Chapter Twenty-two
March blew in with its unpredictable weather, torn between clinging to winter and giving way to spring.
Tessa had only a month left until her due date and the final stretch was wearing on her.
The near-constant heartburn kept her so uncomfortable that she could only sleep propped upright most nights.
Some days she could hardly catch a full breath; her back ached, and bending far enough to put on her shoes was nearly impossible.
Yet every day she thanked God for the precious miracle, the gift of grace that was her baby.
The kids were thrilled, often leaning close to her belly to talk to the baby.
She had chosen not to learn the baby's sex, and Mark had agreed, grateful simply that everything pointed to a healthy child.
Years ago, they had converted a guest room into a nursery, and when Luke grew old enough, he had moved in with Michael.
With Tessa's eye for design, she had guided Mark in refurbishing the nursery in soft, neutral colors—shades that reminded them both of spring.
One afternoon, instead of their usual winter walk through the nearly empty halls of the old mall, Tessa and Rachel sat together sorting baby clothes and gifts from the shower the women's group had given her.
As they folded and stacked the tiny garments, Tessa let some of her buried emotions rise to the surface.
"My feelings for Mark are returning... or maybe it's more that I'm finally lowering my guard and letting myself feel them again," she admitted softly, smoothing a onesie across her lap. "He's been working on himself, really trying. And I want to forgive him."
Rachel glanced up at her. "You've told him that, haven't you?"
Tessa nodded. "I have. A few months ago, I told him I'd make my decision about our marriage after the baby is born.
And now... that time is almost here. We've been living in this strange limbo—separated, but he's at the house a lot to help with the kids.
It's worked, but it can't go on like this forever.
Keeping up two households doesn't make sense financially.
And more than that, the kids deserve more than this halfway family. "
Rachel reached across to refold a blanket, her expression thoughtful. "You're right. There's a lot to weigh—not just your heart, but the practical side of life too. It's not a small decision."
Tessa sighed, the weight of it heavy on her. "I know. That's what makes forgiveness so complicated. Part of me is scared that forgiving means I'm weak—that it means I'm letting him off too easily."
Rachel's gaze was unwavering. "Tessa, you are one of the strongest women I know. I've admired the way you've carried yourself through this—your courage, your grace—even when it's cost you so much."
Tears welled up in Tessa's eyes. "I haven't done it alone. You've been like a sister to me, sticking with me through all of this. And the women in our group have been so supportive." She picked up some knitted booties, waving them almost as proof.
"And I've felt a closeness to God, His comfort, in a way I haven't known before. I just read this verse, 'The Lord is near to the brokenhearted.' I think that's really true."
They were quiet for a few minutes, then Rachel asked gently, “Do you think there’s hope for reconciliation?”
Tessa's answer came without pause. "I don’t know.
" Her voice grew quieter. "A while back, Mark told me he loved me, and I shut him down.
I didn't believe him then. And he hasn't said the words since.
But I've been doing a lot of thinking about love—and I think it might be time to talk with him about what that means to him. "
Rachel's eyes warmed. "Then maybe that's the place to start. With honesty. With love."
That night she prayed for the strength and wisdom to take the next step.
Maybe forgiveness didn't have to feel like surrender—maybe it could be a conscious choice.
Forgiveness wasn't something to take lightly or glibly.
But ultimately, there were no guarantees, and taking that step would require faith.
A quiet peace settled over her, and she slipped into the deepest sleep she had known in weeks.
They sat across from each other in the corner booth of a quiet little Italian place Tessa had always loved.
The glow from the candle on the table flickered against her face, softening the tiredness around her eyes.
Plates of half-eaten pasta sat pushed aside as they lingered over coffee, the low hum of music filling the space around them.
Mark had suggested they go out—not exactly a date, but a chance to step away from the kids and the schedules.
They'd hired a babysitter, and here they were.
Mark couldn't stop glancing at her—the way her hands curved around the mug, how her hair framed her face, the subtle guardedness that still lingered between them. When the silence stretched, Tessa set her cup down and looked at him directly.
"Mark, I feel like there's something I've been holding back, something else I need to ask you about."
He straightened, his chest tightening. "Of course, anything."
She swallowed, her eyes glistening. "I hate to go back to that day in the kitchen, because in some ways it feels like a long time ago, and part of me thinks it would be easier just to put it behind me.
" She sighed. "But something still bothers me.
... why did you say it? That you didn't know if you still loved me.
...and then when I asked you if you were in love with Kate, you let me think you might be? "
He paused, then confessed, "This is going to sound stupid--because it is.
But in my clumsy, selfish way, I think I was trying to provoke you.
I was confused, restless, drowning in my own head.
I said what I thought would push you to argue with me, to help me get clarity.
But instead, you told me to leave--which I deserved. "
She considered this as she folded and refolded her napkin. "So... did you mean it? When you said you didn't love me?"
"No." Mark's voice was fierce, raw with conviction. "The second the words left my mouth, I felt how false they were."
Tessa's eyes shimmered, but she held his gaze, waiting.
"Remember the night after I found your letter—the one that told me you were pregnant?" Mark asked.
"How could I forget?"
"I told you then that I loved you, and you said you didn't believe me—that I didn't know the meaning of the word.
" He exhaled. "At first I denied it. I thought, of course I know what love is.
But Jeremy pressed me to look deeper, and I realized my idea of love was weak, shallow—almost childish.
It depended too much on feelings, on circumstances. And when it was tested, it failed."
"And do you know what love is now?" Tessa asked quietly.
Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded, worn piece of paper. He opened it carefully and spread it on the table. "I copied this down and carry it with me. A few times a day, I take it out to remind myself."
Tessa leaned forward, curiosity in her eyes. "What does it say?"
He slid the paper across to her. She unfolded it and read aloud, her voice low:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. —1 Corinthians 13:4–8
Tessa's voice softened as she finished the final line, her eyes lingering on the paper. The words seemed to hang in the quiet air between them, weighty and alive.
Mark's throat tightened, but he leaned forward, his voice thick with feeling. "That's the kind of love I failed to give you before, that I didn’t understand. But it’s the kind of love you have shown me so many times--and that God has been teaching me to show you. Because you deserve it, Tessa—you always have.”