Chapter Thirty-Four
Wendy
"I felt like a married single mother."
Atlas' face tightens at my words, but Dr. D'Amore stressed to us that this is only going to work through complete honesty. That anything I'm feeling needs to come out, because not sharing is the whole reason we're even here.
Dr. Lupita D'Amore is very petite, with big brown eyes, dark brown hair, and golden tan skin. The many degrees and certifications hanging behind her desk are a testament to her reputation, but her kind demeanor reminds me of Diane.
Her office is cozy and bright, with warm colors and rustic decorations instantly putting me at ease. I'm not shaking as much as I was when I walked in.
It's a little odd being back here. Different office, same position. On a couch, sitting in front of a couple's therapist to help us solve our problems, only this time I'm not alone.
Atlas sits to my right, twitching hands on his legs. My eyes can't stop drifting to the gold ring on his finger, over the tattoo of our wedding date, and my initial.
They drift down to my own finger, empty.
Atlas is showing up. He's proving that he wants to be here. He wants to repair the relationship with our sons, with me.
I'm just scared that this is temporary. Dr. Pace explained to me that Atlas could relapse. That he could fall, and I would need to decide if I will be there to pick him up again.
I will. Because it's my Atlas. My husband. My soulmate, if such things even exist.
It's just the threat of the floor dropping out from under me when all of these things have been going so well.
But, if this past year has taught me anything—from recognizing that there's an issue, standing up for myself and my children, getting a job and gaining some much-needed independence—it's that I'm a lot stronger than I ever thought I was.
I can carry the weight, for now. I will be there for Atlas through everything, and I have faith that he will be there for me, too.
"I was used to all of the childcare, because I made that my job," I continue, shrugging my shoulders.
"I felt... that since I didn't contribute financially, I had to do all the childcare.
I had to do all the housework. I was the one who had to keep everything in order.
So I poured into everyone's cup, balanced the boys' schedules, bought the groceries, prepared the meals, and cleaned the entire house. If not me, then what was my purpose?"
I take a deep breath, my heart slamming in my chest. Atlas' hand twitches on his knee like he wants to reach out and comfort me. He doesn't, and I'm both happy and sad about that because I don't think I could express the pain I felt that year with his warm, loving touch.
"I was constantly worried about people questioning me if I asked for help—all you do is housework, all you do is watch your kids, and they're in school for the day, so what is it that you do?
I felt like I had to keep moving, keep cleaning, keep everything together, or someone would say something, and it would just confirm everything my mother ever told me about my existence. Useless."
"Baby..." Atlas whispers, his voice agonized.
I can't look at him. My mouth is an open faucet as I just let it all out.
"And then even when I thought I had everything together.
.. it never felt like enough, because Atlas was doing hard labor at work every single day.
He was coming home so tired. Drained. His hands aching.
His back aching. Dealing with difficult clients, and I'm complaining about mopping some floors?
Cooking? Helping my boys with some homework?
What kind of mother and wife am I if I couldn't even handle that? "
Dr. D'Amore names it. "Guilt."
I nod. Atlas sniffles next to me, reaching up to wipe the tears dripping from his eyes, and every single one I can feel it in my chest.
"Then, when Atlas started pulling away, it was like a confirmation that I was failing at being a wife.
.. then maybe I was failing at being a mother too.
I questioned every single move I made that last year when I could feel Atlas pulling away—what was it that I did, or didn't do?
What did I say? Did I forget something? Why did he stop loving me? "
"I never—"
Dr. D'Amore gently cuts in, "Atlas, let Wendy speak her feelings."
His face looks torn as he glances back to her, but he sighs and nods. He turns his attention back to me, and I give him a small smile.
"One of the things that hurts me the most is... the fact that you were hiding us at work. I know, and I understand the reasons but... "
The tears rush up suddenly with the feelings.
There was so much that was happening that day. My boys' first weekend alone with their father, and the anxiety I was feeling from that, talking with Liam about trying, and then Liam misreading the situation and thinking his father was cheating.
I shoved my hurt all the way back to focus on being a mother, on addressing Liam first, because that's what I'm supposed to do. That’s what any mother is supposed to do.
