Chapter Twenty-Eight
Atlas
Watching my sons say goodbye to their Mama for the weekend is hard.
When we walk out to my truck after locking up the shop, Noah finally realizes that he's not going to see Wendy for an entire weekend.
He breaks into tears, dragging his feet and tugging on Wendy's hand.
"Mama, I don't wanna go," he cries, and—fuck, that hurts.
I don't blame him; he's attached to Wendy, and this is new, and change is scary. Honestly, he's acting how I wanted to when my parents dropped me off at Story Grove, terrified of the unknown.
"You're just going to go to Mom-Mom and Pop's house, it's okay, baby—it's just for the weekend, and you're gonna spend time with your Daddy and have so much fun," Wendy says, her words soft and soothing, words that I think are meant for her, too.
It takes twenty minutes for Wendy to calm Noah down, crouched on the ground in front of him, speaking softly and talking him through his tears.
Liam had stomped to the backseat and thrown his bag in before sitting down and slamming the door closed, still a little sour from earlier.
I start my truck to get the heat going, feeling like shit as I watch the scene in front of me and hang back to let Wendy work her magic.
My heart breaks with every tear sliding down my son's cheeks. Then I see Wendy's own eyes welling up with tears that she's desperately trying to push down, and it feels like a chasm has opened in my chest.
"I'm gonna m-miss you," Noah hiccups through his tears, his face buried in Wendy's shoulder.
"I'm gonna miss you too, baby, but it's just the weekend. And I'm just a phone call away. You can call me every night before bed," Wendy murmurs, leaning back to brush Noah's tears from his cheeks.
"Promise?"
"I promise," Wendy kisses his head and then brings him to the backseat, opening the door and placing his bag in the back.
Noah climbs in, and Wendy gets him buckled and settled before she circles around the car to Liam's side. Our oldest begrudgingly lowers his window for Wendy, who leans in and whispers something too low for me to hear.
The irritated mask on Liam's face melts away as he nods his head.
She pulls back and smiles, "I love you, baby."
"Love you too, Mama."
"Remember what you said?"
Liam hesitates for a moment before nodding, "I'll try. For me."
Wendy presses a kiss to his head, and his lips curve into a small grin.
"I love you, Noah. Be good for your Daddy," Wendy orders the boys, who nod before Liam rolls up his window.
She walks over to me, her face pinched into worry.
"If you need anything, just call me. Noah's on a blueberry kick now; he likes waffles for breakfast, not pancakes.
If you make him lunch, he just likes turkey and cheese with crusts cut off, and those pickled kettle chips from Mabel's.
I think your mom has some in her pantry.
Liam will eat anything not nailed down. Noah has art class tomorrow at ten, Liam doesn't have basketball until Monday, so you don't have to worry about him—"
"Wendy, breathe," I gently cut her off, and she cuts herself off, taking a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, I just—" Wendy says, her glassy eyes going to the backseat where Noah is lying his head on Liam's shoulder, his older brother telling him something to make him laugh. "I'm... I'm going to miss them."
"I'll take care of them," I tell her, slowly stepping closer to her. "I promise, baby."
She looks at me with those big green eyes, her nose and cheeks a little red from the cold, and despite my instincts telling me to get her out of the cold, I just want—need—to be in her presence as much as I can.
Because she's going back to our house, and I'm going back to my parents' house with the boys. I fucking hate every single second that we're not together like we used to be, and I hate even more that I'm the one who caused it.
Sometimes at night, I still reach out for her, seeking her body in the bed next to mine.
I want to pull her close like I used to, pressing my chest against her back, legs tangled together, my arm wrapped around her, and feeling her heart beating against my hand.
I want to press kisses to the back of her neck to wake her up gently like I used to, roll her over, and kiss her. I can't even remember the last time I kissed her as my eyes drop down to her plush lips.
God, I want to. I want to feel her against me, I want to hear her laugh, I want to listen to her talk about her day. I want my wife back.
But first, I need to build trust with my sons.
One step at a time.
"Okay," she breathes, glancing once more back at the boys before meeting my eyes again.
She moves forward, her arms extending like she's going to hug me, and my arms are already opening to excitedly accept her embrace—before her face freezes and her eyes go wide. She stops and steps back, arms dropping to her sides and hands curling into fists.
