Chapter Five
The next morning, the office felt hollow when he arrived. He buried himself in blueprints, redrawing a client layout, anything to avoid thinking.
Kate appeared in his doorway. "Hey." She leaned on the frame, hair loose over her shoulders, smile soft. "You didn't come to work yesterday and didn't answer my texts. I was worried about you. You okay?"
Mark set his pencil down. "I... moved out yesterday."
Her expression melted into practiced sympathy. "I'm sorry. That must've been really hard."
He nodded, words sticking. "I don't know what I thought Tessa would say, but she was blindsided, hurt and angry—as she should be. She told me to leave, and now I'm questioning if I did the right thing."
She stepped in and closed the door. "For what it's worth, I think you're doing the right thing—figuring out what you really want. She had to know things weren't great between you. Maybe this is good for her in the long run, too. She could find someone who's more on her level."
Mark looked up sharply. "What's that supposed to mean—on her level? Tessa is smart and capable and....loyal. She's one of the best people I know."
"Hey, I didn't mean to offend," Kate said quickly. "Just... you and I have a lot in common. You've grown, and she's stayed... I don't know... stagnant." At his frown, she clarified, "I mean, I'm sure she's great. Maybe you're just not right for each other anymore."
When he didn't answer, she crossed the room, heels quiet on the carpet, and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You deserve to be happy, Mark."
Before he could respond, she bent and kissed him—soft at first, then lingering, her other hand sliding to the back of his neck. He kissed her back for a heartbeat—just long enough to feel the rush that had kept pulling him toward her—then broke away, standing so abruptly his chair rolled back.
"Kate..." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I can't. I'm not—"
"Mark, it's ok. You're separated now. You don't have to feel guilty."
"It's not that simple," he said finally, voice rough. " Tessa's still—" He stopped, unable to find the words. My wife. The mother of my kids. The person I vowed to love. The person I told I don’t know if I love anymore. But those words had a false ring to them now.
Mark let out a shaky breath, torn between the soothing assurance in Kate's voice and the guilt that gnawed at him.
His mind flashed with images of his kids, Tessa's tired smile lately, and her pale, stunned face in the kitchen two days ago.
Then there was Kate—her understanding gaze, the way she looked up at him--like he was special, important, more.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he admitted, voice breaking.
Kate offered a small, sympathetic smile. "Then don't decide right now. Just know... you don't have to be alone in this."
She let herself out, closing the door with a quiet click.
Mark stood there, discomfort rising in his throat. Why did Kate think she could disparage Tessa, implying that she was not on their level? The uncomfortable answer was that Kate only knew what he told her. Had he really made Tessa seem like such a drudge?
He thought of off-hand comments he had made to Kate about Tessa:
She doesn't really get what I do at work, so I don't even bother explaining most of it.
She's always wrapped up in the kids—every story is about homework or soccer practice.
Her sense of humor is so literal--I feel like my jokes go over her head sometimes.
The truth was Kate didn't know Tessa at all—what she'd been to him for years, how she had championed him through school and late nights and difficult months. How she was strong and gentle and kind, how her unique sense of humor had gotten him through so many tough moments.
And she was fiercely loyal. Shame filled him. Tessa would never have let anyone talk about him the way he had talked about her, and the way he had allowed Kate to. He had been disloyal in more ways than one.