My gaze locked onto those eyes, the ones I'd fallen for a thousand times over, searching desperately for even a flicker of guilt in their depths.
There was nothing. He didn't even glance my way.
A bitter smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.
Right. A man who didn't care about his wife or his children could hardly be expected to remember a phone call that had never been hung up.
I didn't know how much time passed before the sharp sting of disinfectant pulled me back.
I opened my eyes. Alexis's face filled my vision.
The moment she saw I was awake, her eyes lit up.
She set the apple and paring knife in her hand aside, dug into her bag, and tossed a stack of paper onto my bed.
"You're awake! Quick, tell me if this love letter turned out okay."
The sheets were a collage, pieced together from strips of paper covered in handwriting I knew by heart.
Beside the meticulously assembled creation sat a notebook, its pages ripped apart without a shred of care.
I recognized everything on that bed in an instant. My breath stopped.
Those were my love journals. Ten years of them.
The pieced-together letter began: To my beloved, Alexis.