Well, here is the final chapter (there will be a little epilogue that I will post in a few days). I am sorry that it took so long, my head and mind were not with me, and for this story I needed to be completely focused with what I wrote. I think things did not turn out exactly the way I wanted, but at least here is the end.
Thank you very much for reading, commenting, and sending me messages asking for this story.
If you want to read more of me, remember that I started a new crossover fanfic with Shelagh and Anna Bates from Downton Abbey.
Thanks and I love you, dear reader!
Four months later
He leaned over her, kissing her, and instinctively she spread her legs, aching with the urge to have him there. His mouth worked wonders on her entire body, his hands touched her, awakening each of her nerves.
She sat up, startled.
She was alone, in the middle of a black night, where nothing could be heard but the faint rumble of a slowly approaching storm.
She tightened her eyelids, regulating her breathing, erasing one by one the fragments of the dream she had.
She looked around. As always, the bed was empty, there was only her body that seemed much smaller in so much space.
Pushing the covers aside, Shelagh lowered her legs off the bed, ready to go to the kitchen. She needed a drink, she needed a cigarette, she needed to pray. She needed anything to make her forget how much she missed him.
She had not seen him for three months. Four, if she did not count the lightning trip Patrick made for Angela and May's graduation. He was only at the ceremony and at the after party, but as he arrived he left, and she only saw him, it was impossible to cross a word with him because the children were occupying all his attention.
She has never been so long without being by his side. Even separated, from time to time she saw him, and she knew that by calling him, he would answer or come to the house, even if it was just to argue. Now hundreds of kilometers separated them and hundreds of minutes without seeing him, hearing him, feeling him.
It was a cruelty she did not deserve.
And yet, despite everything, he was right. Because without seeing him, hearing him or feeling him, fights were impossible. She could have any rational thought without being interrupted by him or by all the emotions that took over her female body to love or hate him desperately.
It was completely terrible to admit it, but without Patrick she was calm.
She was a separate and independent unit, she studied, worked, prepared her children, she did the shopping, she got the best grades, cooked and cleaned without having in her head the question of what would be the next trigger of a fight with her husband.
There were no screams, no tears, no hurtful words muttered.
There was no life either.
Because although she carried her days as a single woman, without problems or questions, and she discovered every moment that she was not as old and useless as she thought, she felt that something was missing. She was missing her life, the reason for her existence, the toxic and at the same time delicious reason why her heart was beating.
Patrick.
As much as she tried not to think during the day, it was at night when treacherous dreams appeared, like the one she had just had, where she believed that when she woke up he would be by her side, ready to fulfill them.
He said he needed to get away and think. She had already done it, and a taste of her life as a single woman was enough, now she was sure of what she wanted, and what she wanted was for him to return. She did not know how to make things work, her head was spinning a lot of plans with little sustenance, which she immediately discarded. The right thing would be that both of them, together, make those plans. If she took control, everything would get out of control again.
She turned on the bedside table lamp and the light blinded her for an instant until she could focus her vision, aided by her glasses. Scattered around the room were her clothes, and on the floor, an open suitcase.
Her children insisted, and they had their right to do so. It was summer, it was vacations, very soon the adult obligations would begin. Their father now lived in a beautiful place, and they wanted to visit him.
But she was a mother, she could not help that side of hers, and she could not let Angela, May and Teddy travel alone. Teddy could get lost, the girls were young and beautiful, and she did not want to think about what might happen to them on a train at night.
So she started preparing her clothes, and herself, because she suspected that her motherly fears were true but also an excuse to see Patrick again.
The prospect of seeing him stoked all her expectations and insecurities again, and she could no longer stop thinking about him, how he would look like, what he would think when seeing her there. Would he fire her? Would he treat her badly? Would they start arguing right away?
She trembled at the thought of that and raised her eyes, praying to God, praying that her family would go back to how they were before and that Patrick would think well and return to her side.
The storm drew a little closer, the breeze rattled the curtain in her bedroom open window and she felt the skin on her arms crawl. It was not from cold, it was from fear.
What if Patrick was happy? What if he had found his place, and everything was wonderful to him? What if he decided he no longer wanted a life with her in Poplar or anywhere else?
She ruffled her hair, groaning at the feeling of her head completely filled with conflicting thoughts. With a powerful jerk she opened the drawer of her bedside table, searching for the packet of cigarettes she hid there. All her belongings, always perfectly ordered, shook due to the force with which she opened the small cabinet, and something appeared before her sight that she kept hidden well in the background, away from any gaze.
Tied with a faded pink ribbon, there were a pile of envelopes.
They were the letters he wrote to the sanitarium, letters full of worry, despair, and secret love. She did not need to read them, because she knew them by heart, if she closed her eyes she could tell in which letter he said exactly what.
Even so, she untied the ribbon, because there were other things there too: Valentine's cards, notes that accompanied bouquets of flowers, torn papers with a simple "I'll be back late, I love you." All written with his unmistakable handwriting, where she could see in each stroke all the love that he gave her.
She stroked each paper slowly, smiling slightly.
"What happened, Patrick?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Two tears fell and wet one of the notes, dampening the ink. She touched it with a fingertip to dry it, but the ink ran, and she burst into tears. She felt stupid, crying over some ink staining a note was really silly, but it was like a trigger for the artificial insecurity that she had imposed on herself. She was not happy, she did not live, she had nothing without him, and her entire future with Patrick seemed to fade as quickly as ink was disappearing from the paper.
She wiped her face and gathered the papers. She tied them back with the ribbon and put everything in the drawer, out of sight, as Patrick had once said, referring to the little nightgown she made in hopes of giving him a child.
She put a hand to her mouth, remembering that. Teddy was born, her little miracle. Even so, she was filled with fear and doubt when she thought of those moments of anguish, where she believed that she was wrong at every step and that she was being punished for her choice. Those hours of crying and grief would never be erased from her mind.
And then there was so much joy. So much love, the most complete happiness, a little paradise that she built together with Patrick, by dint of worries, sleepless nights, laughter and emotions on the surface. They went through so much together and now they were like this, months without seeing each other, without even speaking two words on the phone.
She remembered what Sister Julienne told her: "Let your heart guide you." She spent time ignoring that guidance, letting anger and pride take over her emotions.
"Tomorrow will be another day," she said looking out the window, where she could see the lightning bolts.
Shelagh smiled, suddenly confident. Tomorrow would be another day, and she would be willing to face anything. She had the strength, she could do it.
/
"Mom, I can't find the blue sweater!"
