Chapter 3
OWEN
What have I done?
It had been a month since that disastrous night with Everly, and I was no closer to getting my shit together and doing right by my wife.
Since then, I hadn’t been able to sleep, eat or even look Alexis in the face. My conscience writhed from the truth that would break both our hearts.
Alexis’ work conference had ignited a new passion for her job, and she immediately wanted to implement what she had learnt. When she returned, she invested all her time and energy into putting those ideas into practice.
I took advantage of that distraction and worked overtime every night, hoping and fucking praying that she’d be asleep when I got home. Just so I wouldn’t have to look into her loving face, that sincere smile, those expressive green eyes that read me so well.
I was terrified. I knew I had to confess, and I had every intention of doing so. I just had to find the right time, figure out the best way to go about it. And as fucked up as it sounds, I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn’t want to cause pain to my Alexis. That’s what got me the most. I didn’t care about me. I didn’t matter in that whole scenario. All I could think about was the harrowing ramifications for Alexis due to my selfish actions. How do I admit what I did to the person I am supposed to protect above all others? Who I had hurt the most.
But as my flimsy excuses persisted and time dragged on, fate grew impatient.
I had successfully avoided Everly for three weeks until she managed to track me down and share her pregnancy news with me. Seven days of torture passed after that, and I was no closer to growing some metaphorical balls and coming forth with the truth. Riddled with guilt and shame, I couldn’t fathom the thought of having a baby with someone other than my wife.
Alexis and I both loved kids—even planned on trying to conceive in the next year. How did everything unravel so quickly?
I was with a client when I received a text. Two words abruptly imploded my world as I knew it.
Everly: Time’s up.
She was taking matters into her own hands, ’cause who gave a fuck about what I wanted, right?
I dropped everything at work to race home, hoping and praying I would get there in time. Dread spread through me when I saw both cars outside my house—the house I shared with my wife.
I nearly busted down the door to get to her. Alexis. I wished I hadn’t.
A single look, and I knew I was going to lose her forever.
Alexis sat on the couch, blank and drained of colour as if she was a robot short-circuiting from an onslaught of malfunctions—the main being Everly, who spat her news with no qualms or hesitation. As if the scenario was matter-of-fact. As if the baby was a simple concept to accept.
Rage at myself, at Everly, at the whole fucked up situation consumed every cell as I stomped forward, pulling her away from Alexis, away from my fucking wife.
I have to protect my wife!
God, I was disgusting.
Why didn’t I protect her earlier? I should be protecting her from me!
I was the villain when I so wanted to be the hero. I was always her hero… until I wasn’t.
I didn’t even recognise myself.
Everly continued to spout some bullshit about doing what was best for Alexis, acting like she was doing her a favour by telling her the truth. Yes, of course, Alexis deserved to know, but not like that, without me to show her my sincere regret, to get on my knees and repent.
I would fix it—do anything to fix us. All she had to do was hear me out, let me explain.
My sweet girl would understand. She always listened and was always fair. Alexis would come around.
I had built up some hallucination where we could still be happy, where we would get over the roadblock and come out stronger. There was no other alternative I would consider or accept.
If only I had pulled my head out of my ass and deemed that mere roadblock to be what it truly was: a fucking head-on collision with a ten-vehicle pileup added on the end. Multiple casualties would come out of it, and I was yet to check on the first and most critically injured victim.
With a strong word and a promise to call Everly later, I managed to get her to leave. That’s when I realised my wife was not in the lounge; she was upstairs, packing.
I gulped down air, trying and failing to keep my equilibrium intact. It was my chance—my only chance. I could not fuck it up. I would not fuck up.
Alexis was my wife. We belonged together. I just had to remind her of that.
“Your touch feels like poison.” Her sincerity gutted me nearly as much as her expression.
When I was holding her cheeks and staring into her eyes, I saw the depth of the damage I had wrought. Within them, I found her soul crumbling, causing mine to roar back in return.
A devastating abyss opened before me as I dropped to my knees and she gave me her parting words.
“ You will never see me again.”
That triggered my first ever panic attack—a shame I couldn’t say it was my last.
When I finally came to, hours had been wasted. My mouth was dry, my lungs hurt from the strain of merely breathing and I felt as if I had been beaten within an inch of my life. I wished that was the case.
Enough time had passed for the initial shock to sink in and for us both to calm. I would find her, and then we could speak rationally.
That’s when the blinding fact hit me. I didn’t apologise. I hadn’t yet apologised. Although the words had been shrieking inside my head for a month straight, I never actually said the words.
I didn’t think I could hate myself more. Still, I proved myself wrong time and again.