Chapter Twenty-One
Lorelie
“Mom! Look at me!” Milo yells from the swings, where Patrick is giving him a push that sends him practically to orbit.
I rock the stroller gently and call back, “Good job, buddy!”
We’re at the park for our “family day.” It’s Saturday, Patrick took a half-day, and I didn’t have a shift, so we picked Milo up from school and brought both kids out for some fresh air.
Agnes is asleep in the stroller, one chubby fist curled around the blanket, completely oblivious to her brother’s squeals.
Patrick and I haven’t really spoken since the mess in the therapist’s parking lot. I don’t know why he still gets under my skin. We’re separated. Soon to be divorced. This shouldn’t bother me anymore.
Genesis thinks it’s because I still have feelings for him, which is absolutely not the case. The man cheated on me, lied about it, then lied about drinking on top of that. I do not love him. Like… absolutely not.
And yet my chest still tightens when I look at him laughing with Milo.
It’s just nostalgia. I miss the companionship, not the man. And I’ll totally start dating, once we’re actually divorced and my heart has had a chance to heal.
Until then, I’ll focus on my kids and my career. The former is amazing. The latter is… getting there.
Our old director, Caroline, quit when she moved to Oregon with her husband.
Good for us, bad for her, because Oregon helped him realize he’s gay.
Anyway, he’s living there now with his twenty-year-old boyfriend, and Caroline came back to start over single at forty.
They didn’t have kids, so the separation has been easier in a way. She’s taking it like a champ.
She’s even started hiking with Gail. And she told me once that when the papers are signed, I’ll feel relieved, not destroyed.
Honestly? She might be right.
She also reworked the entire schedule the second week she was back, fixed the on-call shifts, cleaned up the chaos Murphy left behind, and actually asked for staff input like a normal human being.
Work doesn’t feel like a punishment anymore.
Life still feels messy, sure, but at least it’s manageable messy.
And sitting here in the park, watching Milo fly and Agnes sleep and Patrick exist in the periphery of my life instead of the center of it… I feel unfinished.
What Patrick did a year ago felt unforgivable. Now it just feels… unresolved. Like there’s a chapter missing between the hurt and whatever comes next.
Yesterday, Genesis said something that hit harder than I expected.
You did everything you could.
Only… did I?
Yes, he lied. Yes, he hurt me. But he was sick. Drowning in something he didn’t even know how yet. And I keep replaying that fact in my head.
He has a brutal job, one that chews people up even when they pretend it doesn’t. And more than one veteran wife warned me about the slump, how too many bad cases pile up until something snaps. I always thought I knew what that slump looked like: distance, short tempers, going quiet.
I wasn’t prepared for drinking. Or lying. Or all the ways it warped the man I’d built a life with.
And I don’t know if that means I should’ve done more…
or if I already did far too much.
It’s not like he’s asked to try again or shown any sign he even wants that. For all I know, he’s done.
I mean, I was. I really, honestly was and still am. And yet… I don’t know.
I don’t know what any of this means or if it means anything at all. I don’t know if unfinished is the same as not over, or if it’s just the ghost of what we used to be tugging at loose threads.
I just don’t know.
“Hey,” Patrick says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I look up to find him standing there, wearing a dark green shirt and black pants. He zips up his jacket and sits beside me. Up close, he looks… healthier. And the realization makes something twist painfully inside me.
Was I really so wrapped up in my own hurt that I didn’t notice when he stopped looking like this? Did I really not see what my own husband was going through?
“What?” he asks, frowning a little. “Do I have something on my face?”
“How didn’t I see it?” I blurt out.
He blinks. “See what?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head quickly, heat flooding my cheeks. “I’m babbling.”
I turn back to Agnes, fussing with her blanket even though she’s sound asleep. Anything to avoid his eyes.
“Lore,” Patrick says softly.
“Forget it,” I whisper. “Please.”
He’s quiet for a second, then he speaks in a low, steady voice, nothing like the defensive tone I’m used to.
“In AA, I’ve heard a lot of stories about people whose rock bottom was way worse than mine.
Like… way worse. Things they can never undo.
” He lets out a breath, looking ahead at Milo pumping his legs on the swing.
“The one thing they all have in common is they can’t go back. No matter how much they want to.”
I turn to him, surprised he’s opening up like this without being prompted.
“But I don’t have to,” he adds quietly.
His throat works as he swallows.
“Thank you,” he says. “For forcing my hand when I didn’t want to be pushed. For making me get help even when I didn’t deserve it.”
My chest tightens.
Patrick glances at me then, just for a moment, before looking away again.
“I get why you did it,” he murmurs. “Just like I understand why you…” He trails off, breath hitching slightly. “What I’m saying is, I’m ready. For mediation. Or whatever comes next.”
He says it gently. No pressure. No plea. Just acceptance.
My heart drops straight to my stomach.
I thought those words would bring relief. Closure. A clean line between before and after.
So why does it feel like he just punched all the air out of my lungs?
Patrick
Lore looks at me like she didn’t expect to hear any of that.
Honestly… I didn’t expect to say it.
