I’ve come to terms with the fact that Tony is gone. No one will say his name, much less discuss his tragic death, and I know why. It’s because I killed him. It truly was an accident. An ironic term as you’ll learn; however, as I ponder these thoughts, I can’t help but find it strangely parallel—he took my life, and I took his.

The people here want me to get better. I don’t think I can do that without acknowledging how I got to this place, and how I killed the man I love.

I’m doing this, recalling the worst and best times of my life for one reason: Nichol.

For months, even years, I was content to live in a world that didn’t exist. Truthfully, I wasn’t cognizant of being anywhere. Day after day, night after night, I lived with memories of the strong, controlling, domineering, loving, tender, romantic man who made my life worth living—who validated my existence. It wasn’t until recently that I even realized I’d gone away. Some days, I wish I could go back, but I can’t. I now remember I have a daughter who needs me. I won’t let her down. I must distance myself from fantasy and focus on reality.

The memories that will sustain me as I face a lonely life are of our few months together as a family. I’ll learn to go on alone. Despite the opinions of others, I’ve faced equally greater challenges and lived to talk about them. I will survive this. While I do, I’ll be comforted in knowing that no one else has ever loved as completely or has been as loved, as I have been by Anthony Rawlings.

Someday, I hope I can explain to our daughter the man her father became; however, until I admit the man he was—the man whose eyes burnt my soul—before those eyes found the light—I can’t relish the man I lost.

So here I go. I’ve lived this story, and I’ve told this story. Now, I’m going to try to do both, because without reliving it, even in my mind, I can’t possibly explain that I’m not crazy...

I met Anthony Rawlings March 15, 2010. That night I worked the 4:00PM to close shift at the Red Wing in Atlanta. He came up to the bar and sat down. I remember thinking...

Tony peeled his eyes away from the page. This was so much different than reading her official typed statement. This contained Claire’s raw emotions—in her handwriting. He wasn’t reading—he was listening. Fluttering the pages of all four notebooks, he noticed every page of every book was filled with writing. Glancing up, he saw Claire leaning against the wall, her arms folded over her chest watching him. Her stoic expression failed to reveal her thoughts; however, in her eyes—her damn green eyes—he saw the fire he’d missed. The one he’d doused too many times, most recently with his talk of divorce.

He truly thought she’d pushed their past away, glorified him in some unhealthy, undeserving way, yet on these pages, she’d recounted everything, and despite it all, she proclaimed unyielding love. Her words were correct, especially when she wrote, Anthony Rawlings wanted me. Tony didn’t realize how much at the time, but he did. The shrink at the prison helped him see that the terrible things he did—and he did some awful things—were his way of keeping her away—keeping her at a distance. He never intended to become emotionally attached. Blame it on anything from his past—there was no excuse for his behaviors. Anthony Rawlings never anticipated being emotionally vested in anyone. The psychologist also said, no one can come back from that kind of relationship. It can never be healthy. Is that what her therapist said too? Could they all be wrong? Could they be the one-in-a-million?

Staring into Claire’s eyes, Tony fought the urge to touch her, comfort her, and apologize for ever thinking they should be apart. Once again, his desires overwhelmed him. The self-control he’d elicited for the last two weeks dissipated with each beat of his heart. If he’d truly wanted to maintain their distance, then he never should’ve walked up the stairs. He wanted her more than he wanted life. How did he ever think he could let her go?

Claire waited. She wondered how he’d react—what he’d say. She hadn’t read that notebook in a while, but she knew it was the first one—the one explaining why she wrote everything down. Tony told her she needed to face their past. She wanted him to see—she had. She’d faced every minute. Although he hadn’t said a word, his eyes pulled her in. She wouldn’t look away—she couldn’t. At the sight of the familiar black gleam, her insides tightened to a painful pitch.

The temperature surrounding them warmed as his unrelenting stare bore through her. Claire felt heat radiate from every molecule within the room. While maintaining their unbroken gaze, he laid the notebooks on the dresser. The only reason she wanted to show him the notebooks was to show him that she’d already obeyed his directive. Besides, she reasoned—she’d told him to stay downstairs. This overwhelming sensation of lust wasn’t what she had planned. Her mind fought her body. He’d already rejected her. She couldn’t bear to have him do it again, yet without thinking, her feet moved his direction.