Rewrite the Stars by Christina Consolino (classic fiction TXT) 📗

Rewrite the Stars

 

Christina Consolino

© Copyright Christina Consolino 2021

Black Rose Writing | Texas

© 2021 by Christina Consolino

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

First digital version

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Print ISBN: 978-1-68433-650-0

PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING

www.blackrosewriting.com

Print edition produced in the United States of America

Praise for Rewrite the Stars

“Rewrite the Stars offers a touching exploration of thecomplex and divided nature of the human heart.”–Jenny Jaeckel, author of House of Rougeaux

“A fabulous read that will keep you intrigued until the very end.”

–J.E. Irvin, author of The Strange Disappearance of Rose Stone

“The story, told expertly by Consolino through the voices of Sadie and Theo, is emotionally gripping and touching, creating deep connection and sympathy for the reader with both characters.”

–Elena Mikalsen, author of Wrapped In The Stars

“Rewrite the Stars gives the reader an insider’s view of a marriage in the midst of falling apart.”

–Karri L. Moser, author of A Home for The Windswept

“An absorbing read, from start to finish.”

–Anne Valente, author of The Desert Sky Before Us

“A slow burn of a novel, with flames licking higher page by page. This beautiful and eloquent novel explores…depth, grace, empathy, and intimacy.”

–Erin Flanagan, author of It’s Not Going to Kill You and Other Stories

 

Thank you so much for reading one of our Women’s Fiction novels.

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The Apple of My Eye by Mary Ellen Bramwell

"A mature love story with an intense plot.

This book has something important to say."

–William O. Shakespeare, Professor of English,

Brigham Young University

 

For my mom,

Mary Ann Serafini Consolino,

who always wanted to rewrite the stars

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Recommended Reading

Dedication

Chapter 1: Sadie

Chapter 2: Sadie

Chapter 3: Theo

Chapter 4: Sadie

Chapter 5: Sadie

Chapter 6: Theo

Chapter 7: Sadie

Chapter 8: Theo

Chapter 9: Sadie

Chapter 10: Theo

Chapter 11: Sadie

Chapter 12: Sadie

Chapter 13: Sadie

Chapter 14: Theo

Chapter 15: Sadie

Chapter 16: Theo

Chapter 17: Sadie

Chapter 18: Theo

Chapter 19: Sadie

Chapter 20: Sadie

Chapter 21: Theo

Chapter 22: Sadie

Chapter 23: Sadie

Chapter 24: Sadie

Chapter 25: Theo

Chapter 26: Sadie

Chapter 27: Theo

Chapter 28: Sadie

Chapter 29: Theo

Chapter 30: Sadie

Chapter 31: Sadie

Chapter 32: Theo

Chapter 33: Sadie

Chapter 34: Sadie

Chapter 35: Theo

Chapter 36: Sadie

Chapter 37: Theo

Chapter 38: Sadie

Author’s Note

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Note from the Author

BRW Info

I want to see you.

Know your voice.

Recognize you when you

first come ’round the corner.

Sense your scent when I come

into a room you’ve just left.

Know the lift of your heel,

the glide of your foot.

Become familiar with the way

you purse your lips

then let them part,

just the slightest bit,

when I lean in to your space

and kiss you.

I want to know the joy

of how you whisper

“more”

― Rumi

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1: Sadie

 

On the morning my life began to unravel like the hem of my worn-out sweater, I found an old love letter from my almost ex-husband in the bottom drawer of my home office desk. The paper, at least fifteen years old, felt thin to my fingertips, like the lace on the bodice of my wedding dress. Inside the folds of the sheet, Theo had printed a few lines of text in his block scrawl—some words he’d written on his own, some he’d borrowed from our favorite poet, Rumi. You have disturbed my sleep, the text read. You have wrecked my image. You have set me apart.

Times had changed.

Without you, I can’t cope.

And yet, they hadn’t.

The letter’s edges scraped my fingertips one last time before I placed the paper into a file folder near my computer. The summer humidity made the drawer stick, and I pushed it closed, upsetting the small pile of bills balanced on the desk. Water sloshed from the tall glass near the computer—Theo had probably left it out all night—reminding me dishes still needed to be washed and put away. Moving toward the door, I kicked a toy car with a missing wheel. The vehicle crashed against the wall and came to rest near a singing-alphabet snail that had been waiting for new batteries for two weeks. From sweet love letters to dirty glasses and broken toys.

Insane giggles from the next room interrupted my progress, and the scene unfolded before me: Theo on hands and knees, three rambunctious children scattered across his back. Make that hand and knees—he possessed enough strength to balance on one hand. His arm muscles rippled against his favorite blue T-shirt as he tickled the children’s bellies. One tumbled off Theo and onto the carpet, while the second attempted to pull his shirt. The youngest, a pile of curls and drool, peered up at her father, joy radiating from her eyes as her pudgy fingers gripped his waistband. She clenched her teeth and yanked with a linebacker’s strength such that in one fell swoop, a portion of Theo’s shorts sprang away from his body. The kids rocked onto their heels, clapping their hands and howling, pointing at their father’s underwear. In return, Theo growled, his voice echoing across the great room rafters. The guttural noise sent the children to scatter from one toy-filled corner to the other and then back to him again.

I pinched my lips, stifling the laughter, before my gaze met Theo’s. It had been a long time since I’d witnessed such life in his eyes and in his actions. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time he’d played with the kids so effortlessly. On many days, an ordinary day’s struggles wore him out long before he had a chance to interact with the children. Wiping away a tear from my cheek, I smiled—breathing in the happy moment, reveling in the charming family image,