Chapter 08
December
the choices he made
Cecily
“Did Margaret confirm he hasn't left the meeting?”
I look up to see Mark walking into the kitchen just as I hang up the phone after talking to my lawyer.
“Yes,” I say softly. “And I already called my lawyer. She said the process server’s in position, ready to deliver the papers.”
The ache in my chest tightens. Will this feeling ever fade?
The day I met with my lawyer for the first time, right after Thanksgiving, I couldn’t stop shaking.
Somewhere between her explaining all the steps and listing the documents I’d need, I started to hyperventilate.
What her paralegal immediately recognized as a panic attack.
She'd been through one herself before and knew exactly what to do.
She helped me breathe through it, one shaky inhale at a time.
It was one of the worst feelings I’ve ever experienced. All I could think was that I was going to die… and who would take care of my children if I did.
I rub my chest now, as if I can still feel that day, the same helplessness clawing at my ribs.
“Hey, are you okay?” Mark asks, touching my arm.
I smile at him, asking him not to worry, and walk over to the fridge to pour myself a glass of water.
“So you went with the boring option. Just handing him an envelope?” Mark teases, a crooked smile tugging at his mouth. “No singing telegram? No cheerleader in the lobby spelling out C-H-E-A-T-E-R with a full-on dance routine?”
I raise a brow at him, saying nothing, aware he’s only saying this to pull my attention away from what’s coming.
“Pity,” he goes on, that teasing glint back in his eyes. “A guy from a startup in New Jersey told me about someone in Houston who got served with divorce papers inside a jack-in-the-box. The moment he opened the lid, it played the same phrase over and over.”
I almost choke on my water, forcing myself to swallow before a small laugh escapes. “I’ve never heard anything crazier,” I say. “Do you remember what it said?”
Mark smirks. “ ‘You cheat, you lose.’ ” He grins, clearly picturing it. “It’s a shame no one recorded it. I would’ve paid good money to see that reaction.”
I smile back, but my mind drifts to the wife.
To the pain she must have felt when her world came crashing down.
Maybe she’s out there waking up every morning, trying to remember how to breathe.
If what happened to her was anything like what Colin did to me.
If their marriage carried the same years, the same dreams, the same unbreakable trust…
then I know exactly what kind of wound she’s living with.
I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on anyone.
“You should go, Mark,” I say, my voice already tired. “Once Colin’s served, he’s going to come here. And I don’t want anyone else in the house. It’s not going to be an easy conversation.”
He hesitates, worry crossing his face. “Maybe he won’t come.”
“Oh, he will,” I say, certain. “I may not recognize the man he’s become, but some things don’t change. Until today, he’s probably been convincing himself it’s only a matter of time before I ask him to come home so we can ‘fix things.’”
“And have you thought about that?” he asks. “About asking him to come back?”
“Every damn day.”
There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t miss him. When I don’t lie alone in a bed that feels completely foreign, fighting the urge to walk back into what used to be our room. Our nest.
But being inside those four walls is its own kind of torture, surrounded by the ghosts of every moment we made love. The rhythm of our breaths. The soft sounds. The whispers that once brimmed with promise, with passion, with desire. With love.
Every silly little conversation. All those times we’d just lie there, breathing in sync, bodies tangled like we were one heartbeat instead of two.
Last night, after speaking with my lawyer to make sure everything was set for today, I went into our bedroom for the first time since I moved into one of the guest rooms.
His scent was still there. Barely there, just enough to hurt. I went to his side of the closet, took one of his shirts, and pressed it to my face.
Then I sat on the floor and cried, for what felt like hours, until my body couldn’t hold the grief anymore.
Grief, longing, rage, heartbreak. They all blurred into the same ache.
And when there was nothing left in me to give, I forced myself to stand, wipe my face, and go downstairs to start dinner before Ethan came back with Alicia from ballet.
Mark insisted on staying close. Said he’d wait in his car down the street, just in case.
But I convinced him to meet the kids outside the school and take them somewhere, anywhere, for a while.
I can’t let them walk into this. I don’t want them to see what’s left of us.
So I sit on the couch, waiting, trying not to drown in the memories or in the hollow ache that has carved a permanent place inside my chest.
A little over an hour after Mark leaves, I hear loud, insistent pounding at the door. “Ceci! Ceci! Open the door!”
