Chapter 9 #3
I’d never worked in couples counseling, but I had met my fair share of grieving widows and widowers who’d struggled with guilt about moving on.
Especially when the marriage hadn’t been good.
I’d had wives in tears telling me they were relieved that their husbands had passed—because now the healing could begin—which made them feel terrible.
I was nowhere near ready to see the light at the end of the tunnel, but God, I hoped I would one day. Because the last year and a half had almost broken me. I was so fucking tired and hurt.
One day, I hoped to wake up with a sigh of relief to have all this in the rearview.
I glanced over my shoulder and out the kitchen window when I heard Ash’s truck pull in.
Deep breath.
I wasn’t going to take the bait when he got started.
I had my priorities in order.
Frazzled nerves tightened my gut as Ash opened the front door, and I counted the seconds. He’d shrug out of his jacket, he’d kick off his shoes…
He locked the door again. He cleared his throat and dropped what I assumed were his keys in the bowl on the hallway table.
Then he appeared in the doorway, first with a look of trepidation, but that only lasted a second or two. He steeled himself and joined me at the table, not saying a word.
The sight of his bloodshot eyes was a good kick in the gut, but I pushed past it.
“You look like you have an agenda, so go ahead,” he muttered.
I swallowed and nodded once.
I cleared my throat too. “At the risk of pissing you off, I have a list of demands for how we’ll handle our separation,” I said.
He eyed the notepad. “I don’t see a list.”
“It’s in my head.” I looked him in the eye and immediately wanted to look away.
I couldn’t take it. This was still the man I’d married.
The one person in the entire universe I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
The man I’d fallen in love with—and the man who now told me, out of spite, to change my status to single.
“All right. Go on,” he said tiredly. “List your demands.”
And his voice.
You ruined me, you fucking bastard.
I let out a breath. “We’re not getting a divorce,” I started by saying.
His eyebrows hitched a fraction. “From now on—and at least for a year or two—we will make this transition as easy as humanly possible for our children. Lily is too young to understand the meaning of her parents breaking up, and Micah will spiral.” Our boy’s anxiety was entirely tied to being left behind and not having his safe space.
Nobody would think he was anything but a happy little boy if he was surrounded by family.
But that happiness, and his sense of being carefree, took a big hike if his people weren’t nearby.
He couldn’t even handle a sleepover at Theo and Claire’s house.
Micah was fine with his grandparents’ houses if Ash and I weren’t around him. That was all.
“I’m with you so far,” Ash replied quietly. “I’m pretty sure Lily would recover the fastest, though.”
I was unsure. Studies showed the younger, the better, in terms of readjusting and so on. But we knew she was a bit different. We already suspected she might be on the autism spectrum.
“We can’t know that for sure,” I said. “We do know how she reacted when we moved her bed to the other side of the room.”
He inclined his head in a silent fair enough.
“Which brings me to my next demand,” I went on. “I want you to find an apartment not too far away from here. You and I will be the ones going back and forth every week. Not them. This is their home.”
He clenched his jaw and swallowed, and he nodded with a dip of his chin. “Okay.”
The evident pain in his eyes became too much for me, and I dropped my gaze to the empty notepad. I could only guess what was going through his mind. Was this really happening? Eighteen years, just gone?
At least, that was what had been running on a loop in the back of my mind since yesterday.
“We’ll tell our parents soon,” I said. “Because I think we’ll need their support. But I don’t want to tell Dylan and Hallie until after the holidays.”
I felt the slight vibration in the table when he started bouncing his knee restlessly, and I heard him sniffle, which made me look up.
He was looking away, but I didn’t need to see more. He was trying to hold it together.
What was it about seeing your loved one hurting? It tore me apart far quicker than suffering on my own.
“Got it.” He cleared his throat.
Where was the tantrum? He was supposed to pick a fight and call me heartless or…whatever. Anything, so that I could shield myself with anger and numbness.
“In, uh…in short, I’d like for us to get through this as parents,” I said. Fuck, I couldn’t choke up now. “And slowly. To give the kids enough time to see that us separating doesn’t mean we won’t be strong as a family.”
He was done with eye contact altogether. He kept his stare fixed on the fridge or something over there, while he absently cracked his knuckles and fidgeted with his wedding band.
He pulled it off less than half an inch, just enough for me to see the tan line underneath, before he returned it to its place.
I couldn’t imagine taking mine off. I’d have to deal with that way, way down the road.
We had to pretend anyway.
“We should finish fixing up the house so we can eventually sell it,” I mentioned. “I’m gonna need all the profit we can get if I want to live in a decent area in the future.”
He cleared his throat and faced forward again, except he kept his gaze downcast. “You can take the house,” he said quietly. “I’ll stay at the apartment full time. I’m the one who works late around here. The kids are used to me coming home late a couple times a week.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ash. The house is mostly yours. It’s your inheritance—I’m not touching that money. And I don’t want you to have less time with the children either.”
“I won’t. I’ll be here until they go to bed. I’m just saying, it makes more sense that I excuse some of my absence by saying I’m workin’ late.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and looked away once more. He tried to be subtle when he wiped his cheek.
Every fucking time I saw him holding back, it hurt more than I could describe. I needed his fucking anger.
I didn’t know how else to get through this.
“As for money, I’m good,” he said. “I have enough for a down payment in the future. And I have collateral. I have my business. I have inventory. You need the sale of the house. Besides, you’ve been paying more in our day-to-day life than I have.”
I didn’t respond, because it felt bizarre to discuss our assets already. I didn’t care enough.
“I gotta take a leak,” he muttered and left the table.
He walked out so abruptly that I wasn’t sure he actually had to go to the bathroom.
That was part of it, wasn’t it? We’d now reached the stage where we didn’t wanna show each other what fucking wrecks we were.
My eyes welled up again, and I distracted myself by checking my phone. More accurately, my Mclean messages. I wanted to know if Nat could cover for me next week. I couldn’t imagine myself hosting bondage sessions in the foreseeable future, much less on Wednesday.
Given that both Hallie and Dylan were at a sensitive stage in life, I was already planning on taking a break from everything. I wanted to speak to my kids’ teachers, not think about jute and hemp. I wanted to close myself in, not be social.
Nat hadn’t responded yet, so I clicked on Ash’s profile instead. I just wanted to see the smile in his phot—
User not found.
A breath gusted out of me.
I only let myself melt down when I’m alone. Usually in the shower where evidence runs down the drain. Except, the shower is packed with memories of us reconnecting, so it makes everything worse.
I sob pathetically into my hands while clinging to simpler times.
Moments where “How was your day?” and “Did the meeting go well?” mingled with soft kisses and wandering hands.
I always needed at least one of your hums of approval at my fingers in your hair.
You loved that. And I loved that sound you made. Pure, relaxed pleasure.
All I feel now is pain. Sharp, crippling pain.
Who am I without you?