11. Audrey
— ? —
Audrey
The nor’easter hits Miller’s Point like a fist.
We’ve been tracking it all day - the weather apps on our phones flashing red warnings, Ruth calling twice to make sure we have flashlights and batteries - but knowing it’s coming doesn’t prepare me for the reality of a Maine storm at full fury.
The wind screams against the windows of the rental, rattling the thin glass in its frames. Rain hammers the roof so hard it sounds like applause. And at 8:17 PM, the power goes out.
“Mommy!”
Lily’s voice comes from her room, high and scared. I grab the flashlight from the kitchen drawer - thank God Rowan checked the batteries this morning - and make my way through the sudden darkness.
“I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”
She’s huddled in her bed, blanket pulled up to her chin, eyes huge in the flashlight beam. Mr. Buttons is clutched against her chest so tightly I can see her knuckles going white.
“The lights went out.”
“Just a power outage. It happens during big storms.”
“But what if-” Her voice breaks. “What if there’s a fire? What if the storm starts a fire and we can’t see it because the lights are out?”
My heart cracks.
“There’s not going to be a fire,” I say, sitting on the edge of her bed. “The storm is just wind and rain, that’s all. The house is safe.”
“Promise?”
I hesitate. I’ve been careful about what I promise since the night our cottage burned down.
“I promise I’ll keep you safe,” I say finally. “No matter what.”
“Can I sleep with you?” Her lower lip is trembling. “Please?”
“Of course, baby.”
I scoop her up, blanket and rabbit and all, and carry her across the hall to my room. The wind howls louder, and I can hear something banging against the side of the building - a shutter, maybe, or a tree branch.
And then there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
“Audrey?” Rowan’s voice, muffled through the wood. “You two okay in there?”
I hesitate. Every instinct says to tell him we’re fine, that we don’t need him, that we can handle this alone.
But Lily’s already calling out: “Daddy! Come in!”
The door opens. Rowan’s holding a camping lantern, his face lit from below like something out of a ghost story. His eyes find mine in the dim light, asking permission.
“She’s scared,” I say quietly.
“Can Daddy stay too?” Lily’s voice is small. “Please? Like when I was little and there was thunder?”
When she was little. When we were still a family that huddled together during storms.
I look at Rowan. He looks at me.
“Sure, baby,” I say. “Daddy can stay.”
We arrange ourselves carefully on the bed - Lily in the middle, me on one side, Rowan on the other. He stays on top of the covers, fully clothed, maintaining that careful distance he’s perfected over the past weeks.
The storm rages outside. Lightning flickers through the curtains, followed by thunder that makes the walls shake.
Lily falls asleep around midnight, one hand curled in my shirt, the other clutching Rowan’s scarred fingers.
I should sleep too. My body is exhausted, wrung out from weeks of stress and sleepless nights.
But I can’t stop thinking.
“You awake?” Rowan’s voice is barely a whisper, careful not to disturb Lily.
“Yeah.”
“Me too.”
We lie in silence for a long moment. The wind screams. Rain batters the window.
“Audrey,” he says finally, “can I tell you something?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“It’s about-” He stops, breathes. “It’s about why. Not an excuse. I know there’s no excuse. But I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain it to myself, and I think - I think I owe you the truth.”
I don’t say anything. The darkness feels safer somehow, like the rules are different here.
“I was drowning,” he says quietly. “For months before any of this started, I was drowning, and I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“That I felt like a failure. That every time I looked at Lily, I wondered if I was screwing her up the way my dad screwed me up. That I looked at you - successful, capable, holding everything together - and I couldn’t understand why you’d ever chosen someone like me.”
His voice cracks. I hear him swallow.
“So when Maryse - when she started talking to me like I mattered, like I had something to offer - I let myself believe it. I let her fill in the spaces I was too afraid to show you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My voice sounds strange in my own ears. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?”
“Because I was ashamed. Because I thought if you knew how weak I really was, you’d finally see what a mistake you’d made.” He laughs, bitter. “Turns out keeping it from you was the actual mistake.”
“You think?”
“I know.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I ran toward someone easy instead of fighting through something hard. And I’ll regret that every day for the rest of my life.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I can feel him gathering something - courage, maybe, or the last shreds of honesty he’s been hoarding.
