For two weeks after Marcus told me he loved me, I became ridiculous.
Not visibly.
At least I hoped not.
Internally, I analyzed everything.
How often he texted.
Whether his tone changed.
Whether "good night" with a period felt colder than "good night" without one.
Whether he seemed distracted during dinner.
Whether saying "love you" at the end of a phone call meant something different from "I love you."
Apparently surviving abandonment had turned me into a punctuation analyst.
Vanessa noticed within forty-eight hours.
"You look haunted."
"I'm fine."
"That word should be illegal in your family."
I glared at her.
We were sitting outside a café while Maisie played nearby with chalk.
Vanessa narrowed her eyes.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Marcus?"
I did not answer quickly enough.
"Oh."
Her face changed.
"What did he do?"
"Nothing."
"Then what did you do?"
Also nothing.
She stared.
Then realization appeared.
"He said it."
I looked away.
Vanessa's mouth opened.
"You said it back."
"Keep your voice down."
She covered her mouth.
Then whispered loudly:
"You love Marcus."
"I am leaving."
"No."
She grabbed my sleeve.
"Sit."
I sat.
Maisie looked over.
"Mommy mad?"
"No."
"Aunt Vanny annoying?"
"Yes."
"Always."
Vanessa looked betrayed.
Then returned to me.
"Why do you look miserable?"
"I'm not miserable."
"You're doing that thing where happiness makes you prepare for impact."
I hated how accurately she described me.
"I don't trust easy."
"I know."
"That's healthy."
"Sometimes."
"You think this is not one of those times?"
She stirred her coffee.
"I think Marcus has been in your life almost a year."
"Yes."
"I think you've watched him in normal situations."
"Yes."
"In emergencies."
"Yes."
"With Maisie."
"Yes."
"With Derek."
"Unfortunately."
She ignored that.
"And you still seem surprised that he remains decent."
I sighed.
"Decent people can leave."
"Yes."
"There are no guarantees."
"Correct."
"So why should I relax?"
Vanessa looked at me carefully.
"Maybe you shouldn't."
That surprised me.
She continued.
"Maybe relaxing is the wrong goal."
"What is the right one?"
"Being present."
I frowned.
"Meaning?"
"You keep trying to eliminate risk before you allow yourself to enjoy anything."
That was true.
"Risk doesn't disappear."
Also true.
"So maybe the skill isn't trusting that Marcus can never hurt you."
She glanced toward Maisie.
"Maybe it's trusting yourself enough to survive if he ever does."
That sentence stayed with me.
I had built much of my adult life around avoiding being placed in the position Derek had once put me in.
Alone.
Pregnant.
Terrified.
But I wasn't that woman anymore.
Not because she had been weak.
Because she had lacked evidence.
She didn't yet know what she could survive.
I did.
That knowledge could become armor.
Or freedom.
I had to decide which.
Marcus sensed the shift in me too.
One evening, he asked:
"Did saying it make things worse?"
We were washing dishes.
Very romantic.
"No."
He waited.
"Maybe."
He laughed softly.
"Honest."
I dried a plate.
"You made something more real."
"I know."
"Real things can be lost."
He turned off the water.
"Yes."
I looked at him.
"You aren't going to reassure me?"
"Would it work?"
"No."
"Then no."
Annoying.
"Marcus."
He leaned against the counter.
"I can't promise you I'll never disappoint you."
Good.
"I can't promise we'll never hurt each other."
Also good.
"I can promise that I won't use leaving as a threat."
That mattered.
"I can promise I'll tell you when something is wrong before resentment becomes a secret life."
That mattered more.
"And if someday this stops working, I won't disappear."
My throat tightened.
"You can't know that."
"I can know how I intend to behave."
He was right.
Promises about outcomes were fantasies.
Promises about conduct were different.
I set down the plate.
"That's enough."
He smiled.
"Good."
A month later, we had our first serious fight.
It was about absolutely nothing.
Which is how serious fights often begin.
Marcus had agreed to pick up takeout before coming over.