"Teddy, you have hundreds of blue sweaters, which one?"
"It's summer, why do you want a sweater?"
"It's cold in the islands, May, didn't you hear what Dad said?"
Shelagh rolled her eyes. Of course the morning would be chaotic, how could she think otherwise? It was four hours before they started their trip, and that could be a long time anywhere, except in a house like hers. There were unassembled suitcases, she knew she was forgetting many things, and it would not stop raining.
They caught up with the train, barely five minutes before it left, and dropped into their seats, exhausted from the run on the platforms running over people.
"Now I hope you don't fight the whole trip," Shelagh said, then opened her bag and pulled out a large package of sweets. The children put their hands in, eating and laughing.
"Easy mom, we are educated people," Angela said, looking at her brother, who had the mouth full of sweets, "Except for the little beast we brought."
"You are the beast!" the boy yelled. Shelagh sighed.
"If you are going to be like this, I will tie you to your seats."
The children laughed, then seemed to calm down and just talked, asked questions, pointed to what they could see through the wet window and ate all the provisions their mother gave them. As the hours passed, boredom drove them to sleep.
The trip was exactly as Shelagh remembered it, with one exception: a long time ago, she traveled quite tight among her friends, but when sleep overcame her, she slept against Patrick's shoulder, smiling gratefully for the little intimacy. She had even woken up with a start from the train, and found Patrick staring at her, and he gave her a little kiss, thinking they were all asleep. She still remembered Nurse Crane's stern gaze, no doubt thinking it would be torturous a trip with a couple behaving like teenagers. She remembered feeling a bit self-conscious but also a bit rebellious, entangling her hands in her husband's arm, resting her head on his shoulder, showing that she, unlike the rest, could sleep next to the man she loved. She was selfish, but that simple foolish act had made her feel strong and secure in front of others, especially Mother Mildred.
Now her head was against the cold wall of the train, and next to her Teddy shifted, uncomfortable, and in front of her eyes, her two daughters huddled under a blanket.
She sighed and looked out the window, although in the darkness little could be seen. She only saw huge fields full of grass, sometimes with animals.
Traveling always made her a little sad. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what she would find the next day.
/
When they got off the train they noticed that it was cooler and wetter than London. Shelagh checked the time as her children crawled through the station, looking for a place to eat because according to them, they were undernourished. She laughed to find her bag full of wrappers of sweets, cookies and chocolates that her children ate but apparently had not quenched their ravenous hunger.
It was ten o'clock in the morning, Timothy would be traveling from Manchester in his new car that everyone wanted to see. He had warned that he would surely arrive at noon, if he found the hole where his father surely lived.
It would be a family holidays, though Shelagh doubted they were a family. But Tim insisted on going when he knew that his siblings would be traveling.
"Let's take a taxi!" she yelled, though her children were already entering a small buffet.
She followed them, the scent of coffee making her stomach rumble. Everyone in the buffet looked them up and down and she felt intimidated. She remembered that the Outer Hebrides was not very friendly when they arrived with the Order. A man came up to her, he was disheveled and walking with a limp.
"Where are you from, sweetie?"
Always protective, Teddy stood beside her, staring at the man.
"We're just visiting," Shelagh tried to smile. The man frowned.
"Visits, here? Who do you visit?"
"Dr. Turner. My husband," her voice underlined the word husband, which made the man take a half step away from her.
"I didn't know he has a wife. He's a good doctor! I'll call my friend to take you in his truck."
"It's not necessary, we will take a taxi."
"Taxi? There is not that here, well, there are but they are very expensive. We are grateful to the doc, so the best we can do for him is to bring his lovely wife to him."
The man yelled into the buffet and another man who looked identical came out. They spoke in Gaelic and then the other man smiled.
"My Jeep is over here. I'll take you right away."
Shelagh looked around. The other people watched them without saying anything.
"Mom, we better go," Angela whispered, clutching a packet of sandwiches, "The man seems friendly, and if there are no taxis… what else will we do? I don't want to stay here, I don't think they like us."
She nodded, agreeing with her daughter.
In truth the man seemed friendlier than the others, and he loaded the suitcases into his Jeep and chatted the whole way, but Shelagh just nodded, not paying attention.
The place looked the same as before, and when they reached the small town, she wondered in which of all those stone houses was her husband.
"And here we are!" the man announced triumphantly, parking in front of a house facing the sea. He honked the horn twice but no one came out, "Umm, the doc must have left for an emergency…"
Shelagh's heart sank. As always, Patrick was busy with other things.
Even so, the children jumped out of the vehicle.
"Oh, how beautiful everything is!" May exclaimed, Angela you could paint all this. Teddy, there are sheep, you can practice with them!"
Slowly, Shelagh got out of the Jeep, the wind hitting her, though it was not cold.
"If you want I can stay here with you, ma'am," said the man, "Until the doc arrives."
"No thanks, it's fine," she smiled at him.
The man greeted her with a tilt of his cap when she thanked him, and left quickly when Shelagh asked how much she should pay for the trip.
"The doc is a good man, it's a small reward for him," the man said before disappearing with his Jeep.
She stood next to the suitcases, in front of the door of the house, not quite sure what to do. She looked around, there were several houses facing the sea, others on a hill. Her children were already running towards the beach, May had the camera in hand and was taking pictures of her siblings who were trying to pose as models of magazines while they burst into contagious giggles.
She looked at them, laughing too, but inspecting everything. The house was small, a windswept stone cottage, but neat and pretty.
She thought of the two men's words, how they referred to Patrick. He is needed and loved here, she thought. A chill ran down her spine.
The children began jumping and screaming looking out to sea. There was a small boat approaching. The chorus of "Dad, Dad!" it became more and more powerful, and they slipped on the small stones of the beach, as they ran towards the shore.
She watched the girls rush into their father's arms once he reached the shore, while Teddy stayed a little further away. Patrick, May and Angela almost fell into the water and uproarious laughter echoed throughout the place, and when the girls let their father get off the boat, Patrick hugged their children and filled them with kisses.
He looked younger with his tousled hair and his huge smile. She saw him go up to the cottage, the children talking all at once, telling him things, pointing to the sheep, the sea, asking him to go fishing, asking about everything they saw.
The wind ruffled his hair, and he looked taller in those wellies. He was slimmer but more athletic, the black sweater he was wearing was a little too big for him but not too bad. His smile shone with joy as did his gaze, but it suddenly darkened when he realized she was standing there.
"Hello Shelagh," he whispered. The children were silent.
