Chapter 6 – Finding Us Again
301 Words
Provence healed me. The countryside was slow and honest. I wore linen dresses again. I read poetry, wrote letters I never sent. Weeks passed, and the noise in my head softened.
One morning, I received a small parcel. Inside was a single note and a photograph.The note read:“I found this while cleaning. You wore this the day we met. I remembered how you smiled. – Mike”
The photograph was of me — back in Nigeria, years ago — wearing a white cotton dress and a shy grin.
That same evening, I called him.We didn’t say much, just listened to each other breathe. He finally said,“Come home, Sharon. Not the model. You.”
When I returned to Paris, it felt like walking into a new story. Mike was waiting by the balcony, the city lights soft behind him. He looked at me — really looked at me — and smiled.
“You cut your hair,” he said.“I cut off everything that wasn’t me,” I replied.
He reached for my hand.“I’m sorry for pushing you to change.”“And I’m sorry for losing myself trying to please you,” I said.
He kissed me then — slow, tender, forgiving.
That night, we didn’t need words. Just quiet touches, laughter, and a love that felt new but familiar.
It’s been a year now. I still model, but on my own terms — for brands that celebrate authenticity, not perfection. Mike and I are stronger. We’ve learned that love doesn’t need a makeover — it just needs honesty.
Sometimes, I still wear red — not because he wants it, but because I do.And every time, he smiles and says,“There she is — my wife, my muse, my peace.”
The End
- Writer
