36. Chapter 36
Adam
I drive with my windows down, the cold air rushing in, but it does nothing to cool the burning shame in my chest. Caitlin’s tears have soaked through my shirt, through my skin, straight to my heart where they’ve frozen into something sharp and painful.
I grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white. I made her cry. Again.
Almost automatically, I take the turn onto the gravel road leading to her grandmother’s house.
Each bump and dip jars me, but I barely notice.
All I can see is Caitlin’s face crumpling as the tears started to fall.
All I can hear is the awful, broken sound of her sobs.
I pull up to the house and kill the engine, but I don’t move.
I just sit there, staring at the darkened windows, remembering how I’d held her while she cried, how her body had shaken against mine.
I rest my forehead against the steering wheel and finally let my own tears fall. They come hot and fast, burning tracks down my cheeks. I pound my fist against the dash once, twice, the physical pain a welcome distraction from the agony inside.
When I finally drag myself out of the truck, the afternoon is silent around me. No birds, no distant traffic, just the sound of my boots on gravel and my uneven breathing. I fumble with the key, push open the door that still sticks, and step inside.
I know this house now, every creaking floorboard, every stubborn door.
I move through the rooms like a ghost, trailing my fingers along walls that Caitlin once touched as a child.
Everything in the kitchen is exactly as we left it, but I can’t face it.
Not tonight. Not with the echo of Caitlin’s tears still ringing in my ears.
Instead, I find myself climbing the stairs to the second floor.
My footsteps are heavy, each one carrying the weight of my guilt.
The upstairs bathroom is next on our renovation list. It’s seriously outdated; everything in it is at least forty years old and in poor shape.
It needs to be gutted completely. Just like my life.
Just like everything I thought I knew about myself.
I flip on the work light I’d set up earlier in the week. The harsh glow bounces off the cracked tiles and tarnished faucets. Without thinking, I grab a sledgehammer from where it leans against the wall in the hallway. I’d planned to start demolition next week, to do it carefully, methodically.
To hell with careful.
I swing the hammer at the tile wall, and the impact reverberates up my arms into my shoulders. The tiles crack and shatter, falling to the floor with a satisfying crash. I swing again. And again. Each impact sends shock waves of pain through my already aching body, but I welcome it. I deserve it.
“You hurt her,” I mutter, swinging the hammer at the ancient vanity. The wood splinters under the blow. “You made her cry.”
Sweat begins to soak through my shirt as I work, demolishing the bathroom with a fury I didn’t know I possessed. I tear the medicine cabinet from the wall, smash the toilet tank with a single well-placed blow.
“You let your mother treat her like dirt,” I growl, attacking the bathtub surround now.
“You let Millie undermine her at every turn. You gave Millie time that should have been hers. You made Millie your priority instead of her.” The tiles crack and fall.
“You made her feel like she didn’t belong in your life. ”
I’m breathing hard, my muscles screaming in protest, but I can’t stop.
The physical pain is nothing compared to the agony of seeing Caitlin broken because of me.
I swing the hammer until my arms feel like lead, until the bathroom is nothing but rubble around me, until sweat drips into my eyes and mingles with tears I didn’t know I was still crying.
Finally, I drop the hammer. It lands with a dull thud on the debris-covered floor. I sink down against the wall, my legs no longer able to hold me up. Dust and grit coat my skin, my clothes, my hair. I probably look as wrecked as I feel.
In the sudden silence, broken only by my harsh breathing, I’m forced to face one simple fact. I betrayed her. It’s that simple. All of my reasons and excuses mean nothing in the face of that truth. I betrayed the woman I love.
I let my head fall back against the wall, eyes closed, seeing Caitlin’s face in the darkness behind my lids.
Not Caitlin crying, but Caitlin smiling.
Caitlin in Colorado, her hair glowing in the sun as we hiked through the mountains.
Caitlin in our first apartment together, dancing in the kitchen to music only she could hear.
Caitlin looking at me like I was her whole world.
Caitlin is the best thing that ever happened to me. And what did I do with that gift? I trampled it. I took her trust and her love, and I betrayed them.
I open my eyes to the destroyed bathroom, to the physical manifestation of my self-loathing. I’ve been sitting here so long that my legs have gone numb. The sweat has dried on my skin, leaving me cold and shivering.
How many chances had I squandered, how many times when I should have stood up to my mother, set boundaries with Millie, put Caitlin first? I blew every single one of them.
I’d tell myself I had responsibilities. That Millie depended on me.
That this was just what you did for family.
But the truth is, I was being a coward. I was so afraid of disappointing my mother, of upsetting Millie, of disrupting the status quo that I was willing to sacrifice Caitlin’s happiness.
Her sense of belonging. Her trust in me.
No wonder she left. The miracle is that she stayed as long as she did.
I force myself to stand, my body protesting every movement. I’m covered in dust and grime, my hands blistered from the sledgehammer, my muscles aching. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional turmoil inside me.
I betrayed her. I let my mother hurt her. I prioritized Millie over her. I made Caitlin feel like an intruder in my life instead of the center of it. And I have no one but myself to blame.
I move through the destroyed bathroom, stepping carefully over piles of broken tile and splintered wood.
I should clean up, but I can’t summon the energy.
Instead, I make my way back downstairs to the kitchen.
It’s still a work in progress, but already I can see how beautiful it will be when it’s done. Caitlin’s vision coming to life.
Caitlin’s vision. That’s what matters now. Not mine. Not what I want.
The truth hits me like another blow from the sledgehammer: I need to leave. I need to finish this house for her, make it perfect, make it everything she dreamed it could be. And then I need to go.
The thought of leaving her again makes it hard to breathe.
But staying, continuing to be in her life, will only hurt her more.
I’ve seen how my presence affects her, how the mere sight of me brings back all the pain I caused.
How can I claim to love her while continuing to be the source of her suffering?
I lean against the door frame, letting the decision settle into my bones.
I’ll finish the house. Every last detail, exactly as she wants it.
I’ll pour everything I have into making it perfect.
And then I’ll leave. And maybe then she won’t be reminded of everything she lost every time she looks at me.
The thought of never seeing her again, of living in a world without Caitlin’s smile, without the sound of her laugh, without the chance to make things right between us, is almost unbearable. But that’s my burden to carry, not hers. I’ve caused her enough pain for a lifetime.
Sometimes loving someone means knowing when to let them go.