"Hello Patrick."
"Mom wouldn't let us come alone because she says it's dangerous," Teddy explained, looking exasperated, "And absolutely nothing happened."
She felt his gaze on her, and she shivered. She could not figure out what he was thinking, if she was welcome, or if it was better to leave as soon as possible."
"That's very good," he replied to his son, but without taking his eyes off her, "Nothing happened because Mom was there."
Then he looked at his daughters, smiled at them.
"I'm sorry that you came when I wasn't here. A woman went into labor on the other side of the islands, but it was a false alarm. Come home, come on. I have a big cake that I hope Mist didn't eat."
"Mist?" May asked.
"My cat. Because I have a cat, you know?"
"You have a cat? Yes!" the three exclaimed, and they screamed louder when a cat appeared at the window, confused to see so many hands caressing it.
"It's gray, hence the name."
She felt his gaze on her again and something twitched in her stomach. The cat was gray, yes, but there was something else behind its name. There was mist, and a lonely road. She opened her mouth to say something, although she did not know what. She was surprised, excited, she wanted to ask him if he felt the same love that she felt when she remembered the day they really saw each other for the first time.
"Oh Doctor Turner, everyone is here!"
Shelagh could not help being angry at whoever interrupted the minimal but valuable contact she was having with her husband.
She turned and saw a young blond woman smiling broadly with something in her hands. Patrick seemed to light up and approached the woman, greeting her in Gaelic. Shelagh looked at him stunned. Since when did he speak that language? And since when did he smile and chat with whores like that woman?
Shelagh bit her lower lip, the woman seemed kind, just that, she had no right to think so bad of her, but she was handing Patrick a tray with a big cake and he was thanking her like it was the most valuable thing in the world.
Shelagh looked at her children, oblivious to everything, taking pictures of the cat, making him play with a blade of grass. Patrick thanked the woman once more, and she walked away down the path, until she entered the nearest house.
"That's my neighbor, Miss Green. She brought more cake."
"Good!" Teddy said, following his father into the cottage.
The girls grabbed their suitcases and went inside, calling the cat to follow them. Shelagh entered last, looking at everything carefully.
It was a small house, the living room and the kitchen were together, there was a worn green sofa, medical magazines everywhere, a fireplace and a table with rustic chairs. Patrick put the cake there and walked over to the counter, where he checked that the other cake he had was intact.
The boys sat down, she did the same.
"I'll make tea and… do you want coffee, Shelagh?"
"No, I'm fine," she said too harshly. The cottage's door was left open, so from her place at the table she could see the blonde woman's house. It was far away, but also very close.
Her children completely ignored her, which she appreciated. They were busy with the cat, with their father, with everything they saw around. She was listening to them talking, the joy in all their voices, and she just nodded, glancing out at that little house like this, where a woman baked cakes for Patrick.
She tried to breathe deeply, looking for a way to calm her heart, punishing herself for being so silly.
They heard a horn and the children rushed out. Outside was a shiny blue car, from which Timothy got out.
"Dad, couldn't you get into another more complicated place? I've been hanging around for an hour!"
"Stop complaining big man," Patrick hugged his son in a tight hug, then kissed him on the head, "I missed you so much. Look at this machine!"
Timothy greeted everyone, and gave Shelagh a wink that she did not understand. Then he began to joke with his siblings, who were busy inspecting the car down to the smallest details.
"I'm starving, did you bring something to eat, mom?"
"There's cake," said Patrick, "Come, let's go inside. Oh, and you don't know what lunch I'll make!"
Shelagh followed them inside, though she preferred to stay with her little ones outside. Timothy joked about his father's culinary disasters, then talked about his job and his girlfriend Kate. Shelagh remained silent, staring at him across the table. Tim was obviously happy, things were much better with his girlfriend, there was the possibility of a promotion at the hospital, and he had his own car, although it was second-hand and he was paying for it in installments. Patrick was looking at him with pride painted all over his face.
"We'll go see the sheep!" May announced, appearing suddenly, leaning out the door. She was off before her father started recommending, and Shelagh saw her children running down the hill, screaming and laughing.
Seeing that her eldest son and Patrick were discussing the possibilities of the car's engine, Shelagh silently stood up and went outside.
She needed a cigarette, she also needed to flee, but she was in the most remote place and she could not escape. She looked out to sea, and walked to the back of the house, which faced the water and the morning sun.
From the corner of her eye, she glanced toward the blond neighbor's house. She thought of how young and revitalized Patrick looked. She also thought that she believed she had the strength and courage to face all this.
She did not have them.
She leaned against the wall of the house, her hands trembling and she shoved them into the pockets of the light coat she was wearing. She closed her eyes, letting the warm sun and wind wipe away the little tears that flowed.
You're stupid, Shelagh. You thought he would be suffering for you. You lost him, you lost him forever.
She spent several minutes there, mentally punishing herself.
She heard the sound of footsteps on the stones near her and turned abruptly. She found Patrick approaching.
"Tim is unpacking."
She just nodded, not looking at him.
"Sorry, Shelagh, I didn't know you were coming. I was surprised when I saw you."
"I realized you weren't expecting me. Anyway I'll be leaving tomorrow."
"What?"
Her own mind also screamed "What?!" but she paid no attention to it.
She turned to look at him.
"There's a train that leaves at 9, I'll go on that one. The children can go back to London with Timothy."
She had not planned that, she was saying it on impulse, but that was what she had to do, go away and continue alone in Poplar, accepting resignedly that this would be her life forever.
"If that's what you want…" he whispered, kicking a pebble.
"Of course that is what I want, if not, I wouldn't do it," she spat the words.
He sighed, exasperated.
"Are you already fighting?"
"I'm not fighting, I'm just informing you what I'll do."
"Good," Patrick turned around to go back inside the house.
"What is her name?"
"Whose?" He turned, looking at her strangely.
"That woman," she raised her chin, indicating the neighbor's house.
"Miss Green, I already told you."
"No, her name."
"Lesra. Why do you ask that?"
"How long have you been with her?"
"Shelagh what are you saying?" he looked outraged and that infuriated her.
"I say what I see. She seems very happy that you are here and so are you."
"Shelagh, she's my neighbor, that's all! I told her that my children were arriving today and she made a cake, which of course is much better than the one I made, so I was happy when I saw her with the tray."
"Well, I didn't see just that," she took two steps away, he followed her.
"What's wrong with you? Are you jealous now? I remind you that the one who asked for a divorce was you!"
