Anne Knight's POV
I sat in the quiet of our living room, it was a quiet I once enjoyed but now found torturous. The festive glow of the Christmas tree cast beautiful, shiny shadows on the walls, something I had once adored but now viewed with utter disgust. Outside, I could still hear the faint hum of Christmas carols. Every sound that had once brought me joy was now distant and discomforting, like a cruel reminder of what I had lost.
I glanced down at the envelope in my hands, the one Marcus had left for me on our anniversary. It was dirty and slightly crumpled from the accident, but none of that mattered. I had to read it again. I needed to cling to something—to anything—to soothe my aching heart.
Taking a deep breath, I carefully unfolded the paper, my fingers trembling as I began to read. The words blurred for a second as tears welled in my eyes, but I pressed on, determined to hear him speak to me one last time.
The Letter:
To my dearest Anne,
Happy Christmas, and happy anniversary, my love. Ten years, and I still can't believe it. It feels like we just started this journey together only yesterday. I remember how we were both unsure of what the future held. And now, ten years later, I can't imagine my life without you. I've spent so much of my time thinking about everything we've built—our home, our memories, our love—and I realize just how much you've been my source of encouragement through it all.
I know I'm not always the easiest person to be with, and I know I've spent too many of our moments focused on work instead of on us. But I want you to know that every sacrifice, every late night, every long day has been for us, for our future. I've always wanted to give you everything I could. And I will keep trying, Anne, I promise. I don't always get it right, but you are always my priority, even when I can't show it.
This Christmas, I want us to have the time we deserve. We've both been through a lot this year, and I know I've missed too many moments. But I'm here now, and I want to make this one count. Just you and me. I'll be home early this year—no excuses. No distractions. I just want to enjoy you, this holiday, and our anniversary.
I'm not sure what the future holds, but I do know this: You've given me a life beyond what I ever thought possible. Thank you for being patient with me, for loving me even when I didn't always show you that same love in return. I'm the luckiest man in the world to have you by my side.
Forever yours,
Marcus
***
As I finished reading, the sorrow hit me like a crippling blow to the head. I couldn't hold back the tears. The anniversaries, the holidays, and all the years we had spent together—it was all wrapped in these few pages. He had always wanted to give me everything, to provide a life filled with security, even if it meant missing out on the moments that mattered.
I had been so caught up in my own frustrations, my own desires, that I hadn't fully understood how much he was trying, how deeply he cared. I had been mad at him for every anniversary he missed, for every late night at work, for every time I thought he put his job before me. But I had been wrong. His love had been there in everything he did—even when he wasn't physically present. It was in his hard work, in the little notes he left, in the future he was building for us. And now, I could feel it in the simple words of that Christmas anniversary letter—a promise he had never been able to fulfill.
I stared out the window, watching the snow fall. It gave me a strange sense of comfort, but it didn't take away the pain. I wiped away a tear, my heart heavy with grief. I had no idea how to move forward or where to begin.
I lay down, not because I was sleepy, but because I was exhausted.
"Oh God, I miss him," I sobbed. "How am I going to break this news to Shelley and Dustin?"
All the material things I once cherished now felt useless. I felt so alone. My gaze drifted to the vinyl player—it was surprisingly intact, just like the dress, but the toy trucks, the dollhouse, and the Lego set weren't as lucky.
"I can't stay alone," I murmured to myself.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand and dialed Liam's number. He picked up on the first ring.
"Anne, I hope you're okay," he said, his voice laced with concern. "I've been so worried about you."
"How can I be okay?" I cried. "My man is dead. I feel so guilty. Will I ever forgive myself?"
"Would you like me to come over? To keep you company?" he asked, ignoring my rhetorical questions.
"I don't know, Liam. I don't even know what to do."
"I'll be on my way right away. I shouldn't even ask," he said, his voice firm with decision.
I hung up and sat in silence, trying to drown out the crippling thoughts in my head. I was hungry, but the idea of eating made me nauseous. Maybe a few drinks would help.
I walked over to the wine bar and poured myself a shot of Jack Daniels. Sitting on the stool, I picked up a packet of cigarettes lying on the table. My hands shook as I pulled one out and lit it. For a few seconds, I just watched it burn. Then, I raised it to my lips, inhaled deeply, and exhaled.
The cigarette brought a fleeting sense of peace. I took another drag before swallowing the whiskey in one gulp.
A horn outside startled me. Liam.
My face lit up immediately. I stood up quickly, but just as fast, I forced myself to calm down.
Liam stepped inside, dressed in his favorite tuxedo, wearing a new cologne. He smelled incredible.
"Liam, I've missed you," I cried, rushing into his arms, a wave of guilt and relief rushing through me simultaneously. "That was quick! Were you around?" I asked, pulling back just enough to look up at him.
"Oh yes," he said. "I was having coffee at the diner down the road."
"I'm so happy to see you," I whispered, burying my face in his chest.
"Where are the kids?" he asked, his voice gentle.
"They're not here yet, they're still with my sister. They've been there for a couple of days, that's why you can still come over."
"Don't worry about it," he reassured me. "It'll be alright."
"How are you so sure?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't you trust me anymore?"
"I do, but this…" My voice trailed off, shaking.
I looked away lest I burst into fresh tears.
"I'm so glad to see you too, Anne. I haven't been able to sleep." he said as if to offer me some sort of comfort.
"What do I do?"
"You have me. Don't worry about anything."
I looked up at him, as if seeing him for the first time. The sorrow had overwhelmed my face, but his eyes held steady.
His warm hand cupped my cheek, and he kissed away the tears that still lingered. His lips trailed down my face, my jaw, my neck, whispering sweet nothings against my skin.
I returned his kisses, desperate for something—anything—that could numb the pain.
Between deep breaths and stolen kisses, he took my hand. "Let's go on a vacation," he murmured. "Get away from all of this."
"Oh yes," I breathed. "I think that will help. What would I do without you?"
"I will always be here for you."
His lips found mine again, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against mine, drawing a moan from deep within me.
And as Liam made love to me, I let myself get lost in the moment. The grief, the guilt, the pain—everything blurred away. It was just him and me, and for now, that was all that mattered.