biological father about her. I discovered I was pregnant a few
weeks after he left. I loved him too much. I couldn’t put him in
the position of having to make another excruciating choice. We had
already been through enough pain to last a lifetime. I decided to
bear the burden alone.
With the beginning of her life, I moved
away and began a new life of my own. He would never
know.
She is my consolation. Every time I
look at my precious girl, I see him through her eyes—those same
gorgeous, deep blue, beautiful eyes.
Our little family has made a good life
together. My husband runs a successful insurance business which
allows me to stay home to raise our children. We go to church each
Sunday and enjoy an active social life in our community. I
transport my kids to dance and soccer in a Cadillac Escalade in
which the posh interior always smells faintly of Chanel No. 5. The
kids are entertained en route by Pixar & Dreamworks selections
playing on the back seat DVD player. I drop the Pomeranians off to
be groomed each Friday afternoon while I go to the salon for a
manicure and pedicure. I’m often complimented on the stunning opal,
bejeweled diamond ring I wear on my right hand. We meet our friends
at 5:00 o’clock for cocktails each second Friday of the
month.
I finally have the impeccably decorated
five bedroom-four bathroom house situated in a gated
sub-division—complete with the dishwasher, central heat and air, a
large laundry room utilized by the housekeeper on Tuesdays and
Fridays, and a large soaking tub. The wine cellar is always stocked
with Indigo Hills Merlot. There is a large cedar swing underneath
one of the oak trees in the perfectly manicured, landscaped back
yard. The gardens are peppered with lavender, tulips, and Texas
sage. I got the life I wished for, for so long.
By all standards, my life is perfect.
But I have learned—not everything is as it appears. There is a vast
difference between the love we experience in this life and the ones
we imagined could have been. One takes your heart. The other takes
your soul.
I hear he is happily married, as
well—and by all standards, his life is perfect. I have been told
they have a beautiful daughter.
There are times I stand at my kitchen
sink window; rinsing dishes at the end of another busy day of being
a housewife and mother. All of a sudden, I feel the rush of time
and distance separating me from him. I attempt to push his memory
out of my mind. Logic reminds me why we are not together. I know
things always happen for a reason. I was never meant to understand
God’s plan.
I tell myself that had we ended up
together, things would have become mundane. The familiar routine of
marriage would have dulled the passion we once felt. The burdens of
everyday life would have caused the magic to fade into reality. I
have to tell myself that every time I think of him. I can’t bear to
think of it any other way.
Seemingly occupied with the warm water
running over my hands onto the dishes, I stare out into the night
sky. A gentle rain is falling outside. That familiar ache stirs in
me. I close my eyes, trying to find the strength to stop the
thought of him from invading my mind. My breath is caught in my
throat as I feel a tingling pain sear all the way through the tips
of my fingers as I hold back the tears welling up inside of
me.
I wonder—is he going through this, too?
Does he ever think of me? Do pangs of my memory hit him and leave
him breathless and empty? Are we somewhere in that other universe;
where the gossamer threads of our desire intertwine and we lose
ourselves to one another in an eternal kiss?
So many years have already gone by
without our paths ever crossing again. How many more will I endure
with only the memory of those eleven rare, precious days with him
to spare me from an existence without the truest passion known? He
once knocked upon the door of my soul with his kiss. I answered.
Long since shackled and hidden is that door. But his
weeks after he left. I loved him too much. I couldn’t put him in
the position of having to make another excruciating choice. We had
already been through enough pain to last a lifetime. I decided to
bear the burden alone.
With the beginning of her life, I moved
away and began a new life of my own. He would never
know.
She is my consolation. Every time I
look at my precious girl, I see him through her eyes—those same
gorgeous, deep blue, beautiful eyes.
Our little family has made a good life
together. My husband runs a successful insurance business which
allows me to stay home to raise our children. We go to church each
Sunday and enjoy an active social life in our community. I
transport my kids to dance and soccer in a Cadillac Escalade in
which the posh interior always smells faintly of Chanel No. 5. The
kids are entertained en route by Pixar & Dreamworks selections
playing on the back seat DVD player. I drop the Pomeranians off to
be groomed each Friday afternoon while I go to the salon for a
manicure and pedicure. I’m often complimented on the stunning opal,
bejeweled diamond ring I wear on my right hand. We meet our friends
at 5:00 o’clock for cocktails each second Friday of the
month.
I finally have the impeccably decorated
five bedroom-four bathroom house situated in a gated
sub-division—complete with the dishwasher, central heat and air, a
large laundry room utilized by the housekeeper on Tuesdays and
Fridays, and a large soaking tub. The wine cellar is always stocked
with Indigo Hills Merlot. There is a large cedar swing underneath
one of the oak trees in the perfectly manicured, landscaped back
yard. The gardens are peppered with lavender, tulips, and Texas
sage. I got the life I wished for, for so long.
By all standards, my life is perfect.
But I have learned—not everything is as it appears. There is a vast
difference between the love we experience in this life and the ones
we imagined could have been. One takes your heart. The other takes
your soul.
I hear he is happily married, as
well—and by all standards, his life is perfect. I have been told
they have a beautiful daughter.
There are times I stand at my kitchen
sink window; rinsing dishes at the end of another busy day of being
a housewife and mother. All of a sudden, I feel the rush of time
and distance separating me from him. I attempt to push his memory
out of my mind. Logic reminds me why we are not together. I know
things always happen for a reason. I was never meant to understand
God’s plan.
I tell myself that had we ended up
together, things would have become mundane. The familiar routine of
marriage would have dulled the passion we once felt. The burdens of
everyday life would have caused the magic to fade into reality. I
have to tell myself that every time I think of him. I can’t bear to
think of it any other way.
Seemingly occupied with the warm water
running over my hands onto the dishes, I stare out into the night
sky. A gentle rain is falling outside. That familiar ache stirs in
me. I close my eyes, trying to find the strength to stop the
thought of him from invading my mind. My breath is caught in my
throat as I feel a tingling pain sear all the way through the tips
of my fingers as I hold back the tears welling up inside of
me.
I wonder—is he going through this, too?
Does he ever think of me? Do pangs of my memory hit him and leave
him breathless and empty? Are we somewhere in that other universe;
where the gossamer threads of our desire intertwine and we lose
ourselves to one another in an eternal kiss?
So many years have already gone by
without our paths ever crossing again. How many more will I endure
with only the memory of those eleven rare, precious days with him
to spare me from an existence without the truest passion known? He
once knocked upon the door of my soul with his kiss. I answered.
Long since shackled and hidden is that door. But his
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