The wind carries the warm vanilla scent of her to me, and I want to drop to my knees and bury myself in it.
I haven’t held my wife in months, and the need for her presses heavy in my chest.
"I... I'll see you on Sunday," she says, her face looking like it's battling the same emotions rolling around my chest.
She wants to touch me, too.
Her allowing me that brief touch of her hands before Christmas was like drinking water after months in a desert.
Fuck, a hug from my wife would probably be like a hit of heroin at this point. But, we go at her pace. I was the one who pulled away, who rejected her touch.
"Text me if you... if you need to."
I want to say more, even if I don't know what. I want to extend this moment into eternity, but instead, I nod. “Drive safe, baby.”
She looks at me for a long moment before she walks over to her car, slides in the front seat, and starts it. She waves once more to the boys before she looks at me and gives me a small wave.
That little action makes my heart warm, and I raise my hand to wave back. I watch as she pulls out of the spot, out of the parking lot, and down the road in the direction of our house.
"I love you," I whisper as I watch her drive away, taking a piece of my soul with her.
◆◆◆
My mind won't stop racing as I lie in bed trying to sleep.
Truthfully, it hasn't stopped since we got back to the house.
Liam and Noah went up to their designated rooms without another word to me, the doors closing as a clear sign that they wanted to be alone.
I gave them that, knowing it was uncomfortable for them and that they needed to adjust. They're used to having sleepovers at this house; my parents are always eager to watch them, but they're not used to being here with just me.
My dad texted me that the surgery went well and they're going to discharge my mom on Saturday afternoon. Mom even got on the phone for a few minutes, sounding a little groggy, but said she's feeling fine, just eager to come home.
I think she and my dad are worried about the boys. The weekend I had been looking forward to, the day I could start repairing the relationship with my sons, has not started on a good note.
When Liam had charged into my office, thinking I was cheating on his Mama, I had thought that was it—my son would never forgive me for that. I had given Liam no reason to trust me.
But Wendy...
God, my wife is starting to trust me again.
That's something Dr. Wilson cautioned me that the hardest battle I was going to face was rebuilding trust.
While he said he wasn't a couple's therapist, he had patients in the past whose marriages eroded not from a lack of love, but from a complete lack of trust. Without that, there's nothing substantial for the relationship to be built upon.
Trust is a choice. Wendy chose to trust in my words that she is the love of my life and that there will never be another woman for me.
Whatever trust I've built back up with her for the last two months is so fragile, just a tiny little flame, but she trusted me yesterday, and that meant everything to me.
And it made me want to keep going. A confirmation that I am getting better, that it's not all bullshit, it's not all in my head.
All I've had to do is keep the course—attend therapy, take my meds, speak my feelings, thoughts, and fears.
It's hard. Every time I wake up after a nightmare, every time I choke up when Dr. Wilson asks me a question that feels more like a stab to the heart, every time Dr. Newman tells me to describe my fearful thoughts and how often they occur.
It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do. And it's working.
But I still need to make amends for the harm I caused.
I can see it now: the distance, the hidden pictures, gave Aubree the illusion of me being single. In the past, I knew women found me attractive, but I just didn’t care because all I'd ever seen was Wendy.
Everyone in town has always known us as Atlas and Wendy, not sold separately. Most women knew that they never had a chance with me, and I made sure men knew that I was Wendy's and they didn't have a shot in hell of getting rid of me.
Aubree is just my employee, which makes this a little more delicate to deal with, since there is a power dynamic.
I'll need to explicitly tell her that I am married, and that what I now recognize as her flirting is not appropriate. She's young, and I don't think she's malicious, but I need to set boundaries.
Maybe I'll even ask her if she wants to transfer to another location to avoid any discomfort or further embarrassment.
The main thing I need to focus on right now is rebuilding with my sons.
But saying things is easier than actually doing them.
It took until after eating our dinner of Chinese takeout to realize that not only do I not have everything handled, but I also don't know my sons anymore.
Worst part, I don't think I ever truly did.
The conversation between the three of us was so stilted. I tried talking to a still sad Noah about art, but I couldn't follow some of the painting terms he used, and the conversation faded away.