This Is How It Always Is Novels & Stories

Ambience. Always ambience.

"Of course, that has always been the plan," "I love you, forever, Mrs. Katherine Salvador," "I love you more, my husband, my everything," He opened his arms and I got in without hesitating, loving how perfect my life is now and knowing it would be like this for a long, long, time. The End

Only us. Forever.

Forever and always. THE END.

Kiyara. Always had. Always will. Only her. ***

It was as if he had aged decades overnight. I pretended not to recognize him and walked on with the kids. David glanced back over his shoulder. "That homeless guy keeps staring at us. He's probably just stunned by how perfect we look." I laughed. "Darling, when are you going to get help for that raging narcissism?" The sun poured gently over us, and our kids' laughter echoed along the street. Life was good—perfect, even—as if every piece had finally fallen into place.

As true mates. As it was always meant to be.

This is always. The always of a thing that has been decided and keeps being decided, daily, in the ordinary quiet of a morning kitchen with the coffee and the FT and the space without collision. The always that is not permanence imposed from outside but the accumulation of choices—each morning, each Tuesday, each choosing to stay and to show up and to be here. The always that is the opposite of the contract—the contract had a term, had an end date, had a built-in expiration. They always have no term. The always is the choice that has no expiration, that must be made fresh every day, that cannot be assumed or taken for granted or treated as permanent simply because it has lasted this long.

You ready? Always.

Nora's was beginning. That was how it worked. Always had been.