I stop reading because I’m crying so hard I can’t form the words anymore. I drop the book to my lap and roll over until I’m facing Lincoln. “I can’t,” I sob, shaking my head, tears flying from my cheeks.
“Shh—baby. I’ve got you.”
I’m immediately wrapped in Lincoln’s arms, my face buried in his chest. My chest aches from my hiccoughing sobs, but there’s no chance of me stopping them.
“I’m so sorry, Molly,” Lincoln says hoarsely in my ear. “So damn sorry.”
I bury my face deeper in his chest, soaking him with my tears.
I’m not sure who I feel more sorry for. Anna or Jack. The horrific pain and fear Anna must have endured lying under that table, trying her best to protect that child. And the devastating pain Jack went through knowing his wife was still inside, while he was outside helpless to do anything.
I sniff and wipe my nose with the sheet before lifting my bleary eyes to Lincoln.
“I need to hear the rest, but I don’t think I can read it.”
“It’s okay,” Lincoln rumbles with a thick voice. “I’ll read it to you.”
I nod. “Thank you.” I tuck my face back against his chest as he picks up the book. He clears his throat before starting.
“I refused to believe the fire inspector at first. There was no way Anna was gone. But when he gave me the sooty and burnt four-leaf clover bracelet the next day, I knew. I fell to my knees right there in his office and screamed my grief to the heavens. It took me over a year to write this final entry for Anna; it’s taken me this long to see past the fog of grief. I loved her with my whole heart and will continue to do so until my dying breath. And even then, I’ll love her in spirit. From the moment I saw her in town seven years ago, I was mesmerized by her. She captured my heart and held it in her delicate palms, nourishing it back to life. I became hers that day. I’ll always be hers. If you’ve read the rest of her journals, then you know Anna gave me beautiful twins. While I’ve missed my wife every single day she’s been gone, our children are the only thing that keeps me living. Jack Junior and Isabelle are the only parts I have left of her. Until I can be with my beloved again someday, I’ll cherish the moments I have with them as I watch them grow. I only hope that Anna is watching us from somewhere wearing her breathtaking smile.”
I’m still crying, but I feel marginally better knowing that Jack, although still grievously missing his wife, didn’t forget about his kids. I can’t imagine how tough it was for him. To have his wife ripped away from him, but have to stay sane for the two little beings depending on him. The children, who were from my best estimate about four years old, would also be missing their mother. They weren’t old enough to really grasp why she was no longer with them. Those poor babies. I wish I could reach through the pages and comfort them.
“I’m not sure if you should continue reading these,” Lincoln says softly, pulling me from my thoughts.
I sit up quickly and face him. “Why?”
He tucks a few pieces of my now dry hair behind my ear and brushes away my tears with his thumbs. His eyes are tender as he gazes at me. “Because I don’t like how much they upset you. It’s clear these don’t end in happily ever afters.”
I frown. “We don’t know that. I mean, yes, Betsy and Anna’s didn’t, but that doesn’t mean the others won’t.”
“How many others are there?”
I think back to the other names I remember seeing. “At least one, I believe.”
“Why don’t we put them back in the attic?” He adjusts, sliding his hands around my waist to hoist me further up his chest. “Maybe you were right when you first found them. Maybe you weren’t supposed to read them.”
I move until I’m completely facing him. Grabbing his hand, I place it over my heart.
“I get what you’re saying. If I were in your shoes, I’d probably say the same thing. But Lincoln, as much as it hurts to hear how these women’s love stories tragically end, they’re all still beautiful. I ache for them and their husbands and children, but their lives up until that point are beautiful. They remind me so much of our own story. Especially since….” I drop my eyes and wrinkle my brow. “Especially since how our story is destined to end. And there’s this weird feeling inside me.” I press his hand harder against my chest. “I feel like I need to read them. Like I’m supposed to read their stories.”
He watches me for a long time, his eyes holding a mountain of worry as they flicker back and forth between mine.
Eventually, he nods. “Okay.”
Leaning down, I graze his lips with mine. “Thank you,” I breathe against his mouth.
Exhaustion suddenly hits, and I release an obnoxious yawn. Lincoln smiles and tosses the journal to the nightstand then reaches over to flick off the lamp. He slides down the bed until his head is on the pillow, taking me with him.
“Come on, baby. Sleep.”
I turn so my back is facing him, snuggling deep in his chest. With his arms anchored around me, his chest pressed firmly to my back, and his legs curved against mine, I feel safe and protected. The storm still rages outside, but even the thunder can’t take away the shielded feeling inside me.
My eyes slide closed, and it only takes seconds before I’m drifting off to sleep. A sleep filled with the cries of a woman surrounded by flames and a man bellowing her name in the distance.
Part II
Chapter Twenty-Two
LINCOLN
Eight Months Later
36 Years Old
Leaning my shoulder against the door, a smile plays on my lips as I watch Molly and the kids together. Gemma’s sitting cross-legged on one side of Molly talking animatedly. Gray’s on her other side with his back to the headboard with Molly’s head lying on his shoulder. My heart softens when he picks up a section of her hair and runs his fingers through it.
“You should have seen his face, Mom,” Gemma continues telling her story. “I thought he was going to pee his pants for sure.”
“Max is a jerk,” Gray grumbles, fixing his stare on the piece of hair still in his fingers. “No one messes with my little sister.”
“Well, I don’t think he’ll bug me anymore,” Gemma chirps, smiling proudly at her brother.
Molly slowly lifts her arm and grabs Gray’s hand from her hair. She brings it to her lips. When she slides her head away from Gray’s shoulder and turns to look at him, he sits up so she can see his face.
“I lllovve that yyou protttected your sister,” she begins, her words slurred and difficult to come out. “Bbbut vviolenccce is never the wwway.”
Gray nods grimly. “I know, Mom. All I did was trip him to make him stop.”
“Nnnext time it happppens, you go ggget your dad. Ppromissse me.”
Gray frowns, and I know he’s going to protest. I step away from the door before he can. “Your mom’s right, Gray.” I step up to the end of the bed and climb on until I’m resting on my arm over Molly’s thighs. “You did good protecting your sister. You should always do that. But there’s always going to be boys like him, and the next time he might get up and fight back. Fighting is the very last resort.”