Chapter Ten
The weeks settled into a strange rhythm.
Mark and Tessa lived as if on parallel tracks that intersected only when necessary.
Their contact was reduced to short phone calls or quick exchanges at the door—updates about homework, practice times, weekends.
Hand-offs became efficient, with smiles reserved for the kids.
When their eyes did meet, Tessa's gaze was cool and she answered his attempts at small talk with clipped sentences.
He didn't blame her; the walls were a necessary defense--when she had been open and vulnerable with him, he had injured her deeply.
And now she was determined not to let him close enough to wound her again.
He did not make another effort to talk to her about their marriage. His last two attempts had been spectacular failures--he had blindsided and pained her, mangled his explanations, and had only succeeded in driving a wedge further between them.
Now, all he could do was try to make her life a little easier.
He showed up to mow the lawn without being asked, filled her gas tank, got the oil changed.
He never missed Michael's soccer games or Chrissy's recitals.
Most weekends he took the kids, and if they ate too much junk food, stayed up too late, or came back in mismatched clothes, at least they had spent time together and had given Tessa a break.
He no longer sought Kate's company, but she often invited him out.
Adrift in a kind of limbo, caught in the fog of his own tangled thoughts and half-made decisions, he usually declined.
Clarity still eluded him; only now was he beginning to grasp the enormity of his careless choices.
And in the empty spaces of his life, he found himself drifting.
There were no more kisses—the thought of them churned his stomach with guilt and regret.
However, on a bright Saturday morning, the kids were with Tessa and he was feeling at loose ends, so he let Kate drag him through the farmer's market.
She reached for his arm more than once, trying to hook it through hers, but each time he shifted—adjusting his paper bag, pointing to a booth, running a hand through his hair—small, deliberate movements that kept her from holding on.
She pointed out fresh flowers, offered him bites of samples, leaned close as if every moment were an inside joke.
Perhaps sensing that he was slipping away, she tried too hard to keep his attention fixed on her.
"Look at these," she said, holding up a handmade mug. "Can't you imagine us in a loft; shelves lined with pottery like this?"
Mark smiled absently, but the image his mind conjured was Tessa at home in the kitchen, her hair tied back, sipping coffee from one of the mugs with pictures of their kids on them, gifts from grandparents one Christmas.
Later they stopped in at a coffee shop. When the barista made a mistake on her drink, Kate's charm slipped.
"It's really not that hard," she said with an exaggerated sigh, tapping her nails on the counter.
The young man flushed and hurried to fix the drink. Mark's brows lifted and then lowered in a frown. He couldn't imagine Tessa reacting like that. She would have brushed it off, maybe even tipped extra to soften the boy's embarrassment.
Kate caught his silence and smiled, slipping her hand over his. "Somebody's got to keep the standards up."
An awkward silence stretched as they slid into their seats.
Mark grasped for something to say and landed on what had filled his mind most of the week—his kids.
There had been Chrissy's fever that sent him out on a midnight run for medicine, Michael's midday vocal concert at school, Luke's parent-teacher conference, and the scramble to track down the right pair of soccer cleats before Michael's next game.
"Kate leaned closer, her tone soft. 'Tessa keeps you running nonstop, doesn't she? As long as you're ticking off the boxes—dad, provider—she doesn't try to see who you really are."
The words were meant as sympathy, but this time he caught the sneer beneath them.
Heat pricked at the back of his neck, defensiveness sparking before he pushed it down.
He didn't want to argue. More than that, he realized he didn't want Tessa's name in Kate's mouth at all.
Hearing Kate pick her apart, as if she knew Tessa better than he did, felt like a violation.
Kate's hand brushed his, "You deserve someone who notices. Who makes you feel alive."
Once, those words would have thrilled him.
Now they rang false. In the beginning, Kate's attention had been intoxicating—she made him feel interesting again, understood.
But now the cracks were showing. Her charm felt rehearsed, her laughter timed to fit his instead of flowing out naturally.
She shaped her words to mirror what she thought he wanted to hear, and when she imagined a slight—with a waiter, a stranger--there was a brittleness he hadn't noticed before.
Suddenly Mark felt like he was suffocating and he caught himself looking for a way out. Since they had driven separately to the farmer's market, he seized the chance, claiming he still had grocery shopping to do before Michael's game later.
