Reminders of Him

by Colleen Hoover

Agony spreads across his face as he continues. “What if Scotty can see how we’ve been treating you?” A tear forms and spills down his cheek. Just one lonely tear, and it makes me so sad. “I’m part of everything that’s been tearing you down all these years, and I’m sorry, Kenna. I’m so sorry.” I place my hand over his chest, right over his heart. “It’s okay. What I wrote doesn’t change anything. It was still my fault.” “It’s not okay. None of this is okay.” He’s cradling me in his arms with his cheek pressed against the top of my head. He runs his right hand in soothing circles over my back. He holds me like that for a long time. I don’t want him to let go. He’s the first person I’ve been able to share the full details of that night with, and I wasn’t sure if it would make things better or worse. But this feels better, so maybe that means something. I feel like a weight has been lifted. It’s not the weight of the anchor that keeps me tethered under the surface—that won’t be lifted until I get to hold my daughter. But a small portion of my pain has attached to his sympathy, and it feels like he’s physically lifting me up for air, allowing me a few minutes to breathe. He eventually pulls back far enough to assess me. He must see something on my face that makes him want to comfort me because he presses a soft kiss to my forehead while brushing my hair back tenderly. He kisses the tip of my nose and then plants a soft peck on my lips. I don’t think he expected me to kiss him ba...