Chapter 3If Life Were Only Like the First Time We Met

Lily snuggled closer to Mark.

"Honey, I can only sleep in the master bedroom. Can I sleep there tonight?"

Mark looked at me.

"Sarah, can you clear out the master bedroom? Lily has a business trip tomorrow and needs to get some rest."

I stared at the bed in our master bedroom. The first time Mark brought me here, I was worried my clothes would get the sheets dirty. I stood awkwardly, afraid to sit. But Mark had pulled me down onto the bed and held me close.

He said:

"Sarah, this is our home now. I'll protect you from the storm."

Now, he was asking me to empty our room so he and another woman could nest.

I walked into the bedroom and started packing away the remnants of our love. But when I saw the small crib, I burst into tears. Mark and I had picked it out during our first year together. He said that our baby's things deserved to be the best. But now, everything was different. My baby was gone, and the crib was useless.

I gathered the love letters and baby clothes, and threw them into a box. When I tried to collect the gifts Mark had given me, I realized that the letters were all he'd ever given me.

I looked at the letters and laughed bitterly. My decade of dedication had bought me a few pieces of paper. I removed our framed wedding photo, and threw the letters and clothes into the trash.

"What are you doing?"

Mark's voice came from behind me. He rushed over and pulled the things out of the trash, looking panicked.

"Why are you throwing away my love letters? And this baby outfit! You loved this outfit!"

He looked at me with the same anxious expression I'd seen when he’d held out my engagement ring and asked, "Can I have a chance to take care of you?" I'd cried and said, "Yes."

Now, I smiled and told him, "Lily won't like them. And besides... " I looked at the baby outfit. "Our baby won't be able to wear it anyway."

Mark looked down. He ran his fingers over the yellowed envelope, just as I ran my fingers over the bloodstained ring.

After a long pause, Mark released it. The letters and clothes fell back into the trash.

He whispered, "Alright. It's not like the love letters are worth anything. And the baby is small. The outfit is too big. We'll buy a new one when she gets here."

I touched my stomach, the only place our baby had ever existed. Yeah, the ten-year-old love letters weren't worth anything. Just like Mark's love.