Chapter 19
I'm twirling in front of the mirror in my bedroom.
After my therapy appointment, I went to the salon and got the full treatment. The boys were with Aiden, and Mom and my brother were at the hospital with Dad. I didn’t think the nurse would appreciate another screaming match, so I just... had a me day.
My hair’s blown out, cascading in soft waves.
My nails are pretty and perfect. I even got a facial, so my skin is glowing, I didn’t need any makeup except for the dark eyes and bold lipstick.
The dress is a deep navy, tight at the top, flowing at the bottom.
I feel sexy. Tonight, I’m going to remind Aiden exactly what he’s going to miss out on when he goes home alone. Ha.
All that’s left are the heels, the ones I know will destroy him. They're on the top shelf of my closet, and of course I didn’t think to grab them before putting this dress on.
I open the bedroom door and call out, “Guys!”
A beat later, I hear a muffled whaaa? from Alex’s room.
“Sweetie, can you help me?”
He comes out, muttering something I can’t make out, head buried in his phone.
“Can you grab the box up there?” I point to the top of the closet.
He shrugs, climbs up on the little stool, and pulls the box down. Setting it in front of me, he finally looks up and pauses.
“Ma… you look good.”
I smile. “Thank you, baby.”
“Where you going?”
I was going to sit the boys down and tell them over dinner. But they barely paid attention when I said I had plans later, so I didn’t bother. Let them be surprised.
“Just wanted to feel pretty,” I say casually. “I have a date.” Opening the box, I pull out the heels; spiked, unapologetic, and perfect.
Alex shouts, “Jack!”
I’m too busy admiring the sex-as-sin heels in my hand. Sitting at the vanity, I bend down to put them on. I haven’t worn these since… well, Aiden will remember. Oh yes. He will.
Jack comes running into the room, out of breath. “What?”
Alex just points.
Jack blinks. “Ma… you look good.”
I chuckle. “Thank you, baby.”
“Where’s she going?” he asks Alex.
“She’s going on a date,” I say for them, slipping on the second heel.
Just then, the doorbell rings.
“Ooo, there he is.” I grab my clutch, with phone and lipstick tucked inside.
The boys look at each other, wide-eyed, and then bolt for the front door, tripping over their own feet. I follow at a slower pace. Glowing. Ready.
Descending the stairs, I can hear the boys arguing in front of the door.
“You open it,” Alex says.
“You do it,” Jack counters.
“You’re older,” Alex shoots back.
“Exactly. Listen to your elders, open the door.”
I laugh under my breath and call out, “Boys, open the door before he thinks you’ve lost your minds.”
Neither moves. I sigh, step between them, and pull open the door myself.
Aiden is standing there, looking… well, devastating. He’s in his best suit, tailored and dark, crisp shirt open just enough at the collar. He looks dapper. Damn. I guess he had the same idea.
The boys breathe out “Dad,” like the weight of the world has been lifted. Then they both throw themselves at him, hugging him hard enough to knock him a step back.
“Hi, boys,” he says with a surprised laugh, ruffling their hair. “I haven’t been gone that long.”
As soon as they realize what they’re doing, they step back awkwardly. Jack rubs the back of his head, just like Aiden does. “Uh… where you guys going?”
Aiden smiles, extending his hand to me. “I’m taking your mom out. Dinner and dancing.”
I take his hand, conscious of the boys watching us like we’re a live soap opera. I’m tempted to snap my fingers in front of their faces.
“Alright, bedtime,” Aiden says, looking between them. “You’ve got school tomorrow. I’ll come by in the morning to take you, okay?”
He’s still looking at me when he says it.
I nod, more than fine with it. We walk past them, their wide eyes still tracking us.
Aiden opens the passenger-side door and I slip inside.
Before getting in himself, he lets out a sharp whistle that gets the boys' attention.
He gestures something quick and firm with his hand. They nod and finally head back inside.
Aiden slides into the driver’s seat. We back out of the driveway.
“I, uh… I got us a reservation at étoile,” he says.
étoile. I’ve heard of it. Romantic. Candlelight. White tablecloths. Soft music. French accents. And a dessert cart they wheel right up to your table.
I glance sideways at him, trying not to show anything. His eyes meet mine, steady but unreadable.
Silence fills the car. Not hostile, just thick. Unfamiliar. His hand rests on the gearshift. Mine clutches the edge of my purse. It's like neither of us knows where to start, or whether starting is even safe.
When we arrive at étoile, Aiden pulls up to the valet stand. A young man in a black vest and glossy shoes opens my door with a polite nod.
Aiden steps out on his side and, without saying a word, tosses the keys to the valet. The hostess greets us with a professional smile. “Reservation for Bennet,” Aiden says.
She nods, checks her list, and gestures for us to follow. The walk through the restaurant feels longer than it should. I notice couples leaning close to each other, laughing softly, wine glasses half full. I wonder if we ever looked like that.
At our table, she sets down two menus and leaves with a murmured promise that our server will be right with us.
We sit. The menus go up immediately, shields we both hide behind.
