Page 6 of Mr. Hall's Sunshine

“Yes! God, yes. That’s why it hurt so much to look at you and speak to you every day, knowing I couldn’t have you. Knowing that I didn’t deserve you. Still don’t,” he whispers.

“It’s…well, I’m not going to say ‘it’s ok’ because it’s not. Never was, not for any reason,” I say, though I slip my hand into his hair and brush the messy strands back from his face so I can look him in the eye. “But…”

“But what, sunshine?” he asks with a note of hope in his voice.

“But I forgive you. But…”

“But?” he asks this time with a note of trepidation and fear.

“But it’s the one and only time. If there’s even so much as a hint of your old bullshit, I’ll be out the door so fast it’ll make your head spin. I won’t think twice about it, and you’ll never see me again.”

“I promise, sunshine. Fuck, I promise with every atom of my being that I will make it up to you, that you’ll never regret forgiving me. I promise. I promise.” And then he kisses me, slow and steady, pouring all of his sincerity into the kiss and the way he holds me tight to his chest until we’re both breathing hard again.

Once we’ve settled and I’m right on the cusp of falling asleep, he pleads with a whisper, “Say it again, sunshine, and promise you mean it.”

I’m only able to open one eye the barest amount. It’s just enough to see the desperation pouring out of him, the earnestness of his affections, his obsession, his regret, and his love for me. I know now that it was there all along, and I just couldn’t see it—he didn’t want me to see it—behind the asshole mask he used to hide his feelings for me while he was dealing with the shit storm that is—was—his life with Mary.

As crazy as it is for me to do so, I say with equal sincerity, “Your baby, Gerald. Your baby. Your sunshine wife. I promise.” The smile he gives me is brilliant and beautiful, and he kisses me again so sweetly. When he draws back, tears are trailing down his cheeks. His hand that had been tenderly caressing the side of my rounded belly goes stock-still when I say, “On one condition, though.”

I swear this bear of a man—who is somehow, incredulously, now my future husband—actually whimpers. “Anything. I’ll give you and our baby anything and everything you could want or need. Now and forever. Name it and it’s yours, sunshine.”

“Sign off on my maternity leave papers.”

—THE END—

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