I take a deep breath and push myself to my feet.
By the time I reach the door, I’ve already lost count of how many times he’s pounded his hand against the wood, how many times he’s shouted my name.
The fact that he hasn’t even thought to use the doorbell, or cared that the whole neighborhood can probably hear him, tells me this is going to be even harder than I imagined.
As soon as I open the door, he freezes. Relief, frustration, and anguish ripple across his face. He doesn’t speak. He just stands there, watching me, as if waiting for me to tell him it’s all just a bad dream, a cruel joke gone too far.
“You’d better come in,” I manage to say, surprised by how steady my voice sounds.
Colin walks past me quickly, his movements tense. I close the door behind him and follow him into the living room, where he stops in the middle of the rug, clutching a brown envelope. The divorce petition.
“How... how could you do this?” His voice cracks at the end of every word.
“I didn't do anything, Colin,” I say slowly. “What you're holding in your hands is the consequence of your choices.”
He throws the envelope onto the couch. A few papers slip out, spilling over the cushions.
“You had me served at work—without even talking to me, without giving me a chance to try!”
His voice grows louder with each word, frustration and hurt ricocheting off the walls, filling the room. And I feel it too… each sound crashing against the fragile barrier I built just to keep myself standing.
“We’ve already had this conversation, Colin. I asked you to leave so the kids and I wouldn’t have to. For weeks, we’ve coordinated your visits, just like we agreed, and waited for our lawyers to handle the rest. I told you all of this. You just didn’t want to listen.”
He drags both hands through his hair and pulls off the tie that’s already hanging loose.
“I thought... I thought you just needed time,” he says, his voice fraying at the edges. “I did everything you asked, Ceci. Even when all I wanted was to see you, I stayed away. I gave you the space you wanted. I've been waiting for you.”
It hurts. God, it hurts to hear him say all this and feel the guilt crawling back under my skin, whispering that maybe I’m the one to blame. Like the reason I can’t sleep, can barely eat, and have to smile for our children while my world is falling apart… is because I’m the one who gave up on us.
“You don’t need to keep waiting, Colin. You just need to sign the papers. Don’t contest it, don’t drag this out. Please, don’t bring more pain into what’s left of our family.”
He takes a step closer, slow and careful, like one wrong move could make me break for good. “Ceci... Ceci, I’m begging you. Let me fix this.”
I can’t speak. All I can do is breathe. Shallow, trembling breaths, trying to stay upright, trying not to let the last pieces of myself crumble at his feet.
“I can fix it,” he says, his voice cracking as the words leave him. “I love you. Only you. I’ll do anything. Any fucking thing to keep you.”
“It's too lat—"
“Don’t say that!” he cuts me off, voice rising, almost frantic. “It’s never too late. Not when I love you, and you love me too.” He reaches for my hands, gripping them so tightly it almost hurts, desperation bleeding from his eyes. “You still love me, don’t you?”
“I do,” I whisper.
He exhales, the sound shaky and uneven, and presses his lips to my fingers. Instinct takes over, I pull my hands back before he can touch me again.
“It would be a hundred—no, a thousand times easier if I didn’t love you anymore,” my voice breaks into a whisper despite my effort to keep it steady.
I draw in a breath that burns on the way down.
“It wouldn’t hurt like this. It wouldn’t take every ounce of strength just to breathe, wishing I could no longer exist some days, if it weren’t for our kids. ”
“No, Ceci. Don’t say that!”
I step back before he can reach me, circling behind the couch. I need something, anything, between us.
“Yes, Colin. That’s what you did to me. That’s what your choices did.” The words come out calm. “Because it wasn’t one mistake, or two, or three. They were deliberate. Repeated. Daily choices.”
I meet his eyes, holding them there, wanting the truth to burn deep enough that he'll never escape it.
“For almost five months, you stopped choosing me. You stopped choosing our children. You stopped choosing us.”
I press a hand to my chest, feeling the tremor beneath my palm.
“And now it’s my turn… I’m choosing myself, for the first time in longer than I can remember.
I’m choosing my family. And no matter how impossible it feels right now, I know I’ll find happiness again.
I’ll build a life for us from what’s left. ”
“I’m your family too!” he growls, his composure finally snapping.