I was so irresponsible that I had left my journal on the nightstand's edge. Usually I slipped it under a pile of folded sweaters or tucked it under my pillow. But fatigue had prevailed tonight.
The following morning, I discovered Ethan seated in the window-facing armchair. He held the diary open in his palms. His face was unreadable.
I felt sick to my stomach.
I muttered, my voice rough from terror and sleep, "You read it."
He took a while to respond. He simply continued to look at the pages as if the ink would give him the bravery he lacked if he looked at them long enough. At last, he carefully closed the journal and placed it on the table next to him.
He said, "I wasn't looking for it." "It was there. And I was unable to stop myself.
Embarrassment and rage fought inside me as heat shot up my cheeks. "You didn't need that. That was for me. Do you realize how intrusive—"
"I understand," he cut in, regretting in his voice. Then it became brittle and soft. But do you mean it, Grace? Everything?
My heart pounded against my ribs as I took a deep breath. "Every syllable."
Between us, there was a thick, perilous silence. As I waited for him to go behind his walls once more, I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears.
Instead, like a guy with too much weight on his shoulders, he bent forward with his elbows resting on his knees. He said, "I don't know how to accomplish this." "Feelings. allowing someone to enter. Caring has always been a liability for me. My mother brought me up with control rather than love. I considered... I believed that power came from distance.
Startled, I blinked at him. Ethan Blackwood did not give vulnerability freely.
However, after reading that letter... For the first time, his eyes weren't frigid as they raised to mine. They were unpolished. It frightened me. Because, Grace, I've come to realize that you're more than merely surviving this marriage. Something more is what you're hoping for. Additionally, I don't want to continue to be the man who let you down.
His comments caused something inside of me to burst, but I wasn't sure if it was relief or more intense heartache.
Then, I whispered, "stop being him. "Ethan, nobody is requesting perfection. Just be honest. simply being there.
He gave one slow, methodical nod, as if he were carving the words into his own mind.
And I thought for the first time that he might attempt.