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Marie and Derek
An exclusive short story.
The still forest air, consumed by fog, didn’t breathe. It wrapped Marie in a shivery embrace that made her think of cold blankets, snow falling down the back of her neck, and icy rivers. Or maybe she didn’t breathe.
Certainly, Marie Monroe held her metaphorical breath. If she touched the world too intensely right now, all might crumble by startling the intrepid silence, interrupting whatever exchange conducted in the old Watcher’s cottage dead ahead. The home was barely visible through the bushes where Marie hid.
Bianca.
Isadora.
Fate.
How agonizing this silence! Hardship and loneliness had walked by Marie’s side for years. Life as Derek’s wife was rarely simple, or easy. But to send Bianca into this horrid situation alone?
Was it really their only chance?
A twig broke behind her.
Marie spun.
Her wild heart settled when she saw the dark figure standing there. Broad shoulders. Stubbled face. Concerned gaze.
Derek.
He made the noise on purpose to alert her. She hadn’t explicitly told him she’d watch their daughter scamper off to her destiny, but Derek knew Marie better than anyone. She’d never sit at home, waiting.
His approach did little to settle her racing heart. In fact, it made it worse. Of course he’d be here—right when she most needed him. Whatever imperfections Derek brought to their handfasting, he always returned. Always proved himself. Always showed up, though his timing was sometimes off-kilter.
Marie opened her arms with a sob. In seconds, he enveloped her in his embrace and crushed her to him. His fist tufted her dress, pulling her close. A husky whisper queried, “Marie?”