All Chapters of With All My Love: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Past-Warning scenes of abuse.Patrick had just dropped Annabelle off. The truck's engine rumbled over the gravel, fading into the thick silence that wrapped around her. She stood there for a moment, watching as the taillights disappear down the road. Her heart pounded. Just hours ago, she had been with Patrick, lying beneath a sky scattered with stars, celebrating their eighteen months together. He had planned everything: horseback riding through open fields, their laughter carried by a warm breeze as they raced along the trails. Later, they lay on a blanket, his fingers laced with hers, their lips meeting, words clashing, tangled between breaths. Eighteen months together. She had never felt safer with anyone but him. Now, that moment felt like a lifetime ago.She took a deep breath and stepped into the crumbling disaster that was her home. The familiar stench hit her immediately. Stale beer. Smoke. Something sour lingered in the air. It was the same as always, but somehow worse. Her

HimAfter my father died, my mom did what she did best - she ran. She packed us up and moved us across the country, changing our names to erase who we were. Back then, I didn’t get it, but now I do. She wasn’t just running from pain; she was running from memories, from herself, and from everything she couldn’t fix. The sound of the rain on the bridge snapped me back to the present. I could feel the cool iron beneath my fingers, much like the feeling of those moments when the snow smelled of nights she laughed, careless and alive. The past was never far away, but for now, I was here, facing the endless complexities of today.My mom was a free spirit. A hippie who could find light in the darkest moments, who smiled more than she cried. Even when she told that she had cancer, she spoke like it was nothing. Her voice was light, and her eyes - brown and full of warmth - crinkled, like she was telling me a joke instead of delivering the worst news of my life.It was like she wasn’t afraid.

PresentAfter my father went to prison, Patrick and his mom, Susan, took me in. They gave me a home, warmth, and safety when I had nowhere else to go. “I have people clean every Saturday,” Patrick said, voice calm but heavy. He grabbed two glasses. “Wine?” He leaned against the counter, watching me.“Yes, please,” I replied, moving slowly into the living room. My eyes caught on a photo pinned to the wall: me, Susan, and, smiling like nothing could touch us.I remembered that day. I’d been sick, and she’d promised to take me on a trip out of town to visit the university I’d dreamed of attending. I was so happy that day. My vision blurred, and I quickly wiped my eyes.“She really loved you, you know,” Patrick said, stepping up beside me and handing me a glass of white wine.I glanced at him. He looked rugged and handsome, his hair tied back, except for one stray piece that was tucked behind his ear.“Thanks,” I murmured, taking a sip.Then I turned to him, a sudden heaviness settling a

Present Three days into the week after Natasha left for New Orleans, I sat in my living room with Henry asleep on my lap, drafting a plan. The idea of making Patrick love me again felt both simple and utterly ridiculous, like clinging to a fading photograph crumpled in haste, its edges worn with time and longing. Nearby, a still-beeping baby monitor glowed softly, embodying both the hope of a new beginning and the folly of the task ahead.Desperate? Yes. Necessary? Also yes.When you hurt the person you love, the only way forward is to make it right. Desperation had been my companion ever since that fateful day with Patrick. Almost no one knew that Patrick and I had been together. Maybe Cassidy knew, but only because she caught us once, in Jesse's parents' toilet. Fixing this meant having a strategy.I carefully carried Henry to my bed, tucking him in. The apartment felt quieter without him. Just as I started heading back to my notepad, a knock at the door startled me, pulling me fro

Past Annabelle and Patrick found themselves alone in his house on a Sunday afternoon. He sat at the dining table, doing nothing, just sitting there in nothing but jeans, his long hair fanning against his face. He looked at Annabelle as she looked at him. His full lips parted, his lower lip caught between his teeth, biting, pulling.Suddenly, Annabelle was up from the couch, leaving behind its comfort. The TV blared in the background, the house both empty and full. Hot and somehow cold. Patrick's gaze darkened as Annabelle moved closer. He smiled, the corners of his gray eyes crinkling as he tilted his head slightly.“Come here,” he murmured. “Let me kiss you.”So Annabelle did. She stepped between his legs, and the moment their lips met, a spark ignited in her. He tasted beer and vanilla, a strangely intoxicating mix that made her dizzy.“You taste sweet,” Annabelle whispered against his lips.He smiled, pressing his forehead to hers, inhaling deeply as if he were breathing her in, a