The silence of my small downtown apartment was so different from the life I had left behind. Immersed in my work as a stylist, I sought solace in familiar fabrics and prints, but the void left by attempts at reconciliation were relentless. But the idea of facing him, of rebuilding our marriage from the ashes, seemed insurmountable. I ignored him, not answering his texts or calls. But he kept at it.
And one morning, Scott knocked on my door. I stood there with Ella, her laughter a bittersweet melody that softened the walls I’d built around my heart.
Reluctantly, I let them into my apartment. Scott’s apologies and promises of a future built on honesty clashed with my own doubts.
“Scott, would you forgive me if I did what you did?” I asked.
He didn’t know how to answer that question, but his promise of honesty and his plea for us to become a real family resonated with the part of me that still longed for the dream we once shared.
“A family built on truth, not lies,” Scott promised. “Come home, Everly, please.”
I couldn’t deny that I wanted it too. I took Ella and held her tightly to my chest, nodding to Scott, who came over to embrace us.
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