"And I see you very happy with that!"
"Oh no, you've already started."
They both turned, and saw Timothy. He stood with his arms folded, looking at them almost with contempt.
"This is something incredible, you are two minutes together and already fighting and screaming. Really, I thought you two changed, but I was so wrong."
"Tim…" Patrick started, but his son shook his head. He looked disappointed and sad.
"You don't even try to get along for a day. Is there a good place to camp here? I want to take my siblings; I don't want them to be near you because you will ruin their holiday."
"It won't be necessary Tim, I'll be leaving tomorrow," Shelagh walked past him to enter the house. She heard both men following her.
"Shelagh..."
"Mom, don't be like that."
"I'll go Tim, I know Angela, May and Teddy will be fine with you traveling to London. Everyone will have a nice holiday without me here, don't worry."
"Shelagh don't talk nonsense," Patrick replied, his voice angry and full of annoyance.
She stopped and looked at him.
"I'm not talking to you, Patrick."
"Stop!"
They were startled when they heard Tim's scream. He was red with fury, he was breathing hard, looking at each of them in frustration.
"You are completely exasperating, you are two idiots! I look at you and I feel like I hate you," he spat.
Shelagh saw Patrick look at his son almost scared, but Tim continued.
"Let's see, Shelagh, why are you leaving? What the hell is wrong with you now?"
She felt her soul ache to hear Tim calling her by her name and not his loving "mom." In terror, she thought she had just forfeited that title forever.
"Nothing, Tim," she whispered.
"Then stay."
"No."
"Why?"
She looked at Patrick, his gaze down.
"Your father has another woman. It doesn't make sense for me to stay here."
Patrick looked up.
"Shelagh, stop making a fuss, she's just a neighbor, she lives with her sick parents, she's grateful to have a doctor nearby. She's kind, like everyone here. She only brought a damn cake, but you think the worse because you think the whole world revolves around you! And you always think the worst of me! You always did, because you're a ...!"
"Dad!" Tim shouted again, "I don't care who you fuck, but respect her. Don't yell at her like that."
"Leave him Timothy, he…" She gritted her teeth, ready to say something to Patrick in the most hurtful way possible, but she stopped. There was her son, and she swore that her children would never witness something like this, no matter that Tim was an adult.
She shook her head, swallowing her tears. She wished it was all a nightmare.
But Patrick dropped into a chair. He hid his face in his hands, she heard him sigh.
"I'm sorry Shelagh," he said without looking at her. Then he raised his eyes, "I'm so sorry that you believed something that is not, and I'm sorry for what I told you."
She looked at him, holding her breath. She did not know why he was giving in.
Tim cleared his throat, she looked at him. The boy pointed at his father with a shake of his head.
She took a shaky breath and sat down across the table, across from Patrick. She swallowed hard, ran the back of a hand over her face to wipe a falling tear away.
Maybe it was time to make peace.
She felt ashamed that this was possible just because her sweet son had reached the point of exploding, tired of the whole situation.
"It's okay," was all she could say. There was a lump in her throat, but she swallowed it, and raised her eyes to look at him, "It's okay, Patrick."
"I'll go with the children to teach them to drive my car. And don't you dare say no."
Timothy turned and left the house. They heard the sound of the car starting, then the sound of the wheels on the pebbles of the road, driving away in search of their siblings who were scattered across the field.
When all was silent and only the sound of the breeze and the sea was heard, they both sighed, without looking at each other, their eyes fixed on the table. Shelagh reached out her hand just barely, brushed his fingers. He opened his hand, tangled his fingers with hers, and squeezed them weakly.
"I'm sorry, Shelagh," he repeated.
She just nodded. Tears began to pool again in her eyes.
She released his hand and stood up.
"I'll go and put things away for the children."
He stood up too, pulled his chair closer to the table.
"There are only two rooms, but I prepared them so that we are comfortable. Come."
She followed him down a narrow corridor. There was a room on each side and at the back the bathroom.
"Tim and Teddy can sleep with me, we'll keep company in our snoring," Patrick chuckled slightly, "You and the girls can be in this other room, it faces the sea, and it's bigger. And...you can go to the bathroom, it's here."
His voice was nervous.
"Perfect."
They stayed in the corridor, although the two of them barely fit.
She looked up and met his eyes, fixed on her. She remembered when, during the evacuation of the bomb, they had both been in the corridor of his house, looking at each other without knowing very well what to do even though she was dying to kiss him, but she was so nervous and uncomfortable, arriving to his home suddenly in the middle of the night. Patrick lent her his pajamas and walked her to the bathroom, but then they stood in front of the door, looking at each other, away from little Tim. Patrick had interpreted her nerves, and only brought his mouth to her cheek, always careful not to scare or intimidate her with his loving actions.
It had been a small but significant moment of intimacy.
Now things seemed the same, and different. They were in the same space, close, with too many words left unsaid, but also with distrust, full of uncertainty.
She took a step back, entering the room that was assigned to her. Patrick ran his hand through his tousled hair, staring at the ground.
"Are you leaving tomorrow?" he finally said.
"I… I don't know."
"Please, Shelagh. Don't do it."
She swallowed hard at the implication of his words and his pleading look. She reached a hand for his hair, but stopped midway. He smiled sadly.
"I'll let you settle in and put things away. Don't you really want tea? Or coffee?"
"A coffee would be nice."
He left, and she turned toward the room. It was all stone and wood, but Patrick took care to arrange it. There are fresh flowers in a small vase, two beds and a rather large sofa, many blankets and some pillows with pink lace trim.
A thought crossed her mind.
Maybe that woman prepared everything.
She shook her head. If she kept thinking like that, all her anger would return and this time it would explode louder, and maybe not Tim would be there to calm the storm, but her youngest children and that would be awful.
The tears started to form again, and she was tired of it.
What's the matter with you, Shelagh? She recriminated herself. Why are you acting like this, why are you so petty?
She opened her suitcase, and took out her Bible. She held it against her chest, whispered a little psalm that she knew by heart. She needed strength, she needed guidance. God seemed to give no answer; he was not throwing a lifeline into this stormy sea that was churning around her.
She heard the sound of cups and opened her eyes. She ran her hands through her hairstyle, it was undone and her face would surely look terrible.
She left the room and went into the bathroom, washed her face, avoiding looking in the mirror. When she got back to the kitchen, Patrick already had one slice of each cake on two small plates and two cups of coffee.
She sat across from him and took a sip of the coffee. It was just the way she liked it, strong but sugary.