"I can shop with you," she offered sweetly. "After all, it would be good for me to know what kinds of snacks the kids like."
"Why's that?" the words escaped before he could stop them.
"I just mean... we'll be spending more time all together when you—when we..." Her voice faltered.
The truth hit him--he couldn't picture Kate and his kids in the same space. The kids belonged to him and Tessa; they had no place in Kate's world.
"No," Mark said sharply. "I don't think that's a good idea."
Her hurt, pouting look seemed more posed than real. With a quick nod, he turned and headed for his car, drawing in a deep breath as though surfacing from underwater.
Back in his apartment, Mark replayed the morning with Kate.
One of the things he had once clung to—the excuse he'd told himself—was how easy conversation with her seemed.
But today it hadn't been easy at all. Their talk felt stilted, forced.
When he mentioned his week with the kids, she brushed past it, twisting it into another dig at Tessa and another claim that she, not Tessa, truly cared about him.
Where Tessa was genuine and grounded, Kate now struck him as artificial, calculating, with a hard center. He hadn't seen it before, blinded by the rush she gave him, the distraction from responsibility he thought he needed.
But in the daylight, stripped of all that rush, what was left? Someone he was not sure he would even choose as a friend. Certainly not someone he wanted a deeper closeness with. Clarity finally settled in: even if Tessa never forgave him—which seemed likely—he was finished with Kate.
Later that afternoon, the sidelines buzzed with chatter—parents in folding chairs, children racing through the grass, coaches herding kids into warm-ups.
Tessa had come early, unfolding her chair near midfield for the best view of Michael's game.
She pulled a bottle of water from her bag and fixed her gaze on the field, though she felt the usual sidelong glances brush over her.
"Hey, Tessa, right?"
She looked up to find one of the single dads—Ethan, she thought—smiling down at her. His son played defense; she'd seen him at practices before.
"Yes," she answered politely.
He gestured toward the field. "Your boy's good. Fast. Coach must love having him out there."
Tessa smiled faintly. "He works hard. Loves the game."
They chatted idly about the team and schedule, her answers friendly but brief. Her eyes kept drifting back to the warm-ups. She wasn't looking to linger.
After a pause, Ethan leaned closer. "Hey, maybe we could grab coffee sometime? Nothing big—just nice to talk without all the chaos."
She turned to him fully, her voice even, " That's kind of you, but no thank you. "
He tilted his head, smirking. "I heard you and your husband were separated. Look, it wouldn't hurt to have another 'friend.'"
Her expression cooled, "I already have plenty of friends." She slipped her hand through her bag strap, signaling the end of the conversation, and deliberately turned back to the field.
After a beat, he shrugged and walked away.
Tessa exhaled slowly. Ethan was good-looking, charming, and clearly interested.
She had been flattered; it soothed the insecurities that had gnawed at her since Mark's affection and desire had cooled and turned elsewhere—to Kate.
Another part of her, darker and more defiant, toyed with the idea of paying him back in kind.
What if she met someone new, someone who offered her the same attention Mark now lavished on Kate?
She could almost picture the look on his face as she told him, with casual indifference, that she had found someone who made her feel young again, desired, alive.
But the truth was, she had made vows—and she meant them, even if Mark had not. As long as she was married, she wouldn't betray them. And the idea of anyone new felt impossibly far away, especially with another baby on the way. Still, decisions loomed. She had an appointment with a lawyer next week.
Unseen a few feet behind her, Mark had arrived just in time to catch the exchange. Jealous heat shot through him at the sight of that man approaching her.
But Tessa had shut it down. Without hesitation. No flirting, no wavering.
Mark stayed at the edge of the sideline, a little behind her chair. He said nothing—not then, not after the game. But as he watched her, so poised and composed, he couldn't ignore the stark contrast. She had every reason to welcome another man's attention after what he had done, but she hadn't.
She was radiant, still so clearly desired, yet she guarded her vows with dignity. Shame mixed with admiration pressed in on him.
As the whistle blew and the kids ran onto the field, Mark shoved his hands deep into his pockets and forced his eyes forward.
But inside, the comparison burned--he had betrayed her trust and carelessly disregarded the vows that bound them, while Tessa had remained true.
But he may very well have broken his marriage so thoroughly that one day she would be free to give her faith, her love, herself, to someone else. The thought filled him with dread.