Chapter 8 - WHAT MATEO GAVE HER
Three years into their marriage, Mateo surprised Adelaide by taking her to a small house overlooking the ocean in Maine.
She stared at him.
“What is this?”
“Yours.”
She laughed.
“I already have a house.”
“This one is different.”
“How?”
“No guards.”
She looked at him suspiciously.
“No security?”
“There are cameras around the perimeter.”
“Mateo.”
“Fine. There are two guards.”
She laughed.
He smiled.
“I wanted you to have somewhere that belonged to you before it belonged to us.”
Adelaide walked through the house.
There were bookshelves.
A small office.
A kitchen facing the water.
And on the desk sat a framed photograph.
Her mother.
Adelaide stopped.
“Where did you get this?”
“Your father gave it to me.”
She touched the frame.
For years, she'd had only one photograph of her mother.
Mateo had found twelve.
Letters.
College photographs.
A wedding picture.
Her mother's handwriting.
Adelaide covered her mouth.
“You did all this?”
“I wanted you to know her as a woman, not just the person you lost.”
Tears filled her eyes.
She turned toward him.
“You make it very difficult not to love you.”
“I was hoping for that.”
She laughed through her tears.
Then she kissed him.
Later that night, they sat on the porch beneath a sky full of stars.
Adelaide rested her head against his shoulder.
“Do you ever regret marrying me?”
Mateo looked at her.
“Every day.”
She lifted her head.
He smiled.
“Because I regret that I waited so long to meet you.”
She punched his arm.
“You're terrible.”
“I know.”
She laughed.
And for the first time, the word marriage no longer sounded like a transaction.
May you like
It sounded like home.
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