"How are the kids?" he asked, without looking at her.
"Good. They have improved a lot."
Patrick nodded.
"They really wanted to see you."
She saw him smile a little, eating a little piece of cake.
"How are things with Angela?"
"Oh, she was a little angel again. And she's seen her...mother, a couple of times. But she said that for now, she doesn't want to have any more contact."
"I know I shouldn't say this, but I'm relieved."
"Yes, me too," she sighed, "We didn't know anything more about Robert. He disappeared."
"I hope he never shows up again," Patrick growled, "What about May? She seems more relaxed."
"She is. Now she's a little anxious to start university, but I know that even though she will have to study more than before, she will make more friends."
"Yes, she will meet more people with the same interests. Teddy?"
She laughed a little at the thought of her youngest son.
"He says that two girls are after him because they want to be his girlfriends."
Patrick bit back a laugh, but then laughed.
"Do you think it's true?"
"If you see how annoying he gets when you ask him about that, you'll see that it is!" she laughed too.
"Then I'll ask him and we'll have a good laugh!"
"Poor thing, it's not his fault being so pretty," Shelagh laughed, Patrick ate more cake, laughing too, "And about school, you know he finished the course very well."
"Yes, a 9 in math is undoubtedly a great achievement. And you…? How are you doing with the university?"
She shrugged, putting the cup on the table and playing with the handle.
"Good."
He raised an eyebrow, for the first time looking directly at her but with amusement in his eyes.
She felt her nerves twist, this could be any morning they shared together at home, laughing and joking.
"What happens?" she asked, unable to help but smile at him.
"I don't think you just do "good."
She gave an embarrassed giggle.
"Very good."
"I knew it. You can only do very good or excellent, because I'm sure you're one of the best students. Will you continue next year?"
She ignored what she had just heard, even though she had almost choked on the cake.
"Yes, I'll continue. I like it, it's a nice place and I learned a lot. Although it will be a bit strange to go to classes with the girls, surely they will try to make no one see me or know that I am their mother."
He smiled a little, sipping his coffee.
"It will be nice to see all three of you together."
She heard the nostalgia in his voice, and suppressed the desire to touch him. She felt nervous, and she knew those nerves, they were the same ones that attacked her when they first met and they spent the first moments alone, not knowing quite what to say or do, but longing to stay together.
"Do you want more?" Patrick pointed to her plate, with only cake crumbs.
"Yes...Did you really make this cake?"
He looked suddenly embarrassed, his cheeks red. He stood up and turned his back on her, cutting more slices.
"Yes, but I did what I could. Sometimes having good intentions is not enough."
"Patrick, this is very good."
"It has some fruits that only grow here, and they are very sweet. There is an old woman who cooks some delicious cakes and cookies, she offered a thousand times to teach me until I felt sorry... She really just wants someone to chat with. So I accepted and she taught me. I burned a lot while trying, not too long ago I managed to do it decently. Anyway, my cakes will never be like Nonnatus's, remember those?"
"Oh yes!" Shelagh laughed, covering her mouth full of cream, "I never got Mrs B to tell me her secrets! I think she didn't want competition in being Sister Monica Joan's favorite."
Patrick laughed, louder this time. Then he became suddenly serious.
"Those were good times, weren't they?"
"Yes," she whispered, "But it is over."
The cat jumped onto her lap and rubbed against her. Shelagh appreciated the distraction, stroked him.
"I think he likes you," Patrick said.
They heard a roar and honks. They looked out the door, Tim's car was moving slowly, it looked like an animal in convulsions.
"Oh no, look who's driving," Patrick pointed a finger.
Angela was behind the wheel, and all of her siblings were laughing out loud. Shelagh looked at Patrick and they laughed, shaking their heads.
The children got out, Angela seemed furious, ranting about how difficult it was to drive a big car loaded with immature people.
"You'll learn, honey," Shelagh hugged her, and heard Patrick invite the others in to start preparing lunch.
They walked in, the children went to investigate the rest of the little house, and Shelagh heard them jokingly quarrel over who would sleep where. She stayed in the kitchen, next to Patrick who was starting to make food.
"Do you want me to help you?" she offered, although it seemed surreal to see him cook.
He smiled, shrugged.
"Almost everything is ready, I just need some potatoes."
"I'll do that," she took off her coat and rolled up her blouse. She noticed that he was looking at her sideways as she peeled the potatoes.
They didn't say anything, though she wanted to tell him how amazed she was that he knew how to cook fish. They moved through the kitchen with the naturalness learned over the years, until she finished with the potatoes and he began to arrange them in a platter. Suddenly she realized how close they were, and took a step away.
"Do you think that is enough?" he said looking at the platter, apparently ignoring her discomfort.
"Well, considering that feeding our children is like feeding an entire army...I'd say yes."
"They're like little piranhas," they both laughed, and Shelagh saw Teddy peering in the corridor.
"What happen dear?"
"I…" hesitated the boy. Shelagh knew right away that he was making up a lie in his head.
"Yes, Teddy?" Patrick looked at him, crossing his arms.
"I was wondering if you could take us fishing."
"We'll go tomorrow."
Teddy nodded and ran back to his room. Patrick turned back to the food and said in a whisper:
"It's clear that they sent him to spy on us."
Shelagh smiled, putting the dishcloth on the counter.
/
The day passed calmly, Shelagh could feel her body slowly relax. The fresh and natural surroundings and the laughter of her children were a little balm. She had not spoken any more words in private with Patrick, but with her children present, and it was all kindness. It was not suspicious kindness, it seemed genuine.
Patrick took Teddy to see an old man who raised sheep, to tell him about them, and then they went for a cow that Patrick helped deliver her little calf. The children, and she too, looked at him in amazement when he told them about the feat, and she did not believe much of the story until the farmer himself confirmed it.
They went to sleep early, they were tired from the trip and all day.
But despite all that, the dream seemed to have escaped through the window. The sofa where she must sleep was comfortable; she saw that her daughters were sleeping peacefully. The moonlight came through the window and she could hear the sea moving. Everything was peaceful, but she could not sleep.
She wondered if she would leave in the morning or not. The day had started so bad and then got so much better. She was afraid of staying and ruining everything at any moment, or going away and losing the image of her entire family, enjoying all things.
She turned on the sofa until she got up. Her throat was dry, and in the dark she could not see anything, so of course she bumped her foot against something she did not even know what it was. She swallowed a groan of pain so as not to wake anyone and went to the kitchen.
"Shelagh?"
