ManyWriters

My husband spent our wedding night with my sister. She was sick, he said.
When his job transferred him to New York, he took her, not me. His excuse? She'd never seen a big city.
He missed the birth of our son because her divorce was more important.
In the car crash, he shielded her with his body and left me to the impact.
As I lay dying, our own son begged me to set his father free. "You're nothing like her, Mom. Just let him go." My husband stood beside my bed, and his silence was his consent.
But I opened my eyes again. I was back at the registry, staring at the marriage application.
This time, I wrote my sister's name.

His Regret, Her Name, My freedom

The guest room wasn't large, but it was clean and tidy, and the bedding smelled of sunshine. "You rest for a bit. Dinner will be ready soon," Allen said gently after putting down my suitcase.


I nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching the snowflakes fall outside the window. My heart felt a peace and tranquility I hadn't experienced before. Maybe this is what a home feels like.


That evening, we sat around the dining table, eating a steaming Christmas Eve dinner. Mrs. Brown kept putting food on my plate, murmuring, "Isabel, dear, you have to come visit often. My door is always open for you."


I smiled and nodded, my heart full of warmth.


After dinner, Allen suggested a walk on the nearby beach. In winter, the beach was nearly empty, with only a few couples huddled together, enjoying the rare tranquility. We walked along the shore, neither of us speaking. Snowflakes fell gently, like a thin veil draping over us.


"Thank you, Allen," I said softly, breaking the silence.


Chapter 10