someone is waiting for you. There is someone who loves you for who you are, not what they want you to be. Someone who loves you becau
se of your flaws; not in spite of them. And when you find them, whether it’s a husband or just a good friend, hold on and never let go.
Thank you for being you.
With much love and respect,
Sarah Hayden
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