Page 9 of Kiss From A Rose

"Aren't you angry, Dad?" he demanded. "She walked out on all of us."

Had she? Or had I and the kids left her years ago? She'd had to leave voice messages for her children because they didn't answer her calls. I knew that because they answered mine.

She'd left me a letter because I missed so many of her text messages that she'd stopped texting me. She hardly ever called. During the workday, my phone was forwarded to Aimee, who funneled calls to me. I never told her to prioritize my wife's calls; I didn't even know if Rose called during work hours.

"I'm devastated, son, but I'm not angry."

"What did she say in the letter?" Willow had tears in her voice.

I took a picture of her letter and sent it to them. "Kids, I need to think about this."

"I can't believe she just threw this bomb at us," Jude bit out.

"Jude,stop," I protested. "I…goodnight. I’ll call y'all tomorrow."

I walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer. Neatly stacked, were single portions of meals. She'd written on labels in her beautiful cursive hand what each dish was, the date, and instructions on how to heat the food. She'd left me lasagna, salmon, chicken breast—healthy stuff.

She'd left salad in mason jars in the fridge, all neatly labeled and dated.

"We don't live in your mother's trailer park, Rose; we can't eat fucking meat and potatoes all day. Can we have some fish, salad, greens?"I barked at her when we first set up our household.

The kids were a year and a half or so old. It had taken that long for me to agree to her begging and pleading for a place of our own so we would not live with my parents, where I knew she was suffocating.

We bought a small home in Druid Hills and lived there for a few years before moving to this house in Historic Brookhaven.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I looked at the food in the freezer, the final act of care from a woman who had felt invisible in her own home. It was a poignant reminder of the everyday love she'd shown, a love I'd taken for granted.

She must've spent hours putting this all together. Had she done this yesterday? Or on our wedding anniversary, the one I'd missed?

I marched into the dining room and saw the gift she'd left for me. The one I hadn't even bothered to open. I could've at least done that and thanked her; instead, I'd told her I had to work and slept in the fucking guestroom.Again.

I unwrapped the gift, my heart beating fast.

It was a watch. A Rolex. But not just any Rolex. This was the same kind that my father had given me, the one I lost years ago when we went to New Orleans for an anniversary trip she planned. I was livid about losing it.

"I'm so sorry, Gray. You can buy a new one—"

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. This is a family heirloom—an Oyster Perpetual Datejust from 1945. You wouldn't understand."

I shut her efforts down to make me feel better. Had I really behaved like a spoiled child? Yes, I was ashamed to say I had.

I pulled out the watch. It must've taken her forever to find it. They were rare. It was well maintained, better than the one I lost. Its gold case gleamed with a soft patina, bearing witness to decades of careful wear. The ivory dial, marked by Roman numerals, was framed by a fluted bezel, encapsulating a legacy of understated luxury.

The note with the watch said:My darling Gray, I know I can't replace the one you lost, but I hope this one will ease your heart.

I put on the watch and felt a wave of grief.

I lost the watch and blamed her for it, not directly, but I had. Like I held her responsible for almost everything that went wrong in my life. It was a habit. I had been blaming her, hadn't I, ever since she got pregnant? Why had I done that, when she'd given me two beautiful children, a home that was a refuge, a love that I could always count on? Instead of thanking her, a part of me resented her for trapping me in a marriage that I loved being in.

That night, I slept on Rose's side of the bed, breathing her in. She smelled like roses, just like her name.

Memories of lying in this bed with her assaulted me—my passionate Rose. Our lovemaking never got boring. My friends talked about gettingfreshpussy, but I neverfelt that way because I had my wife waiting at home. No matter how I ignored her or forgot about her, she held her arms out if I needed her, and she let me sink into her, feeling the peace only she could give me. As I remembered her kindness, affection, and generosity, my heart began to break into so many pieces that I didn't think I'd be able to put them back together again.

I lost the love of my life. I lost the only woman who'd ever held my heart—the only person in my life who'd given me more than she'd taken.

CHAPTER 5

Rose

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