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Unexpected Love Story (Love 2) Natasha Madison 2022/8/3 13:50:44

We hear footsteps coming toward the door. “Here we go.” I open and close my hands, and my nerves start to get the best of me. My heart starts to beat even faster against my chest as the footsteps approach the door. I hear the lock turn and watch as the handle turns right.

The door swings open, and there standing in the middle of the doorway is the woman I came to meet. The woman with long, straight blond hair that lays over her thin shoulder. Her big brown eyes are too big for her face now, something that probably wasn’t there before. Her clothes look five sizes too big for her. “Can I help you?” Her voice comes out soft.

“I’m Crystal,” I say, my voice wavering a bit, but her eyes go big when she finally recognizes the name.

“We are sorry to just barge in on you,” Blake starts saying when she looks at him. “We were wondering …”

Samantha moves out of the way. “Please, come in,” she says as I walk in, followed by Blake. “Don’t worry about taking off your shoes,” she says to us as she turns and walks into her house. The entrance is closed in, and when we walk into the home, we both stop in our tracks. Pictures of Eric are everywhere; the pictures of his family cover the whole wall in the living room. Pictures of him and the girls scattered throughout the room.

Samantha turns around and watches us take in all her pictures. She points at the big portrait of the four of them. “That was taken the day we found out we were expecting our third child. Two weeks later, I miscarried.” The picture hangs in the middle of the living room wall “Would you like to sit here or in the kitchen?”

“I can’t sit in this room,” I tell her. “It’s just too much.” She nods her head as if she understands.

I follow her into the dining room as she turns and goes into the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Water,” I say, my throat now dry. She goes to the fridge, opening the door, and we see the drawing on the fridge. “It can’t fucking be,” I mumble to myself.

She comes back, handing us each a bottle. “I don’t know what the protocol is for any of this, so I don’t want to be rude in any way.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“We just want to talk,” Blake finally says, and she nods at him and walks to the table.

“I need to sit down.” She almost collapses in the chair. I take a seat on the opposite side.

“Are you okay?” Blake asks her as her eyes fly to his while he takes a seat in the chair next to me.

“No, actually, I’m not okay. I’m the opposite of okay,” she sighs. “I have to pick the girls up in an hour,” she starts and places her hands on the table as she wrings her fingers.

“Did you know?” I come right out and ask the question, a question everyone must be thinking.

Her head shakes from right to left. “Not a fucking clue.” She wipes a tear from her face. “How long were they together?” she asks, and I finally get it that she must have just as many questions for us as we have for her.

“They were married for the past six months but dating for about eighteen,” I tell her the truth; it’s not about lying, it’s about fucking closure, for her and for us.

She nods her head. “I just thought we were going through a rough patch.” She doesn’t try to wipe away the tears this time. “I even felt him get distant, and we spoke about it.” She sniffles as I listen to her. “He said it was all in my head.”

“Do the kids know?” Blake asks, and she shakes her head.

“My in-laws will not permit me to tell them anything except that he died in a car crash.”

“Your in-laws are not your boss.” I sit straight up, my spine going rigid.

“I’m a foster child and grew up in the system. They are the only family I have, so they are not the boss of me, but they are my family.” She sits up. “It is also none of your business how I handle my children.”

I’m about to freak out, and Blake must feel it because he puts his hand on my arm. “You’re right. They aren’t my business, and you aren’t my business, but my cousin, his other wife, is my business,” I start, and I don’t stop now, my voice getting higher and higher. “You had your fucking closure. You got to say goodbye to him, but she didn’t.” She glares at me, but I don’t care. “She had to sit in the middle of her fucking living room, that they shared together, and read a fucking cease and desist letter, telling her that everything they had meant nothing. That is my fucking business.”