Title: Enough: A Novel
Author: Dawn L. Chiletz
Genre: Contemporary Inspirational Romance
Release Date: October 11, 2015
My name is Everly. I’m a stay-at-home mom of two beautiful kids. I have a husband who provides for our family, but I don’t think he loves me anymore. Inside I die a little every day.
I am not enough. Not enough of a mother, a wife, a friend, a woman… I’m not enough to get you to stay, to love me or to accept me. There’s a battle I’m fighting. It’s a battle within myself.
I’m a fixer; I help others. I try to make everyone around me happy and whole, yet I haven’t figured out a way to fix myself.
When time and circumstances push me to my breaking point, I’m forced to take a hard look at what I’ve become. A failed marriage, a failed attempt at a career, and a failed attempt at being a mother. I’m not enough to hold any of it.
This is my story. It’s about trying to figure out how to be happy with who I am, how to love myself again, and how to allow others to love me. When a second chance at love is standing in front of me, will I be able to see anything more than my broken reflection in his eyes? Will I be able to rebuild and reinvent myself when everything falls apart? Can I find the love I truly deserve?
Will I ever be enough?
He smiles and brings the pizza over to the couch. He heads over to the kitchen and returns with paper plates, a roll of paper towels, and two glasses filled with ice.
I scoot down and rest on my heels, opening the pizza box. The smell makes me groan, and I bring a piece to my lips before he’s able to hand me a plate. He laughs. “You were hungry.”
“This,” I say, motioning to the pizza, “is me.”
He smiles briefly then frowns again.
“I’m sorry I ruined your dinner plans,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry I tried to act like I have my shit together.”
“I really don’t,” he states as he crosses his legs and lifts a piece of pizza to his plate. I reach for a paper towel and he helps me.
“It was a beautiful place. I just didn’t feel like I belonged there.”
He shakes his head. “You belong in the best of everything.”
“Why do you say that stuff?” I ask as I take another large bite of pizza.
“I only took you there because I wanted you to feel as special as you are. You’re beautiful, Ever. You always have been. Inside and out.”
I suddenly feel conscious of my lumpy body, and I lift my plate and head over to the bar.
He follows me and sighs. “What did I say now?”
“It’s not you. You’re sweet and kind and treat me better than I deserve. I’m just not the same girl you think you remember.”
“You seem the same to me.”
I drop my plate on the bar and turn to face him. “I’ve had two kids. Underneath this dress are stretch marks and a scar from two cesareans. I have way too tight underwear on to hold everything in and enough cellulite to rival the waves in the ocean.”
He twists his head to the side and wipes his mouth with a paper towel as he finishes chewing his last bite. He places his plate on the counter and takes my hands. He positions them on his waist and angles me close to him. My breath hitches, and I stare into him with uncertainty.
“You are beautiful. I don’t care about all that shit. Don’t you understand? When I look at you, I see you. The girl who took my heart at the age of twenty-one and never returned it. I. See. You. You’ll always be you. That’s all I care about.”
I swallow hard at his proximity and then roll my eyes. He laughs and takes a step back to get a better view of my face. “Why are you rolling your eyes at me?”
“Because you’re full of shit.” I turn away from him and lift my slice of pizza from my plate. “If you saw me naked, you wouldn’t be whistling the same tune.” I laugh.
His eyes darken. “When I see you naked, I won’t be whistling anything. I’ll be licking every inch of you.”
My pizza slides out of my hand and falls cheese-first onto the floor.
Dawn L. Chiletz is the author of The Contest and Waiting to Lose. She currently resides in Illinois with her husband, two boys, and two dogs. When she’s not binge writing or reading, Dawn drinks large amounts of coffee and checks Facebook instead of doing laundry.