The silence between us stretches again, but now it feels different, stranger.
We’ve had silences before, plenty of them.
But not this kind. I glance at him behind the edge of my menu.
He’s doing the same. We’re both pretending to read. Both too unsure to break the quiet.
After the waiter leaves with our order, Aiden leans back slightly and says, “Soo…” at the same time as me. We both laugh, the tension finally cracking.
“This is weird, right?” he asks, still smiling. “I think we’re just putting too much pressure on ourselves.”
“Totally,” I say. His shoulders drop a little, then he nods, lips still curved but quieter again. The silence creeps back.
I sip my water and ask, “So, what’d you do today?”
“Well,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “after we… parted ways, I went back to the apartment and, uh… it was a little weird until is saw Jeremy there.”
I look at him, confused. “What?”
He shrugs, a bit sheepish. “Yeah. I guess he and Jorje are having some problems too.”
I stare at him as the waiter brings over our drinks and entrees.
“Jeez,” I mutter.
“I know,” he says, making a face.
“Anyway,” he continues, “how’s Quinn? Any news on Markus?”
“Not yet.” I exhale. “They should know something soon.”
“I hope he’s okay,” Aiden says, voice suddenly heavy. Serious.
I laugh, more to break the tension than because anything is funny. “You just miss your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” he says, mock-defensive. “He’s my manfriend .”
That gets a real laugh out of me. It feels good, like we’re just two adults again, not parents, not roommates. Just us. Spearing a bite of the duck à l’orange, I practically moan. “This is really good,”
He smiles. “In case I haven’t said it yet… you look beautiful. Especially when you smile.”
I glance up, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only woman in the room. Like maybe he’s seeing me for the first time again.
Then he takes a bite of his food and asks, “What about you? What’d you do today?”
I trace the rim of my wine glass with my finger. “I wrote a letter. To my parents. Everything I’ve been holding in. It was weirdly… I don’t know, validating.”
His brow furrows gently. “Are you going to send it?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Maybe. My father… he asked to start over.”
He watches me for a long moment before asking softly, “And what did you say?”
I smile at him. “It’ll make you mad. I was kinda mean.”
Aiden reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. His grip is warm and steady. “I know I haven’t always done a good job of it, but I’m on your side. Always.”
So, I tell him. I tell him what my father said, how it hit me, and how I responded, honest, raw, maybe a little cruel, but real. And Aiden doesn’t flinch. He listens. And when I’m done, he surprises me.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve been so dismissive of your past. I didn’t understand… and I didn’t try hard enough to.”
I study his face, the regret written there. Quiet. Sincere. After a beat, I ask, “Do you want to talk about your dad?”
He hesitates, then looks away, eyes flickering to some distant place. “Soon,” he says. “I’m just… not ready yet.”
His voice is low, almost ashamed. I squeeze his hand gently. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll wait.”
He turns back to me then, and I can see it in his eyes, something unspoken, tender, wounded. And healing. Nodding, he sits up straighter, solemn, and says, “I’m going to try too. To be open. I swear on our boys, I will never lie to you again.”
I study him for a beat. “And you’ll never go to a strip club again either.”
His face shifts into something close to panic, but before he can respond, I laugh. And yes, apparently, I’m laughing now.
Because the truth is, Aiden was scared. What he did, with that woman, it haunted him. I can see that now. The way he used to look at me, so guarded, so uncertain I thought it meant he was overwhelmed. But maybe it just meant he was afraid I wouldn’t love him anymore.
We were both afraid. Two scared, hurt people who never really learned how to talk without trying to protect the other. But one thing I know for certain, we love each other. Even when we’re bad at showing it.
“What’re you thinking about?” he asks after our drinks arrive.
I look up, meet his eyes, and say, “How I’ll castrate you if you ever cheat on me again.”
The waiter chooses that exact moment to arrive with our main course. He places the plates down with stiff precision, then practically bolts without another word.
I nearly choke on my drink from laughing so hard. Aiden grins wide, hand over his mouth, shaking his head.
I’m not okay with the cheating. Not even a little.
It’s a topic I’ve tried to avoid in therapy, dodging it at every turn.
Ever since I asked Aiden for the details, it has felt easier to focus on everything else that went wrong in our marriage, everything else we could fix, just so I wouldn’t have to sit in that particular pain.
The truth is, the rest of it? The distance, the silence, the missed chances?
That feels fixable. Manageable. But the cheating…
it just won’t stop hurting. It lives somewhere sharp and deep, untouched and raw.
Aiden says, “Alex’s game season starts soon.”
The shift jerks me out of my thoughts. I blink and say, “Yeah. Next month.” I run my fingers along the condensation of my glass. “They already sent the email about needing parent chaperones for the away games. I… I was thinking you might want to go.”
His eyebrows rise, surprised. “Yeah? Yeah. I would.”
Before, I would’ve told him to enjoy his day off while I handled it. I always took over, always assumed. But now, I don’t want to miss out. I want to share the day off. I want to show up and enjoy showing up.