"Jesus!" she let out a whispered scream from fright, "Patrick what are you doing here?"
She narrowed her eyes, and he lit a lamp. He was sitting on the sofa, in front of the dead fireplace, with the cat asleep on his lap.
"I couldn't sleep, I was...thinking about the woman who had the false alarm today. It's almost certain that they will call me and that makes me uneasy. Did you bump with something?"
"Yes, I have no idea what it is. I'll pour myself some water."
"Oh, can you bring me a glass of water for me?"
She poured both glasses and handed him his. She sat down next to him, although she had no need to. She made an excuse for herself: to pet Mist.
"Why are you worried about this delivery?" she asked, tucking her legs under her body to ward off the cold.
"Primigravida. They were struggling a lot until she was could conceive and there were some problems throughout the pregnancy. And I'm afraid that at the last minute something will go wrong, you know, I can't help but think the worst."
She nodded, took a few sips of water, thinking in her own case. She was also primigravida, there were also problems in the pregnancy, and he thought the worst until the last moment.
"Do you remember that when we came with the Order, I went with Fred, Nurse Anderson and Nurse Dyer to the lighthouse? There was a woman in labor and then I had to intervene on her for appendicitis."
"Yes, of course I remember," Shelagh frowned as she remembered the concern she felt that night.
"The family is still there, and the boy is strong and healthy. They have a girl too. I visited them last week, the father broke his arm, and I told them that my children would be here. The boy asked me to invite them. There are not many children around here and when there are they are a novelty."
"It would be nice if they met. Tell them, they sure will love meeting new people, especially May," Shelagh looked at her now empty glass, and lowered her legs from the sofa, "Well, I'll go to sleep."
"Shelagh."
She stopped.
"Yes?"
"Will you go tomorrow?"
She looked at him. The lamp shone in his sad and worried eyes. She always melted before his tender eyes, but she came to hate his looks of anger and contempt.
Shelagh looked away, trying to figure out what Patrick was up to: fixing things or confusing her more.
She decided to put aside her pride, but not her determination. So she did not leave, but continued to sit there, but without looking at him, and ready to find out what was going on.
"What do you want, Patrick?"
He lowered his eyes, looked at the content of his glass.
"I'd like you to stay. The children would be happy. We all would be. But if you don't want to...I won't make you."
She thought for a couple of seconds. She could say no, she could start another silly discussion.
Or she could let her heart guide her. Her heart asked for happiness, and she seemed to have found it, she did not know if in Patrick, but in the laughter of her cheeky children who hoped to enjoy a nice holiday.
"All right, I'll stay."
He looked at her, a small smile playing on his lips.
"Thank you."
"But Patrick, I don't want fights or bad insinuations. Or anything we do every time we are in the same place for more than a minute."
"I understand, Shelagh, and I promise, there will be none of all that."
There will be none of all that. She seemed to hear the hope in that phrase. Instinctively she moved closer to him, just a few millimeters. She looked into his eyes, which were fixed on hers.
She wanted to kiss him, she wanted to recompose like this, with kisses. Suddenly she felt the courage to do so, and she moved a little closer, but he stood up. The cat jumped up, complaining.
"Well, I don't think they will call me tonight," he said, his nervous voice betraying the causal manner in which he intended to speak. Shelagh looked at him from the sofa, begging him to come closer again. He approached, but extended his hand, "Have you finished the water? I'll wash the glasses."
"Yes, yes," she whispered, handing him the item. Then she stood up.
"I'll go to sleep."
"Don't hurt yourself again, please," she heard from behind her.
When she lay down, she curled up in the covers and sighed. She was confused, and confusion was always her worst enemy.
/
"Does everyone have their fishing rods ready?" asked Patrick.
They were going fishing off a beach a little far away, but it was safe. Timothy insisted on taking them all in his car.
They loaded the things in the trunk and traveled a few kilometers, until Patrick pointed out a place where the sun was hot and the wind was not so strong.
"We'll fish a lot and then eat everything in our camping," May said, carrying a box of hooks.
"Camping?" Shelagh asked.
"Well, the lighthouse keeper's son wants to meet us, so we'll go and stay tonight. Tim has a big tent, it will be great and I'll be able to do a lot of research on the people here!"
May walked away with the box, looking very pleased to put her knowledge of anthropology and sociology into practice. Shelagh watched her walk to shore, chatting with her siblings.
"What happens to these children?!"
"Shelagh are you okay?" she heard Patrick's voice behind her. He was carrying a fishing rod in one hand.
"May says that tonight they will camp at the lighthouse and that Tim has a tent, I didn't know about all this!"
"I told you that the boy wants to meet them."
"Yes, but...They will go like this, suddenly, without telling the family before...What will the parents think?"
Patrick laughed a little.
"I'm sure they won't mind. Leave them, they are already grown."
"Yes, I suppose so…" she agreed reluctantly, "I don't know how they will get there."
"They'll go with Tim, on the boat. Don't worry, there will be no storms, if they fall into the water they won't drown."
"Patrick!"
He giggled again; together they started walking towards the shore.
"They'll be fine, Shelagh. They just want to have adventures. And I'm thankful that Tim, despite being an adult, continues to act like a child."
"Yes, it's nice to see them all together. I hope their tent doesn't fall on their heads!"
They laughed, remembering another and more disastrous camping. As they walked, Shelagh felt Patrick's free hand tangle around hers. She stayed static, letting herself be carried away by him, until a small smile blossomed on her face and emotion took over.
She squeezed his hand and they walked together. When they reached the shore, they saw Angela see them and say something in Teddy's ear, who glanced at them and then walked over to Tim, who was further away preparing his supplies.
/
Despite the family's efforts, the fishing was not very abundant, and when they returned home, Mist demanded his ration of fresh fish, so Shelagh packed a lot of food so that none of her children would starve during the camping. Patrick gave them chocolates to share with the lighthouse keeper's children, and very quickly they all boarded.
She looked at them, nervous about everything that could happen in the sea, what the lighthouse family would think of these children, and most of all, being alone with Patrick.
She berated herself not to leave in the morning, and thus avoid this entire situation that she waited a long time, and that now she did not dare to confront.
She looked around. It was dusk, the sea looked beautiful and the boat with all her children was moving fast.
"Do you want to walk?" said Patrick.
"N...no. I'm a little cold," she lied. She thought about going to sleep.
"Then let's eat and have something warm."
"Was any food left?"
Patrick smiled, entering the house.
"I doubt they left us anything more than stones."