“There’s more,” he says. “Something I’ve never told anyone. Not Mom, not anyone.”
I wait.
“Nine years ago. Before Lily.” His voice drops so low I can barely hear it over the wind. “I had a bag packed. I’d accepted a job in Boston - software company, good money, fresh start. I was going to leave you a note and just... disappear.”
The words hit me like ice water.
“What?”
“I convinced myself I was doing you a favor. That you’d figure out I wasn’t worth it eventually, so I might as well save you the trouble.” His hand tightens on mine. “I had the bag by the door. I was going to leave that night.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because you came home with a pregnancy test in your hand. Glowing. Terrified and happy and looking at me like I was the only person in the world you wanted to tell.” His voice cracks. “And I unpacked the bag and never mentioned it again.”
I’m shaking now, and not from the cold.
“You stayed for Lily.”
“I stayed because I was a coward who couldn’t leave after that.
And I’ve been running from hard things ever since - just finding different ways to do it.
” He turns his head toward me in the darkness.
“You deserve all of it, Audrey. Even the parts that make me look worse. Especially those parts. No more hiding.”
It’s the most honest he’s ever been with me. And it terrifies me how much that matters.
I stare at the ceiling, invisible in the darkness.
“I felt it,” I say finally. “The distance. I thought it was me - that I’d done something wrong, that I wasn’t enough anymore.”
“You were always enough. You’ve always been more than enough.”
“Then why didn’t you come to me?”
“Because I was a coward.” His voice is raw. “Because it was easier to find someone who didn’t know my failures than to admit them to the person I loved most.”
The person I loved most.
“Do you still?” The question escapes before I can stop it. “Love me?”
“Audrey.” His hand finds mine across Lily’s sleeping body. “I have never stopped loving you. Not for a single second.”
His fingers intertwine with mine, and the touch sends electricity up my arm. We haven’t touched like this - intentionally, intimately - since before I found those messages.
“I don’t know how to forgive you,” I whisper.
“I’m not asking you to. Not yet. Maybe not ever.” He squeezes my hand gently. “I’m just asking you to let me stay. Let me try.”
The storm howls outside. Lily murmurs in her sleep, settling deeper between us.
I should pull away. I should maintain the distance I’ve carefully constructed over weeks of shared space and cold shoulders.
But his hand is warm in mine, and I’m so tired of being alone.
“I’m not ready,” I say. “For anything. I’m still so angry I can barely see straight.”
“I know.”
“But I’m not-” I take a shaky breath. “I’m not ready to let go either.”
His grip tightens on my hand. “That’s enough. That’s more than I deserve.”
We lie there in the darkness, hands linked across our sleeping daughter, listening to the storm tear itself apart against the walls. I don’t pull away. Neither does he.
It’s not forgiveness. It’s not a promise.
But it’s the first time in weeks that I feel like we might be fighting on the same side.
I don’t know when I fall asleep. But I wake to gray morning light, the storm blown out to sea, and Rowan’s hand still holding mine.
His eyes are open. He’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite name - hope, maybe, or terror, or both.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.” His voice is rough from sleep. “You didn’t pull away.”
“No.”
“Does that mean-”
“It doesn’t mean anything yet.” I carefully extract my hand from his. “But it doesn’t mean nothing either.”
He nods. Doesn’t push. Just looks at me like I’ve given him something precious.
Between us, Lily stirs.
“Is the storm over?” she mumbles.
“Yeah, baby. The storm’s over.”
She sits up, rubbing her eyes, and looks between us with sudden suspicion.
“Were you and Daddy holding hands?”
I feel my face flush. “Go brush your teeth.”
“But were you?”
“Lily.”
She scrambles off the bed with a grin that’s entirely too knowing for an eight-year-old. At the door, she turns back.
“I’m glad you were holding hands,” she says. “I like it when you’re not sad.”
She disappears into the bathroom.
Rowan and I look at each other.
“Kids see everything,” he says quietly.
“Yeah.” I stand, pulling myself together. “They do.”
I don’t say anything else. But when I walk past him to check on Lily, my hand brushes his shoulder.
Just for a moment. Just enough to say: I’m still here. We’re still fighting.
I hear him exhale behind me - shaky, relieved - and I keep walking.
One step at a time.