It's been a year since I lost my husband. One year since my best friend was stolen from the world. One year ago I felt the world shatter around me as everything I ever imagined for myself disappeared. Honestly, I wasn't sure I would recover. I'm strong, yes, and determined. But at first, it seemed impossible to even comprehend, let alone begin to heal.

I don't know how I feel now. Guilty? Guilty that it's only been a year, and I've somehow allowed my heart to accept a new best friend? Mad because I am in a situation where I need a new best friend? Or just confused because I was able to accept a new best friend so easily?

I haven't been partnered with him for long, but OA already has my loyalty, and I would do anything to keep him safe. I trust him, and I know he has my back, too. And recently, he really has become more than just a partner. I care about him. A lot. Maybe more than I should. But I see him. Even parts he doesn't want me to see.

I know that he has some demons to face from his past. He has made it clear that while overseas, he was in situations and a part of experiences he isn't proud of. But that's really all I know. He did open up a little that night when he showed up on my doorstep unannounced. Not that I complained. I offered to be there for him, to listen, and I meant it wholeheartedly. I want to know him. I want him to know that he can be forgiven, that he can choose to forgive himself. That he is more than the mistakes he's made or the people who have had to die at his hand. But even as he sat on my couch and told me some stories, he still held back, was still afraid to open up.

A part of me gets it. There are areas of my life that I covered up, hide from view. Like my husband. Like the pain that I deal with every day in the aftermath of his loss. But another part of me craves the openness of knowing those details of who he was and who he is, and wanting him to know everything about me in return. I know OA is a good guy, amazing even. His heart is pure and there isn't a single situation I can think of that he wouldn't hurdle himself into in order to protect me, or anyone else, like with the bomb in that warehouse, or when I ran without thinking toward the Kernick residence when I heard those children scream. Minutes later as I came down the steps, two children in hand, there he was screaming my name, voice laced with worry. The distance he had needed to run to get to me and the short amount of time he had to travel that far almost didn't make sense. He must have nearly flew.

So after a short time of him talking to me, sitting on a couch in my apartment that night, he stopped. I filled the silence with jokes, and he happily played along, but there was still unspoken need in the air. Need from him as he wanted to tell me and didn't, need from me to hear his unspoken words. His need for me to accept him, my need for him to know that I already do. A hundred times over.

But the guilt creeps back in and is always there, circling around my thoughts, my actions, my life. Guilt. Anger. Confusion. But mixed in is friendship. Trust. Hope.

I don't know where that leaves me, where it will bring me. For now, I guess I need to just accept things how they are. I feel safe with OA. I feel supported. I hope he feels the same, hope he knows that I care and that he is forgiven. If he can't forgive himself, I'll forgive enough for both of us. Maybe I can forgive myself, too, for the guilt I have for letting OA in. Maybe. For now that's enough.