Chapter 32 Apology Tour
~Caden~
I sat there listening to my wife, seeing the struggle in her as she tried to explain her feelings and how she thought they made her selfish. She was apologizing. For her feelings. For being human. Fuck, this is all my fault.
"Felicity," I said quietly, waiting until she looked at me. "Please. Please, stop apologizing."
"But I—"
Softly, but firmly, I said, "No. I'm begging you to stop." I turned to face her fully, my heart breaking seeing her try to hold back tears. "You don't have a single thing to apologize for. Not one thing."
She leaned her head back, as if resigned to not know what to do with her feelings. Reaching forward, I placed my hand along the curve of her cheek. I felt love wash over me as she nuzzled her cheek into my hand, letting me give her comfort in this moment, something I was so deeply undeserving of.
"Can I tell you something?" I asked. "About the last few years?"
She opened her eyes and gave a slight nod.
I dropped my hand a bit, blowing out a breath of air while I worked to find my words.
"When the company almost went under a few years back, I was terrified.
Not just of losing the business, but of losing everything.
The pandemic almost broke it. I mean, I know you know, but thinking back on how we skated by in the black through most of it, and then when business didn't pick back up right away, we were so deep in the red that I really didn't think we would have a choice but to close the doors. "
I took a deep breath, rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger.
I moved so I could face her completely, sitting on the coffee table in front of her—my hands on her knees, elbows on mine.
"I was terrified of all the jobs that could be lost, of having to start over.
I became afraid of not being able to provide for you, for us.
" I paused, trying to catch my thoughts as they ran through my head a mile a minute.
"When we met, I had already had the company—for a number of years in fact.
I couldn't imagine what it would be like if I was suddenly not just an unemployed failure, but possibly buried under debt and bankruptcy filings, and all the turmoil that would come with me being such a catastrophic disappointment. "
"You never said anything." She placed her hands on top of mine.
"Why didn't you tell me how bad it was? You told me that there were struggles and that you were trying to keep everything from folding, but you didn't tell me how close you were to completely shutting down. " Her words came out as a whisper.
"I know. And I think that is where I started to go wrong. I didn't talk about it, allowing embarrassment to steal my words—trying to keep my work and my home lives separate—which was obviously the wrong choice," I offered a chagrined half smile.
"If you had included me, I would have been there for you. I would have told you that I didn't marry you for your damned company. I married you because I love you and it had nothing to do with the dollars in your bank account."
"I honestly think that the humiliation of telling you how bad it had kept me from saying anything." I looked her in the eyes and said, "and that was wrong."
I took a beat and just stared into her eyes, letting her see everything in my soul—my sorrow, my regret, my love, my heart. I wanted her to see it all. No holding back.
"I lost sight of you," I said, voice cracking and tears starting to fall.
"I let my own self-consciousness about my failure bleed into our marriage and I broke something between us.
It was me who let you become invisible. You shouldn't have to tell me the things you needed in order to feel loved.
Seen. I made assumptions that I'd take care of things at work, and you'd always be there, always be understanding, willing to wait for me to have the time for us. "
She was crying now, silent tears streaming down her face.
"The purse," I continued, my throat tight.
"I know it wasn't about the purse alone.
It was about three years of me making you feel like an afterthought in our marriage.
Three years of you sitting and waiting for me to notice you.
Three years of you feeling smaller and smaller until you fit into the parts of our life left behind. "
"I should have said something sooner," she whispered.
"No." I turned my hands up to intertwine our fingers.
"You really shouldn't have had to. I'm your husband and I should have noticed when my wife is disappearing.
You said it yourself, a husband protects his wife, her gifts, her heart.
I should have made you feel cherished, not like you were in competition for a place in my life. "
I squeezed her hands gently. "You know what kills me the most?"
She shrugged lightly, encouraging me to continue.
"You think you're being selfish for wanting something you never got to have. But I'm sitting here realizing it's my fault you feel that way. I made you feel like your wants didn't matter. Like you didn't matter."
"But the locket—"
"The locket is beautiful, and I'm glad you love it.
It is an expression of my love—of the love both Macy and I have for you.
But Felicity, I also know it doesn't erase three years of me failing you.
One great gift doesn't replace the countless forgotten moments and missed chances to show you how much you mean to me.
I know that, and I want you to know that I truly understand that. "
I felt like I was rambling now, but in for a penny…
"There's only so much I can say about the past though.
