𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 828 || 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐲 || 𝐳𝐞𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧

today was the 4 year anniversary of the day evie had died, for you at least. you hoped it would get easier every year, but it never did. you still planted her favorite flowers at her grave every year. yellow roses.

as you laid down for bed, you couldn't shake the feeling of guilt off of you. you killed your best friend four years ago. tears were forming in the ducts of your eyes, but you didn't want your husband to see that.

"how are you?" your husband asked, scooting into his side of the bed.

"i'm fine. yeah, i'm fine." you muttered out quickly. it was obvious he didn't believe you, why would he? ever since his death date, he could practically read your mind.

"love, when i ask you how you are, i already know the answer. i'm just opening up the door to a conversation." he replies, rolling over to face you and opening his arms.

you slide your way into his arms, and tears began to fall. then came the sobs. you just couldn't let go of the guilt. it was the only connection you had left to her.

"you're okay, it's okay." your husband whispered sweetly into your ear. he rubbed your arms gently and pressed kisses to the top of your head.

"why can't i get rid of the guilt? why don't i want to?" you asked him quietly.

"it's up to you whether you want to get rid of it or not. you can hold onto it as long as you want, regardless of what society says or wants from you. hell, i still hold onto my guilt everyday." he says.

you pull him into a passionate kiss. "you have the best gift anyone could've ever asked for." you say.

"that just came from me, my love." he says, a light chuckle stifling from my mouth.

"then you're the best husband a girl could ask for." you say sweetly. you wrap yourself deeper into in arms and fall asleep, more grateful for the man holding you than ever.