I talked to my therapist yesterday while Milo was with Dr. Nina. It’s become this strange little routine, father-son therapy days. He sees his counselor, I see mine, and afterward we get lunch like we just went fishing.
Anyway, Dr. Brett made me realize something I should’ve figured out a long time ago.
Putting off the divorce won’t save my marriage. It’ll just drag out the inevitable.
And Lore’s right, I’ve been selfish. For years, really.
I just assumed that because she didn’t have her family, mine would be the default.
That holidays automatically meant my parents’ house, my traditions, my comfort.
It never occurred to me she might want something different. Something that was ours.
Hell… this might be the first Christmas since we got married that she won’t spend with my family.
Last year she was heavily pregnant, and things with Mom and Chloe hadn’t blown up yet, so she still came along. This year… this year is different.
This Christmas, I’m giving her what she’s been asking for all along, independence, the right to move on instead of being dragged into my shit over and over.
And it hurts.
Every part of me is screaming to take the words back, to tell her we can fix it, that I can fix it. But I can’t do that to her again.
Lore will never stop feeling like my wife.
But I’m starting to understand that I might not be her husband anymore.
And that’s no one’s fault but mine.
Lore lets out a soft, surprised “oh.”
I nod and look straight at Milo on the swings, because I can’t bring myself to look at her. I’d rather not risk seeing relief on her face, relief at being free of me.
I take a deep breath. “You can keep the house,” I say quietly. “I might take over Harvey’s place. He and Lauren are thinking about moving to Seattle anyway.”
She stays silent, so I push on.
“And… I talked to my mom.” My voice comes out more broken than I’d like. “I think she got it. She won’t be… like that anymore. With you. With any of it.” I rub the back of my neck. “And… yeah. I guess that’s it.”
The words feel clumsy, small for what I’m trying to give her, but they’re all I have.
I check my smartwatch. “You ready to eat?”
Lore shudders lightly, then gets up from the bench. I take the cue and stand too, calling out, “Milo!”
He bolts toward us, bouncing on his heels like he’s powered by sugar instead of oxygen. Dr. Nina might’ve been right, he’s been all smiles today.
For nostalgia’s sake, I drive us to Dora’s, the little diner halfway between the station and the hospital.
The place where Lore and I used to meet during shift changes, stealing half an hour for coffee or a quick plate of fries.
I don’t know why I go there. Habit, maybe.
Or something worse. Either way, Lore doesn’t realize where we’re headed until I pull into the tiny lot out front.
She’s quiet through dinner. Withdrawn. But Milo talks enough for all three of us, rambling about school, recess drama, the solar system project he’s suddenly obsessed with. His excitement fills every quiet pocket between us.
After we eat, I drive us back to my parents’ house to drop off both kids.
It’ll be Agnes’s first night away from either of us.
I tell myself that’s why Lore looks so distant, curled into her own thoughts.
It’s not like we small-talk much these days, but we do talk, about work, about the kids, about Harvey and Lauren.
She didn’t even ask why they’re moving to Seattle.
Tonight, though, she feels miles away.
And that’s probably how it’s going to be from now on.
I can’t expect anyone she dates to be okay with her being buddy-buddy with her ex.
There’s no chance of me moving on anytime soon, but the future isn’t exactly something I can predict.
What I can predict is this: no matter who I date someday, they won’t come between me and my kids.
I won’t let anyone, Lore included, push me into being a weekend dad just so her new boyfriend can play “family.”
The thought hits like a bullet to the chest.
I’m a detective with a detective’s salary. There’s no competing with the hotshots and doctors who’ll eventually sniff around her.
I love my job. I love serving this city.
But Lore does the same and makes more than I do, and my friends always expected that to bruise my ego.
It never did. She never lorded it over me, and honestly, we never even split things fifty-fifty.
We were too busy for that. We just threw most of our paychecks into a joint account and used it for bills and groceries and whatever else came up.
Now we’ll have to talk about that, too.
Money.
God, I feel weird even thinking about it. I know she won’t want spousal support. But what if she tries to offer it to me?
My balls aren’t small, but that might actually shrink them.
My dad is already outside when we pull up to the house. Thank God, I texted him from the diner. With the mood Lore’s in, another run-in with Mom, even an apologetic one, would’ve gone over like a grenade.
Together, Lore and I hand over the kids and pull away before Mom can make it out the front door.
On the drive back, I keep trying to think of things to say.
I already asked how work was, got a flat fine.
Asked whether she wanted me to bring the kids by after her shift tomorrow or if she’d pick them up, got a quiet I’ll text you.
I’m driving well under the speed limit, and she doesn’t even tell me to speed up. Usually she mutters something about “we’re not eighty, Patrick,” but tonight she’s silent.
When I finally park on the street outside the house, I turn toward her. “Lore,” I start.
She cuts me off before I can say anything else. “I’ll call my friend and have him set up mediation. Or whatever.”
And with that, she opens the door and slams it shut behind her.
I stare after her, mouth half-open, watching as she unlocks the front door and disappears inside.
I wait, for what, I don’t even know.
When the porch stays dark, I shift into drive and pull away.