Chapter 24
AIDEN
I park the car and step out, my hands trembling just slightly.
The venue stands tall before me, dressed in white silk and pale gold flowers, just like we’d planned.
When we picked this place months ago, I had imagined this would be the happiest day of our lives.
The day I claimed Kate forever, not just as the mother of our children, not just as the girl I loved since we were teens, but as my wife formally, fully, forever.
Now I’m walking in with a secret clenched in my gut, heavy and rotting.
I pass the fountain in the courtyard, the one Kate loved.
She had wanted the boys to throw petals in it after the ceremony.
I can almost hear them giggling, their voices echoing off the stone.
Inside, the air smells like roses and champagne.
Staff rush past, nodding, smiling. Everyone thinks this is a celebration. They have no idea.
I take the stairs slowly, my eyes catching on every little detail, the garland of flowers, the white satin bows on the banisters, the photos of Kate and me strung together in soft gold frames. I remember taking those. I remember every moment.
Outside the bridal suite, I run straight into Quinn.
She’s in uniform. Not military, but the dress suits her all the same with sharp lines, she looks composed, capable.
I used to think she was just a college girl with tattoos and loud music.
Then she joined the army, and stayed positive through deployments, through heartbreak, through Kate's tears.
For that alone, she has my full respect.
She steps into my path quickly, raising both hands with a teasing grin. “Ah-ah, no seeing the bride before the ceremony.”
I try to smile, but something must show on my face, in my voice. “I need to talk to her.”
Her smile falters, expression shifting like clouds rolling over the sun. “Is everything okay?”
I swallow, but the words feel like glass in my throat. “I need to talk to her,” I repeat, quieter this time.
She says, “I’ll check on the caterers,” and walks off.
Taking a deep breath, I open the door.
Kate is sitting on a stool in front of a brightly lit mirror. Some woman is brushing something over her face. She sees me in the mirror, sees the look on my face, and jumps up.
“What’s wrong?”
I ask the makeup lady for a minute. She nods and quietly slips out.
I step up to Kate. God, she looks beautiful. She’s in a robe, dark hair loose around her shoulders, a black garment bag hanging by the closet, her dress, I’m guessing. My chest tightens.
“I love you,” I say.
She looks scared, already bracing for something. Before I can get another word out, the door bursts open and Jack and Alex come tumbling in, giggling, followed by her mom.
Alex tugs at Kate’s robe. “Mommy, Jack is mean.”
I stand there, watching this beautiful woman crouch down to listen patiently to our youngest. And I’m struck, this is what I risked. This is what I could’ve broken. Telling her won’t fix it. It’ll only shatter this family.
Kate stands up and looks at me, brows drawn tight. I gently take her arm.
“I need to talk to Mommy,” I tell the boys.
They groan but go back out with their grandmother. I pull Kate into the bathroom and shut the door behind us.
“We don’t have to-” she begins, but I cut her off with a kiss. My hands on her face, my head leaning against hers.
“I know I’ve been a jackass,” I whisper. “But I promise you, I’ll spend the rest of our lives making up for it. I love you, Kate. I love our family. And I can’t wait to marry you.”
Flashback over ~ Dr Davis’s office.
“That was it, Doc. I married her. And I did everything I could to shove it down, to convince myself that if I just loved her enough, hard enough, it’d fix it.
That what I did wouldn’t be the thing that defined us.
I honestly thought I was doing alright. We had good days.
We laughed, raised our boys right, built a life.
I had no idea what I thought was good was really the bare minimum.
The truth coming out, that was just the breaking point.
Turns out I've been failing for a while.”
The room is quiet for a second, neither of us speaking .
Doc finally breaks it after a while, “Failing by whose standards, Aiden?”
It’s not a challenge. It’s like he wants me to hear the question more than answer it.
“Hers? Yours?” he asks. “Or maybe the ones you were handed and never thought to question?”
I stare at the floor. There is something about the way he says it, like he isn’t just talking about my marriage, he’s talking about everything.
“You say you did everything you could,” he goes on, “but what did that really look like? Did you ever ask her what she needed? Or did you just assume that love, in the way you knew how to give it, would be enough?”
I don’t answer. Mostly because I don’t know. Maybe I hadn’t wanted to know.
“Sometimes,” he says, leaning back just a little, “we think we’re holding things together. But really… we’re just holding our breath. From what you’ve told me; Kate is an independent woman. She doesn’t need your money or your guidance. She just needs you.”
And then, like it’s nothing, like it’s not the question that could crack me wide open, he asks, “Have you ever considered that you are enough?”
The words hit harder than I want to admit. Not because they’re cruel. Because they’re kind. Too kind.
I shift in my seat, try to swallow down the lump rising in my throat. Because no, I haven’t ever considered that I could be enough, not when I was never really there. I was always working. Always chasing the next project, the next promotion, the next reason to believe I was doing right by them.
I thought money could fill the spaces I left empty.
Her trust. The kids’ love. I tried to buy what I should’ve been giving with my time. My presence. And now?
Now I’m not sure if I ever truly had a place in that life, I just funded it.
I glance at him, but nothing comes out. My mouth opens, but there’s no language for the ache that’s settling in.
So, I let the silence speak for me.
And he doesn’t rush to fill it.
He just sits there, still, patient. Like he knows the quiet is saying all the things I finally can’t ignore.
“What do I do now?” I ask. It comes out low, I don’t know if I'm asking him or myself.
He leans forward just slightly, his voice even. “You keep showing up. You keep working on yourself, on your relationship with your children, on your marriage.”
He pauses, lets that sink in before continuing.
“See, marriage isn’t a dish you cook once and forget about. It’s one you never stop stirring. If you walk away from the stove too long, it burns. Or goes cold. Either way… it won’t be what it could’ve been.”
He doesn’t say it with blame. Just truth.
And I nod, because I know exactly what he means.
“Will she ever forgive me?” I ask. “Can she?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just studies me for a beat before saying, quietly but clearly, “That’s a question I can’t answer. And truthfully… neither can she. Not yet.”
I feel my throat tighten, but I hold his gaze.
“You broke her trust,” he says. “And trust doesn’t rebuild itself. You have to be willing to fight for it consistently, patiently. Not with grand gestures, but with the kind of effort that shows up every single day. Even when it’s hard. Especially then.”
He lets the words settle between us.
“And even then,” he adds gently, “forgiveness isn’t guaranteed. But healing? That starts with you.”
He gives me a small nod, then leans back just a little, his voice softer now. "Now," he says, "tell me about your childhood."
And just like that, we’re not talking about Kate anymore. We’re talking about the boy who became the man who broke her.