Chapter Eleven
The next morning, the buzzing of his phone dragged Mark awake. He reached for it, hoping it wasn't another call from Kate. She'd been blowing up his phone since he left her at the farmer's market, and he had not answered. But when he squinted at the screen, it wasn't her name that flashed.
He answered quickly, "Tessa? Is everything ok?"
"Yes, I'm just a little under the weather this morning. Would you take the kids to church? They don't want to miss their program."
"Yeah," he said, after a pause that felt too long. "Of course."
The church didn't look like a church at all.
More like a giant furniture store that had been gutted and repurposed.
The front doors opened into a cavernous foyer, with plain walls, bright lighting, and clusters of tables near a coffee counter.
Off to the side stood colorful signs pointing families toward the children's check-in area.
Mark had been here a handful of times, mostly when Tessa had pressed him.
She and the kids came regularly. The kids loved it—came home with songs stuck in their heads and crafts in their hands.
Tessa had found friends here, women she prayed with and leaned on.
It had become part of her life, but never his.
He always found reasons to stay away—work, errands, the gym.
Now here he was, standing in line with the kids to get name tags printed. A volunteer stuck the stickers on their shirts, and handed him matching tags for pickup. He made sure the kids were in the right hallway, then found himself alone, with an hour and a half to kill.
He didn't want to sit in the service. Didn't want to sing unfamiliar songs, listen to a long sermon, or greet people awkwardly. So, he drifted to the coffee counter, poured a cup, grabbed a muffin, and found a table—only to realize someone was already there.
Mark slid into the open chair, nodding politely.
The man extended a hand. "Jeremy."
Mark shook it, " I'm Mark."
"I saw you bringing in your kids." Jeremy said after a moment. "My wife Sarah and Tessa know each other. Our daughter, Kylie, and Chrissy are friends. She's a great kid."
Mark stiffened, picking at the muffin wrapper. "Yeah, she's a sweetheart." He felt the need to further explain, "Tessa's home sick today, so I brought the kids."
They exchanged some small talk, and then Mark said, "I don't want to keep you if you want to go into the service, I'll probably just wait here until the kids are done."
Jeremy said, "Actually, I attended the early service and I'm waiting around to pick Kylie up as well,” he smiled.
Maybe it was the emotional realizations of the last couple days, or the fact that something about Jeremy seemed like he was open to deeper conversation. Mark found himself admitting, “Tessa and I ...we're... separated."
Jeremy didn't flinch. He just nodded, as though he'd been told the weather. "That must be hard."
Mark exhaled, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
"Look—we married young. I was nineteen, and it felt like I was already carrying the weight of bills, jobs, and kids while guys I knew were still going on spring break, dating around, having fun.
After a while, I felt trapped, like I couldn't breathe.
And Tessa and I seemed like we didn't connect anymore. "
Jeremy didn't reply, but an openness in his eyes invited Mark to continue.
"And then there was this woman at work and ...It wasn't really—" He broke off, then forced the words. "It wasn't a full-on affair."
Jeremy's voice was quiet, but unyielding. "Even if you weren't sleeping with her--If you were spending time, sharing personal things with someone who wasn't your wife, Mark, it was an affair."
What an ugly word, but Mark couldn't dodge it anymore, “Yeah, you're right, it was." Then he tacked on quickly, as though that made it better, "But I don't want her anymore."
Jeremy nodded, "So you told her that it was over?"
Mark hesitated, "Not in so many words. "
Jeremy leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"Can I ask you to imagine something? Picture yourself at a wedding.
The bride is radiant, the groom young and full of promise.
She is gazing at him; her eyes filled with adoration and trust. But this is not just any wedding--you are the father of the bride, she's your daughter--Chrissy. "
The image stopped Mark cold. Chrissy, all grown, in a white dress, smiling at some young man waiting at the altar.
"Now imagine a few years later," Jeremy continued.
"They have children, a home, a life together.
But the young man—your son-in-law—decides it's too much.
He feels married life is cramping his style.
He decides he's fallen out of love with your daughter and begins to share the best parts of himself with someone else. Chrissy is left to pick up the pieces."
A bitter tang crept up Mark's that. Against his will, he saw Chrissy's face streaked with tears, her shoulders shaking while that fool—her husband—tore her heart apart.
He saw the imbecile standing across the kitchen from his beautiful daughter, the vile words spewing from his mouth, I don't know if I love you anymore. ..I have feelings for someone else...
His face burned, ears buzzing. He dug his fingernails into the paper coffee cup just to keep his hands from shaking.
Mark stared into space, "I messed up so bad. What do I do now? How do I fix it?"
Jeremy let the question hang a moment before answering. "Fix it? What do you mean by that—wishing you could rewind, pretend the affair never happened?"
Mark flinched at the bluntness. "Yeah, I guess. I want to go back to before I blew up my marriage."
Jeremy gave a small, knowing smile. "You realize that's a childish wish, right? Like shattering your mother's vase and hoping it will magically piece itself back together so you don't have to face the consequences."
When Mark only looked down at his cup, Jeremy went on.
"Saving your marriage is a worthy goal, but that's not entirely up to you.
What is up to you is who you're going to be from here forward.
You said it's over with the other woman.
Then end it completely. Don't slip away quietly—face it like a man.
And then start the harder work—becoming the kind of man you'd want for your daughter. "
Mark sat frozen, the coffee cooling between his hands.
Jeremy rose and slipped a card from his pocket, placing it on the table. "I do some counseling here. If you ever want to talk more, call me."