Page 19 of Forgive Me, Father

Candlelight flickers as rain patters against the bedroom window, thunder echoing in the distance. The scent of garlic still lingers in the air from the pasta Gabe and I cooked together for dinner, and now we’re curled up in our bed, glasses of wine in hand, listening to the storm, talking and tracing patterns on each other’s skin with our fingers. Gabe’s in nothing but a pair of low-hanging gray sweatpants, and I’m in nothing but his discarded T-shirt.

“I can’t believe we’ve been here for two years already,” I say softly, taking a sip of my wine. This little apartment feels like home in a way nowhere else ever has, and I know it’s because of Gabe. Because of the warmth and love he shows me every single day. And while a lot has changed over the past two years—I’ve graduated from university with my nursing degree, Gabe has worked his way up to the director of housing services at a local non-profit organization, and Alessandro has shocked us both by deciding to attend seminary school—our love hasn’t. It’s still just as intense, as passionate, as consuming as it was at the very beginning.