I can apologize until kingdom come, but it is completely meaningless if I don't back it up with action.
It's not lost on me—not like the last three years have been," I gave a little laugh, trying to lighten the moment for her, looking back up at her, I asked, "too soon? "
She laughed. Through her tears, I could see a small spark, "yes!" Still laughing she continued, "too soon, but not too soon. I can use a small moment of relief from all the stomach swirling, you know?"
With a light huff, I looked down and responded, "yeah, honey. I know. And I'm going to give you that relief. Come hell or high water, I will find a way to make things right with us."
She looked at me. Really looked at me. "I believe you. I believe you are going to try. I don't know how, but I believe you will put the effort in."
"I will. And therapy is still happening. But I know I have to do work before our appointment next week. I know I can't just rely on someone else telling me where I went wrong. I know it's up to me to help you see my heart."
She reached for my hands and started to play with my fingers.
It was a nervous habit—one that I realize we haven't done in a long time.
She used to do this, almost like the itsy-bitsy-spider, moving finger to finger with hers.
It made me smile that we could still have this moment in the midst of all this uncertainty.
"Okay," she said quietly.
"Tomorrow, starts my apology tour."
"Apology tour?"
"Yup."
"What does that mean?"
"Well, when you were in Miami, I talked to Cash."
"Ooooookaaaaay… about, what?"
"About my complete fuck up."
"Seriously."
I smirked. "Seriously. I talked to him about what an absolute shit husband I had been.
He made me think about how I need to show you my heart and help you see my love for you.
So, I began the work of figuring out how to bring together something that would really demonstrate that, and show you how I heard you. "
She sat up. Looked at me critically. "What does that mean?"
"That, my love, will have to wait for tomorrow.
And the following days ahead. This is not a one-and-done.
It's the start of a life with us where I remind you daily how deeply rooted you are in my heart.
" I cleared my throat, unable to help myself, I continued, "and that's the only hint you'll get from me. "
"Wait! What was the hint? Say it again!"
"Nope! You're going to have to just wait and see!"
"That's crap! I hate waiting!"
"I know." I smiled at her. "But I love you so much that I'm going to help you with that waiting."
She looked at me quizzically. "What do you mean?"
"Why don't you wait here for a bit. If you'll let me, I'd like to go get a bath ready for you. I know it's always been one of your favorite things to decompress with. So, how would you feel about a bath with your favorite salt stuff that you drop in—you know, the pink thing—and a glass of wine?"
While I saw a light in her eyes, I still rushed on, wanting to make an important point, "and before you think anything differently—this is not me avoiding.
I meant what I said. We are going to work through things, and I have a lot of work to do.
But in the meantime, while I do that work, I'm going to also do the work of showing you—actions and words.
She looked at me softly, "yeah. Okay— and it's called a bath bomb, not a pink thing."
I smiled. "Duly noted."
"Honestly," she said, while stretching. "I could really freaking use a bath. It's always been one of my favorite things."
"Babe, I know—you had me pipe in speakers to the bathroom, along with a massive renovation, when we first moved in—including the giant jacuzzi tub.
Believe me, I know you love it." I smiled, remembering our discussions about what would be best in the bathroom.
It was at the beginning of our marriage, and we'd gone back and forth on decisions.
Then, one day she dropped a printout of all the things she wanted in the bathroom, gave me the puppy-dog eyes, and told me how much it would mean to have the giant list of things to make the 'best bathroom of all time.'" So, of course, I ripped out the whole bathroom—redoing the whole thing.
From the Venetian plaster on the bathroom walls that reminded her of her father, to the double sinks, linen closet, standing shower that overlooked the jacuzzi tub—it was a major job and came out awesome. She was so happy with everything that I can almost feel the memory imprinted in my soul.
"I know you do," she acknowledged. "And I love my bathroom that came out of it. Isn't it so much better now?"
"Yes, love. Sooooo much better." I winked at her.
Smiling at me, she said, "well?"
"Well, what?"
"Why are you still sitting here? I distinctly remember you promising me a bath and wine, like three minutes ago."
I coughed a laugh out, pulled her to her feet, and kissed her soundly.
She responded in kind, deepening the kiss and opening her heart to me—just a little bit, but it was a small stitch she let me sew in the brokenness I had placed there.
And I prayed to God she would let me keep stitching and mending the fragments together.