Page 64 of October
"I, uh..." he started, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding my eyes. "I like you. Like... a lot."
I was already grinning like an idiot. "You do?" I squeaked, even though inside, I was exploding withI love you, I love you, I've loved you forever. For years and years. Finally!
He gave this awkward little laugh—the kind that only ever slipped out when he forgot to be guarded—and pulled a small pocket knife from his jeans. My breath caught as he stepped toward the tree.
With slightly shaking fingers, he carved our initials into the bark. Slow. Uneven. Careful.
T + O.
Then he turned back to me, cheeks pink, eyes unsure."Wanna..." He cleared his throat. "Maybe be my girlfriend? Officially."
I didn't hesitate. I launched myself at him, arms flying around his neck."YES," I gasped into his shoulder, laughing. "Obviously, you idiot!"
He stumbled but caught me, laughing too—that soft, rare laugh I loved like a secret. Then he did the thing he only ever did when we were alone: he rested his head gently against my shoulder, like that was the one place in the world he didn't have to carry the weight of everything.
"I love your smell," he mumbled into my hair, and it made my heart collapse in the best way.We stayed like that under the tree, wrapped up in each other, the bark still fresh and our initials catching the last golden light of day. Nothing was complicated yet. Nothing hurt.
*~??~**~??~**~??~**~??~**~??~**~??~*
I could barely hold back the tears. They pressed against my chest, hot and heavy, rising up my throat like a wave that had been building for months. I clenched my jaw, blinking too fast, trying to stay composed—but it was useless. The ache had found its way in.
How could you rememberthat, and still forget how to love me? He must have seen it on my face, because his shoulders dropped, and he looked like someone who'd run out of places to hide.
"I lost sight of what we had—of what you gave me every single day without asking for anything in return," he said, his voice low and trembling. "I stopped seeing you the way I used to. I took your love for granted, like it would always be there no matter how far I drifted. I convinced myself that just being the breadwinner was enough, that providing was my only role, and I used that to justify how absent I became. I want to say it again, I'm sorry. For everything. For the emotional cheating, for the silence, for the way I made you feel invisible in a home that was supposed to be ours."
He paused, swallowing hard, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked on the last word.
"I would give anything to go back and change it, all of it. Every decision, every lie, every careless moment. I've replayed it all in my head a thousand times, trying to undo it in my mind, but it always ends the same. I look at what I ruined and it hurts in a new way each time... because I lost you, and that's what breaks me, every single day."
For one long, aching moment, neither of us spoke. He looked down, fingers tightening into the fabric of his jeans, and said quietly, "I'd love nothing more than to stand here and beg youto take me back, to say all the right things, make all the right promises, swear I'd never hurt you again, never betray your trust, and spend every day showing you how deeply I cherish you. How Ialwaysdid... even when I was too lost to show it."
He swallowed hard, "I'd get on my knees right now if I thought it would fix what I broke. I would. Gladly. But that wouldn't be fair to you—not now. Maybe not ever."
He exhaled slowly, the weight of everything he'd left unsaid hanging between us. " But this is how I will fight for us,by first facing the parts of me I've ignored and becoming someoneworthyof your forgiveness, of your grace. Whether that means we find our way back to each other one day... or not."
He left and I stood there in the quiet, still holding the little box in my hand. Just feeling... sad. The kind of sadness that settles deep in your bones, that aches without sharpness. I turned the necklace over in my palm, feeling the weight of it, in everything it meant, and everything it didn't anymore. It was beautiful. Thoughtful. late. I went to my room and placed it gently on the counter, not because I didn't care, but because I couldn't carry it with me just yet.
The next morning, after I dropped the kids off, I was planning to go to the gym but somehow my hands turned the wheel on their own. I hadn't meant to come here. The path was overgrown, but my feet remembered the way. The tree stood tall, rough and weather-worn, but still here. The initials were faded but not gone. Mine and his. The boy who carved them with hands that trembled. The girl who said yes before he even finished the question.
I crouched down, brushing bark dust from the roots trying to hold some leaves, when something caught my eye, a soft glint beneath the ivy.
A plaque. Small. Brass. Set into the base of the tree. I stared at it for a long moment, heart still and breath caught somewhere in my chest. My fingers brushed over the engraving like it might vanish if I touched too hard. It was in French. He learned it because I once told him it was the language of love. I didn't think he'd remember. It had been one of those fleeting, soft confessions shared late at night — me, curled into his side, tracing circles on his chest, telling him how beautiful the world sounds when spoken in French. He'd laughed then, said he'd need a thousand years to learn it. But he had tried and wrote:
"Les feuilles s'effacent, l'odeur d'Octobre persiste."
??°.??.??*:???°.??.??*:???°.??.??*:???°.??.??*:???°.??.??*:???°.??.??*:?
Chapter Twenty-One: Fawn
I tried not to think about what that plaque and necklace really meant. I didn't want to go there. Every time my mind brushed against it, I flinched like it was an open wound. It was easier to tell myself it was just a kind gesture, just something nice. Easier to sit with the surface meaning than dig into what was lurking underneath. I was caught between conflicting emotions, grateful, angry, upset, hopeful, but mostly just confused.
Did he ever love me? The question hit first, sharp and cruel. The answer was yes, if he really did—then how could he do this to me? How do you betray someone you love and still call it love with a straight face? And if the answer was no... if he didn't... then whatwasall of this? Did I build a life on something I imagined was there, something I wanted to be real so badlyI never looked too closely? or did I misunderstand his love completely? Did I expect it to look like mine, to sound like mine, to move the way I love?
I kept thinking, looping the same thought over and over like I was chewing glass:If he had given me the gift that night, or even a few nights later, I would've forgiven him immediately. I would've told myself that mistakes happen and relationships are complicated, and I would've smoothed everything over, even the thing with Laura, or at least not stirred the pot any further.
So the following day, I went to my therapist. She didn't say much at first, just looked at me like she was waiting for me to start untangling the knot myself.
"I don't even know why I'm this upset," I finally said, my voice small and shaky. "It's like—I love the necklace. I do. It's thoughtful and beautiful and meaningful and... romantic, even. Everything I always wanted from him, in theory But I shouldn't love it this much."
