Chapter Twenty
Logan
“Daddy, can we have a sister?” River asks from the back seat, twisting the little bear I bought him at the hospital gift shop.
“Uh…” I glance at him in the rearview mirror. “Well, bud, we… we have you.”
“But I’m not a girl!” he yells in his tired toddler voice, holding the bear up by its ear.
I narrow my eyes at the road and suddenly wish I’d let my mom pick him and Myles up at the hospital.
Maybe I can placate him with a puppy. It worked before.
When we found out Myles was a boy, Jess was ecstatic. But she’d also been a little bummed about not having a daughter. So, as a push present, I went to the animal shelter and came home with a three-month-old pit bull.
Something that became a tradition.
In olden times, Vikings supposedly presented women with cow heads for giving birth. I brought Jess a puppy. I twist my lips, wondering if I’m remembering that right. Maybe it was Norsemen. Or are they the same? I should really Google that.
Whoever it was, a dead animal doesn’t seem like an appropriate gift for a woman who just gave birth.
A live one isn’t ideal either, but I took charge of everything, the chewed shoes, the accidents, the dinosaur phases.
I can’t help smiling when I remember how happy Jess was when I brought Bell home. It had been a gamble. She lost her childhood dog, while we were in college, and I know that shattered her.
But it paid off.
Another thought hits me out of nowhere.
If we separate… what happens to the dogs?
Do we split them? I gave them to her, technically. But they’re really the kids’ dogs now.
We can’t take the only constant away from them.
Not if we’re already breaking their family.
By the time I pull up to my mom’s apartment, my thoughts are spiraling through alternate weekends and custody schedules.
Mom’s waiting in the park downstairs. She smiles when I pull in, giving both boys kisses before letting them run to the swings.
I drop their overnight bags at her feet and lean in to kiss her cheek.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, baby,” she says, squishing my cheek.
I could easily stand to my full height to stop her, but right now… it feels good. So I let her.
“Everything okay, baby?” she asks, smoothing my hair back.
I step back and look at her face. I know she’s aged since I was a kid, but to me she’s always been this, pretty and sharp and somehow always seeing more than she says.
Hesitantly, I say, “I get why you and Dad waited until Darren turned eighteen to split.”
Her expression shifts immediately.
“So you and Jessica are…?”
“She’s offered to move out,” I admit, my tone bordering on hysterics.
Mom sighs. “Well. I can’t say I’m not relieved.”
“Mom.”
“What? I never liked her,” she says bluntly. “I like her even less now. To cheat on my son and then lie about it.”
“Mom,” I say louder. “Can you not talk like that in front of the boys? We haven’t told them yet.”
“Of course I know that,” she says.
“Do you?” I ask.
“Yes,” she snaps lightly. Then, calmer, “Now, do you have a lawyer? Mine was great. I can get you her number.”
“Ma,” I sigh.
“What?” she says. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”
“I…” I trail off.
She straightens. “Logan. If you haven’t forgiven her yet, you’re not going to. Just accept it and… move on.”
“Move on?” I scoff.
“Well, obviously that’ll take time,” she says briskly. “First you have to hash out custody and lawyers but once this is behind you, and you no longer have to look at her 24/7, you’ll see-.”
“Okay, Ma,” I cut in, not wanting to hear her map out the end of my marriage. “I’m gonna head home.”
Before getting in my car, I turn back.
“You know Manuel told me to cut my losses too.”
Her jaw goes slack.
I don’t stick around to hear how dare I bring up that man in her presence.
I’m usually not that mean.
But she made me.
I get into the car and scoff to myself. I never liked her.
This is the same woman who told Jessica she was “finally getting a daughter” on our wedding day.
Wait.
My mouth opens as realization dawns.
Was my mother using reverse psychology on me?
I stare at the steering wheel.
I can’t believe she’d be that manipulative.
And I definitely can’t believe it worked because the second I step through the front door and see a suitcase standing by the sofa, my heart drops straight into my stomach.
“Jessica!” I shout, already moving.
I rush down the hallway to our bedroom. Empty.
Panic claws up my chest.
I sprint to the boys’ room. “Jessica!”
Nothing.
My phone is at my ear before I even register dialing her number. It barely rings when the front door opens.
“Let Mommy clean your paw, Bell. Ty, don’t you dare lick that.”
I freeze.
A few seconds later, Jess steps fully inside, juggling leashes and two overexcited dogs. Only then does she notice me standing in the middle of the living room, phone in hand, chest heaving.
“Hey,” she says cautiously.
Bell and Ty swarm my feet, tapping their paws against my legs, whining for attention. I don’t even feel them.
“I thought you left,” I say.
My voice sounds hollow.
“Oh.” She walks into the kitchen and tosses something into the trash. Then she turns on the tap and washes her hands like this is normal. Like my heart didn’t just implode.
I just stand there staring at her.
Ignoring the dogs.
Ignoring the suitcase.
“I… uh… I got the suitcase out of the garage,” she says quietly. “And then I decided to take them on a walk.”
“Why’d you get the suitcase?” I ask.
She doesn’t look at me at first. Just dries her hands slowly.
“I figured…” Her voice trails off. “You sent the boys away. I thought…”
“You thought I was going to kick you out.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
“Aren’t you?” she asks, and her voice is so small it nearly breaks me.
I shake my head.
“No.”
The word feels fragile between us.
She swallows. “Then what do we do?”
The question lingers in the air between us. There’s no anger in it. No defensiveness.
Just raw, trembling desperation.
I move closer, my chest tight, my voice lower when I finally speak.
“Will you ever do it again?” I ask.
Her answer is immediate. No hesitation. No calculation.
“No.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“What will you do if I ever mess up again?”
She lets out a shaky breath that almost turns into a laugh. “Yell at you,” she says, smiling through her tears. “A lot.”
And somehow… that’s the most honest thing she could’ve said.
When I look at her now, I don’t see the bathroom. I don’t see the lies.
I see the life we still have left.
The birthdays we haven’t celebrated yet. The vacations we’ve talked about but never booked. The gray hair we’ll complain about. The quiet mornings. The loud holidays.
I realize I can’t give that up.
Maybe that makes me weak.
Maybe it makes me a fool.
But I love her.
And I always will.
“Okay,” I say.
Her brows knit. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I repeat.
And then I close the distance.
Pulling her into my arms, my knees nearly buckle at the feel of my wife in my arms again. What happened this morning is nothing compared to now.
Her hands close around my back, grabbing me so tight that it's almost hard to breathe. When I take in a deep breath, it comes out in shudders against her hair.
Jess isn't any steadier. Her laugh bleeds into sobs that shake her whole body, her face pressed against my chest like she's afraid to let go.
I hold her like salvation.
Like gravity has returned to the world.
And for a long moment, we just stand there, wrapped around each other, crying for the marriage we almost lost and for the future we're still going to have.
Together.