He arrived forty minutes late.
No message.
Dinner cold.
Maisie already hungry.
I had called twice.
No answer.
By the time he walked through the door, I was furious.
"Where were you?"
"Traffic."
"You couldn't call?"
"My phone died."
"You have a car charger."
"It stopped working."
"Convenient."
Marcus stopped.
That word landed badly.
"Convenient?"
"Yes."
He set the food down.
"I was stuck behind an accident."
"And nobody around you had a phone?"
His expression changed.
"I didn't think this required borrowing a stranger's phone."
"You said you'd be here."
"I was late."
"Forty minutes."
"I know."
"You disappeared."
There.
Wrong word.
Marcus went still.
Maisie looked between us.
I immediately regretted having the conversation in front of her.
Marcus lowered his voice.
"Can we talk later?"
I was still angry.
"Fine."
He helped Maisie with dinner.
I said very little.
After she slept, he sat across from me.
"You didn't think I was in traffic."
I crossed my arms.
"I didn't know."
"You thought I left."
"I thought you didn't care enough to tell me."
"Those are different."
"Are they?"
"Yes."
His voice remained calm.
That irritated me.
"I was late."
"Without communication."
"Correct."
"I needed to know."
"Also correct."
He paused.
"But I did not disappear."
I looked away.
"I know."
"No."
His tone sharpened slightly.
"I need you to understand something too."
I looked back.
"You are allowed to be angry that I was late."
Good.
"You are allowed to say I should have found a way to contact you."
Good.
"But if every mistake becomes evidence I'm going to become Derek, I can't win."
The sentence hit.
Hard.
Marcus continued.
"I am not asking you to forget what happened to you."
I said nothing.
"I am asking you to see me."
There it was.
The challenge I had demanded from everyone else.
See present behavior.
Not only past harm.
I felt embarrassed.
That emotion usually made people defensive.
Kyle drank.
Mom controlled.
Dad withdrew.
I apparently cross-examined.
"I'm sorry."
Marcus exhaled.
"I'm sorry too."
"For what?"
"I should have contacted you."
"How?"
"Borrowed a phone."
I almost smiled.
"Yes."
"Or planned better."
"Yes."
He nodded.
"Both things can be true."
I hated how useful that phrase had become in our family.
I was wrong.
He was wrong.
Neither canceled the other.
"Do you want to go home?" I asked.
Marcus looked surprised.
"No."
"Even though we're fighting?"
"We were fighting."
"Past tense?"
"Are you still fighting?"
I thought.
"No."
"Then I don't want to go home."
That answer mattered more than it should have.
Conflict had once meant danger.
Distance.
Punishment.
Silence.
Marcus stayed.
We cleaned the kitchen.
Then watched half a terrible movie.
At midnight, he kissed my forehead and left.
No grand repair.
Just normal.
The next morning, Maisie asked:
"You and Marcus mad?"
"We were."
"Now?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because we talked."
She accepted that.
Then:
"Marcus bad?"
"No."
"Mommy bad?"
"No."
"We both made mistakes."
She thought.
"Then both sorry."
"Yes."
"Easy."
I laughed.
"Sometimes."
Children had no appreciation for emotional complexity.
Maybe that was healthy.
The more interesting conversation happened the following weekend.
Derek came for pickup.
Marcus was still there.
Derek looked between us.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes."
Marcus smiled.
"She accused me of disappearing because I got stuck in traffic."
I stared.
"You did not need to share that."
Derek surprised me by laughing.
Not mockingly.
Understandingly.
"Yeah."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"I've earned being the unit of measurement."
"That isn't funny."
"A little."
Marcus looked at him.
"I would prefer not to be compared to your historical worst behavior."
"Reasonable."
I crossed my arms.
"You two bonding is unacceptable."
They laughed.
Maisie entered carrying her bag.
"Why funny?"
"Mommy is controlling," Derek said.
I stared.
He immediately raised both hands.
"Historically."
Marcus turned away to hide his laugh.
Maisie looked at me.
"You say sorry?"
"Yes."
