Francis Feelings Expression
956 Words
It was early evening when he saw me again—descending the front steps in a simple black dress and a wool coat, my hair loosely pinned, eyes already heavy with the weight of the day. I didn’t see him at first as I made my way toward the garden—*our* garden now.
He gave me a few moments alone before joining me.
I sat on the old stone bench beneath the ivy-covered trellis, arms folded tightly, a cup of tea warming my hands. The kind of silence I usually craved suddenly felt fragile.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said softly.
I smiled without turning. “You didn’t. I knew you’d come.”
He sat beside me, leaving that careful space between us—the one we both pretended didn’t ache.
The air smelled of spring: wet earth, first blooms, the memory of roses. And silence—dense, complicated.
But I knew he hadn’t come for silence.
“I’ve been meaning to talk,” he said.
I turned to him, bracing. “I figured this day would come.”
He looked at his hands, then into my eyes.
“This isn’t easy for me, Marie. You know that. I’ve spent years burying what I feel.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“But I can’t pretend anymore. I won’t stand on the edge of something this real and refuse to name it.”
I felt my breath catch, the air suddenly too thin.
“I care about you,” he said, his voice steady but aching. “Not because of what you’ve built, or how the world sees you. But because of the woman who laughs when her tea’s too hot. Who hums when she doesn’t know I’m listening. Who lets me see the parts she hides from everyone else.”
I wanted to speak, but no words came.
He leaned forward, voice lower now. “Being near you used to feel like peace. Now it feels like ache. I wake before dawn thinking of you. And every time you walk away, I wonder if I should’ve said this sooner.”
Then he met my gaze, no hesitation left.
“I’m in love with you.”
The words landed like a breath I hadn’t let myself take.
I blinked—not in surprise, but because I *felt* it too. Deeply. Terrifyingly.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he added quickly. “I just needed you to know.”
I set my tea down with both hands and turned fully to face him. Then I reached for his hands—mine trembling, not from fear, but from truth.
“Francis,” I said, and my voice cracked. “I’ve spent my life building walls so high no one could even *try* to climb them. I told myself it was to protect everything I’d earned—but that was a lie.”
He held my gaze, waiting.
“I was scared,” I confessed. “Scared of what it meant to let someone all the way in. To let *you* in.”
“What were you afraid of?” he asked gently.
“That you’d see the parts of me I don’t show anyone… and walk away.”
He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch.
“I care about you too,” I said. “So much it terrifies me. And I’ve spent the past week wondering if letting you in would destroy everything I’ve worked for—or finally make it matter.”
His breath caught.
I glanced down at our clasped hands. “You don’t fit the version of my life others planned for me. But with you, I don’t have to perform. You make me feel… like myself.”
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, eyes warm.
“I don’t want convenient,” he said. “I want *you*.”
I let myself breathe.
“Then take me. All of me. But don’t let me run when I panic. Because I *will* panic.”
He smiled gently. “I won’t let go.”
I leaned in, forehead resting against his. Our breaths mingled—warm, close, honest. We didn’t need a kiss to seal it. Just *this*. The stillness after the storm.
He pulled me close, and this time, I didn’t resist.
I didn’t carry the weight alone anymore. And for the first time in years, I didn’t *want* to.
Francis was no longer on the outside of my life.
He was inside it.
Where he belonged.
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We sat there, surrounded by the hush of blooming vines and wind in the trees. The kind of silence that comes only after something sacred is spoken.
Then—
A sound.
Not wind.
Not a bird.
Not nature.
A sharp rustle near the broken fountain. A movement too heavy, too intentional.
I sat upright. “Did you hear that?”
Francis was already rising. Tense. Alert.
From the far edge of the garden, a shadow shifted—there and gone before my eyes could catch it.
Not staff.
Not a guest.
“Stay here,” he said under his breath.
But I stood too. My spine locked, senses razor-sharp.
Because I recognized that shadow.
Not its face.
But its *intent*.
And I didn’t reach for his hand this time out of fear.
I reached for it in warning.
“It’s starting,” I whispered.
His eyes flickered with alarm. “What is?”
I looked toward the darkness, where the figure had vanished.
But I didn’t answer.
Because something cold had already wrapped itself around my chest.
And in my gut, I *knew*—
**This wasn’t about falling in love anymore.**
**This was about surviving it.**
- Writer
