Page 9 of Reclaiming Venom

“Your attempt at homemade bread,” she teased, a playful lilt in her voice. “Let’s just say your talents lay elsewhere.”

I couldn’t picture myself trying to make fucking bread. I had a feeling there was a story behind it. One I didn’t recall.

In the living room, I spotted a weathered leather jacket hanging on a hook. My fingers had itched to touch it. The worn material whispered of countless rides and shared adventures.

“Your favorite,” Ridley murmured. “You always said it was lucky.”

The bedroom unfolded like a sanctuary, soft light filtering through gauzy curtains. A quilt draped across the bed, its patchwork telling stories I couldn’t quite grasp.

“A Christmas gift from our daughter, Mariah, about five years ago,” she explained. “Some of the patches are from clothes we’ve worn over the years, all of us, and a few are from the kids’ favorite blankets when they were little.”

My throat tightened as I turned to Ridley, overwhelmed by the evidence of a life so rich and full of love. “I wish I could remember.”

Her hand found my cheek, her touch infinitely tender. “We’ll make new memories, tough guy. And who knows? Maybe the old ones will find their way back home, just like you did.”

My chest tightened as I stood in the hallway, surrounded by the remnants of a life I couldn’t recall. Each photograph, each trinket on the shelves whispered of shared moments, laughter and tears that slipped through my fingers like sand. The weight of it all pressed down on me, a bittersweet ache that left me breathless.

“It’s all here,” I murmured, more to myself than to Ridley. “A whole life, right in front of me, and I can’t…” My voice trailed off, frustration coloring my words.

Ridley stood beside me, her presence a steady anchor. Her vibrant energy cut through the turmoil swirling in my mind. “What did you feel when you looked at these things, Venom?” she asked, her voice gentle yet probing.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the emotions swirling within me. “Like I’m on the edge of something important,” I admitted. “Like I should know more, feel more. It’s… maddening.”

As we moved farther down the hall, a large portrait caught my eye. I stopped, transfixed by the image of myself surrounded by three young faces -- two girls and a boy. My children. My family.

Without thinking, I reached out, tracing the outline of each face with my calloused fingers. The eldest girl’s mischievous grin mirrored Ridley’s. And the boy’s serious expression reflected my own, his wide eyes full of wonder.

“Farrah, Dawson, and Mariah,” Ridley named each child again.

My voice thickened with emotion when I finally spoke. “They’re beautiful. Our kids…” The words felt foreign on my tongue yet undeniably right. “Tell me about them.”

Ridley’s eyes were full of pride and love as she responded. “Farrah’s our firecracker. Takes after me, I’m afraid -- she was always up to something. Still is, but now she gives Demon a headache and not us. Dawson’s the thinker, quiet but sharp as a tack. He’s always been a little different from the other kids around here. And Mariah? Well, she’s got you wrapped around her little finger. The day you sent her off was the hardest on you. I could tell it gutted you, but we both knew it was for the best.”

A lump formed in my throat. “I can’t remember them,” I whispered, the admission tearing at my heart. “But I feel… God, Ridley, I feel so much. Do they know? I mean, that I can’t remember them?”

Ridley’s warm hand slipped into mine, her fingers intertwining with my own. The simple touch sent a jolt through me, grounding me in the moment. I turned to face her, struck by the depth of emotion in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” she murmured, her voice a soothing balm. “And yes, they’re aware. Which is why Dawson won’t be bringing our granddaughter around for a bit. He thought it might be confusing for her.”

The air between us crackled with unspoken tension, a familiar yet foreign electricity. I was drawn to her, noticing the faint scent of lavender that clung to her skin. Now I knew where the smell in the house had come from.

“Come on,” Ridley said, gently tugging my hand. “I want to show you something.”

She led me through the house, past the kitchen where the aroma of fresh coffee still lingered, and out into the backyard. My breath caught as I stepped onto the patio, taking in the sight before me.

A riot of color greeted my eyes -- vibrant purple irises swayed alongside delicate pink roses and fiery orange marigolds. The garden sprawled across the yard, a patchwork of life and beauty. In the center stood a massive oak tree, its branches spreading wide to provide dappled shade.

“You did all this?” I asked, awe tinging my voice.

Ridley nodded, a proud smile lighting up her face. “It’s been a labor of love. Started small, just a few flowers here and there. But it grew, just like our family. And it wasn’t easy. I had a lot of help.”

I walked along the winding stone path, drinking in every detail. A small vegetable patch nestled in one corner; tomatoes ripened on the vine. Near the fence, sunflowers stretched toward the sky, their golden faces following the sun’s path.

“It’s incredible,” I said, turning back to Ridley. The late afternoon light caught her hair, setting it ablaze with golden highlights. “You’re incredible.”

A faint blush colored her cheeks, and I felt a surge of affection for this vibrant woman who had built a life with me -- a life I was determined to rediscover.

“Tell me about that,” I said, gesturing to a weathered wooden bench beneath the oak tree.

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