"Then okay."
Apparently verdict delivered.
After they left, Marcus said:
"Your life is strange."
"You knew that."
"Not enough."
We spent the afternoon together.
No fear.
No analysis.
At least not constantly.
Over the next few months, love became boring in the best possible way.
Marcus knew where the extra towels were.
He had a coffee mug he preferred.
He began leaving a phone charger at my apartment.
One night, I realized he had a toothbrush in the bathroom.
I stared at it.
A toothbrush.
Nothing more.
Still, my heart began racing.
Marcus noticed.
"You okay?"
"You have a toothbrush here."
He looked toward the bathroom.
"Yes."
"When did that happen?"
"Last week."
"You didn't ask."
He frowned.
"Should I have?"
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
This was ridiculous.
Maybe.
Or maybe objects represented access.
I had spent years controlling access carefully.
"You can keep it."
Marcus smiled.
"Thank you."
Then he paused.
"Do you want me to ask before leaving things here?"
I thought.
"Not everything."
"Define everything."
"Furniture."
"Reasonable."
"Pets."
"Obviously."
"Human relatives."
He laughed.
"Anything else?"
"Surprise children."
"That feels like a medical emergency."
I laughed too.
The anxiety passed.
Not because the toothbrush became meaningless.
Because we talked about what it meant.
Marcus was becoming part of my home.
Slowly.
By choice.
Meanwhile, Elena and Derek became engaged.
This time, Derek did show me a ring.
Not his.
Hers.
He came to my apartment after work.
"I'm going to ask Elena."
I smiled.
"Congratulations."
"Not yet."
"You're telling me before her?"
"Only because I need to talk about Maisie."
Correct.
"When?"
"Saturday."
"Where?"
"At home."
"Good."
"Sophie knows."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Elena's daughter knows before Elena?"
"She helped choose the ring."
"Risky."
"Extremely."
"Maisie?"
"No."
"Good."
He sat.
"If Elena says yes, I want to tell the girls together."
"Okay."
"And eventually I'd like Maisie involved in the wedding."
"How?"
"Flower girl maybe."
"Her choice."
"Of course."
I smiled.
"You've really learned."
He gave me a look.
"Painfully."
Saturday evening, my phone rang.
Video call.
Derek.
I answered.
Elena appeared first, holding up her hand.
The ring caught the light.
I smiled.
"Congratulations."
Maisie screamed somewhere off camera.
"ELENA MARRY DADDY!"
Then she appeared.
"SHE SAY YES!"
Apparently privacy had ended.
Sophie shouted from behind her.
"We already knew."
Elena laughed.
"Apparently everyone knew except me."
Derek leaned into frame.
I looked at them.
Four years earlier, the sight might have devastated me.
Now I felt something unexpectedly simple.
Happiness.
For them.
For Maisie.
For all of us.
"Congratulations," I said again.
This time, the word came easily.
Later, after the call, Marcus sat beside me.
"You okay?"
"Yes."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
I smiled.
"I actually am."
He took my hand.
A few minutes later, he said:
"Do you ever want to get married again?"
I froze.
"Again?"
He blinked.
"You were never married to Derek."
"No."
"Right."
He laughed.
"Sorry."
I looked at him.
The question remained.
Marriage.
Not tonight.
Not proposal.
Possibility.
I thought about it.
"I used to think no."
"And now?"
"I don't know."
Marcus smiled.
"That seems to be our favorite answer."
"Apparently."
He squeezed my hand.
"No rush."
There wasn't.
That was what made it possible to consider.
No countdown.
No family expectation.
No rescue.
Just a future we could either build or not.
I leaned against him.
And for once, I let the uncertainty feel like space instead of danger.
Click here to continue reading: PART 27: Derek and Elena’s Engagement Made Maisie Ecstatic, but Wedding Plans Reopened a Question About Loyalty I Thought Our Family Had Settled
Halfway to My Mother’s Birthday, One Message Made Me Turn Around and Question Everything My Family Had Taught Me About Love
Part 26 of 35
