Fighting for the Fairytale

Cole

Nora grabbed my hand and pulled me from the pew to the back of church. I followed her like a puppy, not even objecting when she led us out the door—neither of us wearing coats—and around the side to a small courtyard surrounded by bushes. It took me a moment, but I recognized it as one of the places we'd taken wedding photos. 

That feels like ages ago.

But it wasn't. It hasn't even been six months!

And you already screwed it up.

But this is your chance to fix it.

Nora turned to face me, dropping my hand in the process.

Or maybe not.

I resisted the urge to take it back. I missed her touch. I missed her.

My wife was practically vibrating in front of me, pacing back and forth and occasionally glancing my way. I'd never seen her like this before. So I waited. 

"Why are you here?" She finally asked.

"Uh...for mass?" It came out as a question rather than a statement. 

Is she mad? Sad? Frustrated?

Nora shook her head. "No, no. I shouldn't have asked that. Not like that. I'm happy you're here. I'm sorry. I'm—"

She finally looked at me, her eyes glossy under the light from the moon and stars. "I'm so sorry, Cole."

Wait, she's apologizing?

My heart roared so loudly in my ears that I could barely hear Nora as she continued to talk. "And I know the words aren't enough after what I said. My dad told me that. He said when he'd hurt Mom that he apologized, but that it wasn't worth anything if he didn't back it up with action, and I want to do that, Cole, I really do but I—" She paused, her voice breaking as she fought for breath.

She looked so distraught; I couldn't stay away.

I covered the distance between us in seconds, pulling her into my arms. "Shh, baby, shh. It's okay. It's okay."

Nora burrowed her face deeper into my throat, shaking her head. "No, no it's not. It's not okay." She pounded my chest with a closed fist. It hurt a little, but damn, I didn't mind that kind of pain. I pulled her tighter to me, her ear right next to my mouth. She murmured against my neck, "I hurt you." 

"I hurt you too," I said, touching her hair, her shoulders, her back. I couldn't not touch her. She was mine. Mine. I wasn't letting her get away. Not this time. "You're right. I wasn't talking to you. I wasn't listening to you. I want to be better about that. I will be better."

My wife quieted against my shirt. "But... what if I'm not?"

Gently, I peeled her from my front, which was now wet and cold. I looked down at my wife's face, blotchy and streaked from what I assumed was make-up. 

Weird, she doesn't normally wear make-up. 

"Are you wearing make-up?" I asked.

Nora's eyes widened, and she briefly touched her cheek. "Oh my gosh! I forgot! I probably look like an deranged owl! Oh my gosh, don't look at me!" 

She turned away, but I brought her back.

"No, you don't," I stated firmly. "You're beautiful."

"You're crazy," she breathed, her expression doubtful.

"Probably," I admitted, offering her the sleeve of my shirt to wipe her face.

Nora's face softened as she moved my arm to do just that. "Did I get it all?" She asked afterwards.