She followed him, suddenly she felt even more nervous. She prayed to God that anyone needed Patrick and that he left, because she could not do it. The cat was not even there to distract her, because it had disappeared after eating the fish.
"Shelagh?"
She raised her head, he was looking at her with concern.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes...I was only thinking about the children. I feel a bit cold, I'll go to bed."
She walked to her room, but felt a hand on one of her arms, gently squeezing to stop her. She turned, but did not look at him.
"Shelagh, please," she heard a small whisper. This time she raised her eyes and looked at him, scared.
"What happens?" she asked foolishly.
He released her slowly.
"I think we need to talk."
She swallowed hard, tried to put on a brave smile, despite the panic that emerged, threatening to swallow her like a great wave.
He lived happily here; she saw it in those two days. He was comfortable, calm, he looked perfect. Anything he had to say to her would be related to that, and she did not want to hear it.
"I...I already told you, I don't feel very well and..."
"Please."
It sounded like a plea. She also wanted to plead him.
Lowering her head, she nodded slightly. She did not accept to speak, she accepted defeat.
Patrick walked away, clearing his throat.
"I'll prepare something for us to eat," His voice was a sham; it showed a lightness that did not exist.
"It's not necessary, Patrick. Just tell me what you have to say," she crossed her arms, trembling.
"Good," he said," "First, I'll light the fireplace, I think it's getting very cold now."
She saw him taking some logs, putting them in the fireplace and lighting the fire.
She sat on the sofa. The warmth relaxed her a little.
"Do you want wine?"
She shook her head. He took a deep breath and released it shakily. Wiping his hands on his pants, he sat on the sofa too, not looking at her, his eyes on the crackling fire.
"Shelagh, I..."
She tightened her lids.
"…I want to tell you that I'm very sorry. For everything that happened. You know, the fights, the yelling, the accusations, my behavior when you proposed the university, and when you started your new job, when I decided to come here...Everything. I was really mean to you, and you didn't deserve any of that. I was a bastard. And I hurt everyone too, not just you."
She opened her eyes, looking at the fire. She wanted to cry, the enumeration of things that Patrick did, made her remember all the tense and sad situations that she lived, and they quickly passed before her eyes, like a bad horror movie.
"I hope you can forgive me," he finished.
She barely nodded, though she was not sure. But if Patrick was giving in, putting some peace between them, she could not do otherwise. Also, in his voice she heard sincerity.
"You'll stay here forever, won't you?"
"You didn't tell me if you would forgive me or not, Shelagh," she heard his sad whisper.
She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth.
"Yes."
"Well, we've made a start."
Hearing those words, she looked at him. He was giving her a half smile. He looked perfect, with the flames lighting up his face, which although aged and always tired, was the face that she loved. Unintentionally, she smiled at him too.
"I...I'm so sorry too," she swallowed, looked down, "I was terrible. Until yesterday I was. I don't know what happened to me, I suppose I was blinded by jealousy, and that I always wanted things my way...And...I don't know, I felt drowned by you and your work. I'm sorry I asked you for a divorce, I'm sorry for everything I did, maybe I was too tough, or maybe I wasn't enough, maybe..."
A tear crossed her cheek and she hated herself for being so weak and starting to cry when she did not want to. She took it off with her hand, before he could see it.
"I'm sorry, Patrick."
She closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing.
She felt that she was surrounded by his arms, that Patrick was pressing her against him and she could not help it anymore. A sob broke out, and she began to cry into his shoulder, clinging to him, desperate to have him close.
"No Shelagh, don't cry," she heard him whisper into her hair, but she sobbed even more, unable to close the floodgate of her suffering.
She pulled away a bit, breathing and trying to calm herself.
"Please say it once and for all, Patrick," she begged, "Tell me you'll stay here and won't come back, and that this is over. I can't stand living like this anymore, not knowing what will happen."
"I won't do that, Shelagh."
Her sob was choked in her chest, she looked up at him.
He cupped her face with both hands, wiped her tears with his thumbs.
"I won't stay here. I'll return to London. And with you, if you want."
"Yes, yes, please I want," she agreed desperately. He barely smiled.
"Are you certain?"
"I'm completely certain."
He smiled more widely this time.
And he kissed her.
Feeling his lips on hers made her understand that if she missed him before, she was wrong. She missed him terribly, miserably and madly, because she had lived like a dead body, and now with his arms around her, his kisses, his warmth, she felt alive again.
As much as she was angry, that sometimes she even felt hatred towards him, that she cried and cried, she could not change that. She belonged to him, it was always like that. And he was hers, forever. To deny it was to deny destiny, life, God.
She moaned when he wanted to separate, pulled him closer to her with one hand on his shoulder, and he began to kiss her more deeply, his hands everywhere, awakened to her skin numb from months and months of sadness. She was starving for him, yearning to make up for lost time.
He pulled away, looking into her eyes.
For an instant she thought he would tell her that he was sorry. That that was not the way to fix things, or that he had actually meant something else.
But he kissed her again, pressing her against him, laying her on the sofa, trailing his lips down her neck, whispering her name like a desperate mantra. She moaned in response, unable to believe that this was not one of her treacherous dreams that made her feel happy, only to wake her up alone and empty. This was not a dream, because Patrick's hands and lips were real, they were the usual ones, the only ones that had touched her, the only ones she wanted.
A last vestige of pride screamed at her to move away, that they still had to talk more, clarify things, that he should listen a lot before he had the right to touch her like that again. She pushed the thought away by kissing him, opening herself to him.
To speak, she could wait, for this, no. She had been wanting him for a long time, and she could not take another second without Patrick filling her, covering her with pleasure, assuring her that he was hers.
They barely took off some of their clothes, there was no time. Their union was quick and desperate, seeking, biting, needing.
When they came back to reality and looked at each other, agitated, they both smiled.
His arms trembled, holding his weight on her, and she ran a hand through the hair that fell on his forehead. He closed his eyes, smiling gratefully.
"Patrick," she whispered, still gasping for air.
He opened his eyes, leaned down to kiss her sweetly on the lips.
"Yes, my love?"
"Take me to your bed."
/
Shelagh stretched, all of her limbs groaned in pain. She opened her eyes, the morning light came through the window and the wind and the sea could be heard. She looked around the room, taking a few seconds to understand, until she felt a strong, thick hand on her waist, squeezing her.
"You're with me," she heard in her ear, and smiled.
She turned her head to look at him, but he was already kissing her, cupping her chin. When he released her, she turned and hugged him.
