Settling in

The intense, raw heat of the previous week with Vince gradually softened, settling into a comfortable warmth that still hummed beneath the surface of our days. Our lives found a new rhythm, blending easy companionship with familiar intimacy. My body, thankfully, was catching up to the peace my spirit was starting to find. My feet had fully healed, the persistent fog from my concussion had lifted, and the goose egg on my head was completely gone. Physically, I was fully mended.

But emotionally, the past still cast a long shadow. One afternoon, with Vince out at the grocery store, I found myself confiding in Kay over coffee in my kitchen.

"I know it sounds silly after everything," I began, my voice barely a whisper, "but I'm still a little on edge. About my ex-husband's family and his friends. What if they try something? It just feels like they won't let it go."

Kay nodded, stirring her coffee slowly, her gaze steady. "It's not silly at all, Deppgrl. What you went through... that leaves scars. It's natural to feel that way. But listen, the police have really made their presence known since they left your place. More than you might realize."

I frowned, confused. "What do you mean? I haven't exactly seen a huge police presence."

She leaned in, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "That's exactly it. It's subtle but yet deliberate. Remember those officers who were there those fifteen or so days? A number of them live within half a mile of you and a couple of them live just two or three houses down. So when they're not on duty, they're still keeping an eye on things. And there are unmarked cars driving through the neighborhood throughout the day - he word on the street is, you're being protected. They don't want any trouble coming your way, and they're making sure everyone knows it."

A wave of unexpected relief washed over me, mixing with a strange sense of being watched, though not unpleasantly. "Wow. I... I had no idea. That's actually incredibly reassuring, Kay."

"It should be," she said, giving my hand a firm squeeze. "You deserve peace now. And believe me, they're taking it seriously."

Life began to settle into a comfortable routine in the following week and a half—almost domestic. Vince was a steady, grounding presence. He still loved to cook for us most nights. The enticing scent of something delicious would waft from my kitchen as he prepared dinner. "What are you in the mood for tonight, love?" he'd often ask, apron tied around his waist, a comfortable smile on his face. Though, he insistedt on taking me out twice. "No cooking tonight, Deppgrl. Let's go to that Italian place you like, my treat," he'd say, treating me to our favorite restaurant where we could simply enjoy each other's company over good food and wine, away from the quiet watchfulness of our neighborhood. When Vince was out with his friends for drinks or a round of golf, the house felt a little too quiet, a faint echo of the vulnerability I still grappled with. But I was learning to be okay with those moments, finding strength in the quiet.

During those times, the phone would often ring. It was usually Bob, calling frequently, just checking in. "Just making sure you're doing okay, kid," he'd say. His concern was sweet, almost endearing, even if it sometimes felt a little like being babysat by my older brother. Still, it was reassuring to know he cared. "Everything's fine, Bob, just enjoying the quiet," I'd tell him.

Then, one quiet afternoon when Vince was out on the golf course, a gentle knock sounded at the door. It was Pastor Dan and Sheila, their warm smiles a welcome sight.

"Deppgrl, we just wanted to check in on you," Sheila said, her voice soft and caring. "We know that you haven’t been around as to be cautious."

"It's so good to see you both," I replied, genuinely pleased, stepping aside for them. "Please, come in. Can I offer you some tea or coffee? Water"

"Just water, thank you," Pastor Dan replied, settling onto the sofa. We spoke for a while, and I shared bits and pieces of how I was doing, focusing on the progress and the peace I was finding. They listened attentively, offering words of comfort and support, their gentle presence a quiet blessing. Their visit was a poignant reminder that even as I embraced a new, more adventurous chapter, the steady anchors of friendship and community were still there, offering quiet strength.

When Vince returned from wherever he'd been, it always marked a distinct shift back into that passionate space we'd carved out for ourselves. We still had sex, less frenetic than that first week, but no less intense. He'd pull me close on the bed, his weight a delicious comfort, his hands and mouth immediately finding my breasts. He loved to tease and caress my nipples, drawing soft gasps and shivers from me. Our bodies would move together, deeply connected, each intimate moment a powerful fusion that left us both spent and satisfied, tangled in the sheets, his whispered words of desire a comforting echo in the quiet room.

The weeks that followed settled into a more natural rhythm. The initial intensity with Vince eased into a profound, steady connection that anchored me. Our intimacy continued to burn brightly, a powerful testament to the bond we shared, but it became interwoven with the quiet comforts of shared moments, laughter, and growing trust. While the fear of my past hadn't completely vanished, in Vince's arms, and with the silent watchfulness of my neighbors, I found a newfound sense of security. Each day felt like another step forward, healing wounds both visible and unseen, as I embraced this unexpected, vibrant chapter of my life.

Despite not using condoms during sex nor me taking my birth control pills, my body offered no signs of pregnancy. Home pregnancy tests consistently showed negative results, a fact later confirmed by blood tests done at my doctor's office.

I decided that the next time was out and about, I’d drive to the hospital to find that bubbly nurse that crossed boundaries to get the medications prescribe by the ER physician by the inhouse pharmacy.