I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
A newly married couple are in bed
A newly married couple are in bed…Brilliant continuation!
When you find that one person you want to spend your eternity with, you accept them with all their virtues and flaws.
One of the things most people want to know about their partner is how many people they have previously been with, and although this question can sometimes trigger jealousy, that’s still something normal.
A newlywed couple were in a bed when the husband raised the questions about the number of previous partners.
He gathered the courage to ask his wife if she was willing to share such information with him, but she didn’t say anything back, she just started gazing at the ceiling.
Pressing the matter, he assured her, “Just share it with me, it’s okay. How many men have you been with?” but was again met with silence.
Filled with regret that his words could have offended his loved one, the man apologized.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I simply thought we could have an open and trusting relationship…”
After continued silence, he uttered, “That’s alright, please don’t be upset.”
Again, there was no answer so he got closer to her and started kissing her and showering her with affection.
Frustrated, she turned to him and said, “Oh, come on! You’ve made me lose count!”
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