"Patrick," she said into his shoulder.
"Hmm?"
"Will you really come back with me?"
He sighed, pulled away to look at her.
"I'm here because I accepted a contract, so I have two months left to finish it."
"But will you come back?"
"Yes," he stroked her hair slowly, but suddenly complained, "Although, I think I'm too old for you. My whole body hurts."
"Me too. We are two old fools. Or maybe this bed is too narrow."
They giggled, Patrick pulling her closer to him. Shelagh followed his hand with her gaze, slowly caressing her shoulder, her arm, her waist. She trembled under his touch, as always.
"I will retire," he announced, "I decided that this place will be the last thing I do, it's very beautiful and people need medicine and science here, but they don't need someone with my age. It's necessary to be young and brave, and I'm not that anymore. So after thinking a lot, I decided. I don't know what I'll do next; I'll probably bother you at home all day and…"
"Patrick I don't care if we keep fighting, as long as we're together."
He gave a sad smile.
"We shouldn't fight, Shelagh. Things are not like that."
She looked down at his chest, nodded. Once again, he was right. That they got back together did not ensure that everything was a bed of roses.
But they already had experience in that, because when they got married they believed that everything would be happiness and they immediately encountered obstacles, but then they triumphed. They could try again if they both wanted it.
"I know. We will work on that together, can it be? Without pressure, or hurtful words, or getting mad at anything silly."
"Yes, we will." He leaned in to kiss her softly. "I promise."
She smiled, she believed in him. He was being serious.
He stroked her hair and she watched him. If before she found him young and happy, now he seemed radiant.
"My beautiful Shelagh," he whispered, "I don't know how I could lose you."
"You didn't lose me Patrick, I'm here," she caressed his cheek, smiling at him, but he did not respond. He even pulled away a little, stopped looking at her.
"I promised never to hurt you, and I failed. I promised to always take care of you, and leave you," suddenly he looked anguished and guilty. Shelagh moved closer, and leaned over him so he could see her.
"Patrick, I forgave you. And besides, I also failed many times; we both know that I'm not a saint or a perfect woman. We're two, we both create problems, and we both forgive each other and start over."
He smiled, touched her face.
"But Patrick, don't you ever tell me that I can't work, or study, or do what I..."
"Shhh...stop threatening me," he interrupted, kissing her and rolling over her.
Shelagh pulled away.
"We must continue talking, do you understand?"
"Yes. We will do it. You will not be alone, we will do this together."
She knew him, knew he was serious. She wanted to push him away to get up, but he held her back.
"Patrick is late; our children will arrive at any moment."
"And? I'm sure they conspired to make all this happen. And I love them for it."
She laughed.
"Yes, me too, and I think we owe them an apology."
"Yes," he stared at her, caressing her face. She barely kissed him, caressed his shoulders and his chest.
"You're so handsome. An Adonis."
He laughed out loud, pulling away from her.
"Shelagh you need to change the prescription of those glasses!"
"Why?" she leaned on one elbow, looking at him indignantly, "I only told the truth! You men get better when you get older, but the women, we are…!"
He did not let her finish, he was on her again, kissing and caressing her.
"You…you're perfect," she heard his hungry voice in her ear.
And she opened her arms, her legs, and her heart to receive him again.
/
"You won't dare to go into the water! You're too cowardly!"
"You don't know me, Timothy Turner!"
Angela ran barefoot across the rocks and then into the water, backing away in shock as her siblings and parents laughed.
"Aggg is freezing!" she complained.
Her younger brother came over and gave her a shove, knocking her into the water. Angela screamed, and stood up, completely drenched and shivering, while Teddy and Timothy clashed their fists in celebration.
"You're two animals! The worst brothers I can have!"
"In that you're wrong, Angela," May threw sand at her and then also threw her into the water again.
"May!" Angela yelled, "Why are you betraying me like this?!"
Immediately, started a battle to see who would end up wetter and icy.
Shelagh stood up to end it all before someone got pneumonia, but Patrick's hand in hers stopped her.
"Let them," he laughed
"But they will get sick."
"Why do they have a doctor father and a nurse mother? Let them enjoy the privilege."
She rolled her eyes, and when she sat back down on the rock she was on, he pulled her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his, still looking at her children.
"I think you're right," she concluded when she saw them playing.
He looked at her, gave her a mischievous half smile.
"Is that Mrs. Turner who is saying that I am right?"
She rolled her eyes again, pretending to be exasperated.
"Yes, it's me."
He laughed and she could not help herself. She took his chin and kissed him, he growled, deepening the kiss. She felt like she could not get enough of him, suddenly she was in love like a silly girl, although she suspected she had never stopped being like that for him.
"Iugh that's awful! They're already doing their mushy stuff" they listened to Teddy, and laughing, they parted.
"Shut up," May chided him. The girl glanced at them, Shelagh saw a smirk.
"I don't know why you're complaining, you were supposed to be expecting something like this," Shelagh said.
"Not specifically this," Tim pretended disgust, though his eyes were sparkling.
"As if you don't do the same with your girlfriend," said Patrick.
"Aggg! You too, Tim?!" Teddy covered his eyes.
"At least he doesn't do it in front of us," Angela said.
"Let Kate come visit us," May grinned wickedly, "Then she and Tim and Mom and Dad will torture Teddy. Oh, and his two girlfriends too!"
"I don't have girlfriends!"
"Stop complaining and go play," Patrick said, then looked at Shelagh, and stroked her cheek, "Leave me with your beautiful mother."
Shelagh laughed, kissed him on the nose. When she knew that her children were far enough away, she kissed him on the mouth. Then she hugged him, closing her eyes.
"I will miss you in these two months."
"And I much more to you. But they go by fast and then you'll want to kick me out of the house."
"No," she parted, "No, I won't."
Patrick smiled at her, stroking her hair.
"I know I don't say it often, and maybe I should have told you many more times, or demonstrated so that you would never doubt. But I love you. I always loved you; I never loved anyone like I love you. And I wouldn't exchange the privilege of loving you for nothing in the world."
She hugged him tightly, though he complained, surely his joints tired from supporting her weight and sitting on a rock by the sea. But he did not seem to care, because he held her tighter, preventing her from moving away.
"And I love you too Patrick. Forever."
When she pulled away, she saw tears in his eyes, and she kissed them. She snuggled against him, watching their children running down the beach.
She sighed satisfied.
There was pain, suffering, and resentment. But also there was, and would continue to be, a lot of love.
So again, they were on the right road.