One year later.
I sat at the window that overlooked the vast, sandy, desert of Arabia. I was on my honeymoon trip with my Edward. I was blissfully happy to the very core of my being; I had never dreamed that there could be a felicity equal to this, of loving and being loved in return, fully, completely, passionately.
The air blew in hot and full of spices through the window.
Once again I looked out to where the unending sand met the horizon, where the air shimmered and danced in the distance.
Below me wild native music was being played. I smiled, this was so much like my dreams as a child I would occasionally have to stop and reassure myself that this was a real moment, not just a chimera that would vanish into the imagination.
Reader- I can see you are asking about Mr. Rochester and how he faired after the attack, his recovery was quick and uneventful, the brigands were never found, it was concluded that they had returned to France to escape the English law.
We removed back to London, and I brought little Adele to live with me till we were married.
As for the marriage, we became married as most do; in a quiet church, in a quiet town. This auspicious event took place just nine months after the events outside of Lowood. I remember that the birds sang as I had never before heard them, as if they too shared our overwhelming jubilation.
Then we had left just three months ago to travel the world.
I could not help but be amazed by how my life had changed in so short of a time.
Then suddenly, I had a need to tell my story of hope and despair, of lessons and love triumphant. I thought of all the places to start, my mind retracing the winding paths that my life had taken; and then suddenly I knew… I took up my pen and wrote out a single line. "There was no possibility of taking a walk that day."
Then as the shadows grew long and the light ever more gold, I heard the voice of my beloved coming towards the room. I smiled and placed my hand over my stomach, I had a delightful secret to share with him. I ran to open the door for him. "Edward!"
I want to dedicate this story to my father, my cheerleader, who taught me that perseverance will get you almost anything in this world.
Who was absolutely convinced that my writing from age five till now was on the level with Shakespeare,
Who never let me down when I needed him. Who loved me unconditionally, no matter what.
My teacher, my mentor, but most of all, my FRIEND. R.W.T. 19--2008