"It was just... like confirmation that I was invisible. That we were invisible."
"You were never invisible, baby."
"I know that, but..." I trail off helplessly.
"It doesn't negate the hurt," Dr. D'Amore supplies, and I nod my agreement.
"I know now that you never stopped loving me. I see that now," I tell Atlas, who looks at me with teary eyes. "I understand the reasons—seeing my face, seeing the boys, was triggering for you. Causing those nightmares. But it... it just hurt so bad to be hidden."
"I will never stop apologizing for that—"
"But, I feel like I don't need an apology—"
Dr. D'Amore cuts in, "Wendy, what are you feeling when he apologizes?"
I wince and admit, "Guilt."
"You've been addressing your feelings of guilt with your therapist, correct?"
"Yes," I exhale in relief, "I can usually stop the thoughts in their tracks now. I can... identify where it comes from and talk myself through it. I'm..." I trail off, my eyes stinging, and I squeeze them shut, the tears overwhelming me as I squeak out the next words.
"I'm a good mother, and I think I'm a good wife."
"You’re the best," Atlas whispers, and my lips twitch as tears trail down my cheeks. He reaches forward, grabs tissues, and gently places them in my hand.
"Wendy, you said something earlier about your mother,” Dr. D’Amore asks. “Would you feel comfortable expanding on that?"
Atlas jaw clicks from next to me, and his hand flips over on his leg, palm up. I don't resist, not this time, because my mother is one monster that, unfortunately, still has a hold on me.
Dr. D'Amore's lips curve slightly when I place my hand in Atlas' and his warm hand closes around mine.
Safe.
"My mother never let me forget that I ruined her life.
That getting pregnant with me ruined her future.
That all of the money she could have spent on getting her Master's, or travelling the world had to go to me.
I wasn't even the daughter she wanted—I wasn't smart enough, or pretty enough, or athletic.
I wasn't exceptional at anything. I was an unremarkable child who grew into an unremarkable teenager. "
I glance down at our joined hands, Atlas thumb brushing against mine, and I smile.
"But Atlas never made me feel like that. I always felt important with him,” I look back up to his soft eyes. “I felt good enough. Extraordinary, even."
His hand squeezes mine.
"Because you are extraordinary. You're Wendy."
Dr. D'Amore smiles at this, scratching something down on her notepad.
"I wanted to be a good mother to my sons.
I was so focused on not being the mother that I had, and taking care of my boys, that I almost forgot how to show them to take care of themselves," I exhale a shaky breath.
"Once I got a job, and I started making money, that's when I felt worthy to show them. "
"Do you see now that you were always worthy?" Dr. D'Amore asks me, gesturing to my husband. "You say Atlas was working one job, but you were working two, maybe three full-time jobs. People write off stay-at-home mothers as not doing real work, but Wendy, what time would your day start?"
"At five usually."
"And when would it end?"
"...it doesn’t."
I don’t really clock out. Not even when I’m asleep. If Noah has a nightmare, I’m the one holding him as he cries and soothing him back to sleep.
If either of the boys are sick, I’m the one getting a wastebasket for them to throw up in, grabbing cool towels or medicine.
"You were working too. But you didn't see it as such because it was unpaid. Atlas, did you ever think that Wendy was lazy or didn't actually work?"
"No," Atlas firmly shook his head. "I was... God, I was in awe of how she handled it—how easy she made everything look."
"Was it easy, Wendy?"
I huff a laugh, "No. It's so hard. Every single day. You get used to the work, but it's... mentally and physically draining."
Atlas' face crumples at my words.
Dr. D'Amore sees it. "Atlas, you didn't see her struggling."
"I didn't," he admits, his voice ashamed.
This time, I squeeze his hand to comfort him.
"Just as Wendy didn't see you struggling," she says, leaning forward in her seat.
"You guys were almost sinking ships, right next to each other, unable to call out for help.
That's not malicious—it's life, it's marriage.
What would be malicious and cruel would be to let it continue, let it fester and ruin your relationship, building resentment until you can't stand each other. You didn't."
Atlas lifts our hands and presses a kiss to the back of mine. I smile, and lay my other hand over his when he rests our joined hands on his leg.