26. I’m sorry

Evi:
For the first time in weeks, Bill gets home surprisingly early.

"Hi," he says, wrapping his arms around my waste. "I'm sorry." He whispers in my ear.

I close my eyes briefly. "I know."

"What if we order some take out? So you don't have to cook today." His arms around me tighten.

"Not cooking sounds nice." I admit.

"You order. Whatever you want. I'll go take a quick shower." He presses a kiss to my cheek before he lets go of me and walks away.

I follow him with my eyes, until I can no longer see him. I sigh, closing my eyes. Maybe I made a mistake? I shake my head. No, I made up my mind. There is no way back now.

I order some food, open a bottle of wine and pour two glasses.

By the time the food arrives Bill is out the shower.

We sit across from each other. I steal glances at him, catching the flicker of his eyes doing the same. And when our gazes finally meet, my heart skips a beat.

When we are done eating, we sit down on the couch. A romantic movie playing in front of us. Don't ask me which one, I don't know.

Bill reaches out, his hand warm as it cups my cheek, gently turning my face toward his. His voice is soft, almost tentative. "I love you. You know that, right?"

I nod. "I love you too."

His lips find mine, the kiss is tender at first, then hungrier. I climb onto his lap, straddling him, my arms locking around his neck.

The kiss deepens until I can't think, can't breathe, can't be anywhere else but here. The movie fades into background noise. It's just him, just us.

We start to move, up the stairs, into our room.

By the time he lays me down on the bed, we're already undone. He moves over me, pressing his body to mine, and when he slides inside me, a sound breaks from both of us.


When he kissed me, it wasn't fire this time—it was something quieter, deeper. His lips lingered, soft, patient.

I held his gaze, and for once he didn't look away. There was no distance, no silence—only the weight of everything we hadn't said, pouring out through every kiss, every moan.

Every breath, every heartbeat felt shared, as if there was no line between us anymore. His forehead pressed to mine, our hands tangled together.

It was more than sex. It was surrender. And instead of feeling weak, I felt... seen.

I'd never felt closer to him. Not in the laughter, not in the silences, not even in the good days. This was different.

Every move was slower, more deliberate, as if we both knew this mattered in a way it never had before. My body answered his, but it was my heart that ached, my heart that trembled with the terrifying thought that maybe—just maybe—we were finding our way back to each other.

And it terrified me. Because if this was real... then what the hell am I doing?


We lay together, our bodies still close.
His arms around me, my head resting on his chest, listening to the slow, steady beating of his heart.

It should have been comforting, but instead it made the tears come. Just one at first, then more, I couldn't hold them back.

He shifts, pressing his lips to the top of my head, whispering my name softly, but I don't answer. I just let the tears fall.

"Hey," he murmurs, brushing his thumb across my shoulder. "Don't cry."

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice breaking apart as the words leave me.
"Don't," he says quickly. "I'm the one who should apologize."

I shake my head, wiping the tears with the back of my hand. I do need to apologize. For the things he doesn't know. For what I was about to do.

He pulls me closer. "I love you, Evi. I really do. I know I messed up. But I'll do better, I promise."

I nod, pressing my lips on his. "I love you, Bill. Never forget that. I will always love you."


Eventually, his breathing deepened, steady and even. I lay there a while longer, listening, waiting. When I was sure he was asleep, I slid from his arms and out of the bed.

I walked downstairs, as quietly as possible.

I grab my bag from the hallway closet. Pumba walks up to me, his nails clicking softly against the floor. His big eyes blink up at me and I crouch to stroke his head

"Sshh, don't wake Daddy," I whisper. My throat burns as I press a kiss on his head. "I'll miss you, Pumba."