Page 216 of This Woman Forever

This day was the beginning of the rest of my life.

From this moment, I was your Ava x

Fuck. I swallow down the lump in my throat, reaching for my neck and rubbing there, as Ava finishes writing on her second picture. The one I took on the docks the night she stopped fighting it.

Today I realized how in deep I was.

Jesus, I don’t think I’ll ever truly comprehend how deep I’m in. It’s fucking bottomless. Every time I think I couldn’t love her more, I wake up, and... I do.

And I wanted to be so much deeper with you.

I sniff discreetly, smiling to myself. There it is in black and white. A confession. She wanted to be in deep. I won’t ask her why the fuck she resisted for so long. We’re here now. Married. Pregnant.

Ava moves onto another picture, and I move with her, reading the one she’s just written on. This is fun. Way more fun than I thought it was going to be and, thank God, my wife doesn’t think I’m a weirdo.

Today I learnt that you can dance.

Yeah, baby, I can dance.

I also admitted to myself that I was in love with you, and I think I might have told you too.

Yep, she did. It was one of the most frustrating times in our relationship, especially the days that followed. She was absolutely legless.

Next.

Today I found out that I’m just for your eyes.

I snort quietly. Where is that jumper? I haven’t seen it since I forced Ava into it. I hitch a brow. Did she cut it up? I move close to one of Ava’s naked back, inhaling. That day. Fuck, it was intense.

Today I learnt that I’m for your touch and for your pleasure only.

Correct.

But my favorite part of today was when you told me that you love me.

I liked that part too. But my favorite was when I fucked a confession of love from her. Ava moves onto a picture of her in the Ritz, and I read the words by the picture of her handcuffed to the bed. The Retribution Fuck. A firm favorite, although shelved for the foreseeable.

Today I found out how old you are...

I scowl at the back of her head. What a horrific day.

...and that you don’t like being handcuffed.

Positively hate it. Onto the next. I breathe in when she moves in on an image of her on the veranda in Paradise, and she’s there a while, thinking, lifting the pen away, taking it back to the wall. Then, eventually, she moves back, clicking the lid back on.

Today I decided that you’re right. We will be okay.

And yes, I do have a bump... ish, and I love you for giving it to me.

I’ll always love you.

End of.

This is like my therapy wall. Everything I need to keep me going, and a massively useful tool to support me through my withdrawals when she might not be around. I start reading them again, storing them to memory, our own small love story emblazoned across my office wall.

Small story?

Epic story.