CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jessica
The first snow arrived as an insult. Not enough to be beautiful. Just thin white flakes drifting past the windows while Manhattan traffic continued behaving as though weather were a personal affront.
Jessica stood with Sophia against her shoulder and watched the street below. “Your father loves snow.”
Sophia made a soft snuffling sound.
“He becomes unbearable. Architecture facts. Structural load. Insulation. You have no idea what you’re in for.”
A knock sounded. Jessica checked the time. Alex. She opened the door.
He wore a black wool coat dusted with melting snow and carried Sophia’s overnight bag.
“You’re late.” She said teasing.
He looked at his watch.
“Thirty seconds.”
“Slipping.”
“Traffic.”
“Excuses.”
Hi s gaze moved to Sophia. His face softened. That still did something dangerous to Jessica. He stepped inside and removed his coat.The clean scent of cold air followed him.
“You’re wearing the perfume.”
Jessica looked at him.
Alex stopped. “That should have remained inside my head.”
She turned away so he wouldn’t see her smile. Sophia had been home for almost two months. The apartment had changed around her. Blankets. Bottles. A bassinet in the living room because Jessica had learned babies had no respect for interior design.
Alex moved comfortably through the space now, but never like he owned it. He waited for Jessica to tell him if plans changed. Knocked. Asked before opening cabinets he had opened a hundred times. Sometimes his restraint felt considerate. Sometimes it made Jessica want to scream.
He held out his hands. “Give me my child.”
“Your child has been a tyrant since noon.”
“Excellent.”
Alex took Sophia. The baby immediately grabbed his shirt collar. He looked smug.
Jessica rolled her eyes. “You are not special.”
“She clearly disagrees.”
“She has no judgment. She likes ceiling fans.”
“That is because ceiling fans are fascinating.”
“Please do not begin.”
Alex grinned.
For ten minutes, things felt easy. Then Sophia began crying. Not hungry. Not wet. Not tired, though every exhausted movement suggested otherwise. Alex walked with her. Jessica tried a pacifier. Sophia rejected it with insulted fury.
They switched. Alex warmed a bottle. Sophia refused it. Jessica laughed from pure exhaustion.
“What?”
Alex looked over.
“She has no idea how much we wanted her.”
“None.”
“Years.”
“Thousands of dollars.”
“Needles.”
“Surgeries.”
“Arguments.”
Alex nodded toward Sophia, now screaming against his shoulder.
“And this is how she repays us.”
Jessica laughed harder.
Sophia cried louder.
“Oh, good. We’ve offended her.”
Alex began laughing too.
Eventually their daughter wore herself out and fell asleep against him. Neither parent moved. Alex lowered himself carefully onto the sofa. Jessica sat on the other end. Sophia slept across his chest. Snow continued drifting past the windows. For several minutes, Jessica simply watched them.
Alex’s hand rested protectively against Sophia’s back.His head leaned against the cushion. His eyes closed. He looked tired. Not polished. Not controlled. Just Alex.
The man who had once come home after eighteen hours at a job site and built Jessica a bookshelf because she had mentioned wanting one. The man who had held her through a miscarriage. The man who had abandoned her at the hospital. Both existed. Jessica was tired of trying to separate them.
Alex opened his eyes. “What?”
“You looked asleep.”
“I was monitoring the inside of my eyelids.”
“Very architectural.”
“Extensive structural analysis.”
She smiled.
Alex looked down at Sophia.
“She’s out.”
“Finally.”
“Do you want me to put her down?”
“In a minute.”
The silence returned. Comfortable at first. Then weighted. Jessica thought about the letter. She had read it four times. The sentence that remained with her wasn't the hospital section.
When you stopped asking me to attend appointments, I told myself you were less anxious. I never asked whether you had simply decided that asking me was worse.
Jessica looked toward the window. “How is therapy?”
Alex turned his head. The question surprised him. “Unpleasant.”
She laughed. “Useful?”
“I think so.”
“What do you talk about?”
He considered. “My father.”
“I figured.”
“How?”
“Your mother.”
Alex’s brows lifted.
“She likes me more.”
“Everyone does.”
Jessica looked at him.
He smiled faintly. “She probably should.”
Alex carefully shifted Sophia. “My father loved my mother.”
“I know.”
“I used to think that meant he couldn’t have hurt her as badly as she said.”
Jessica watched him.
“He never left her,” Alex continued. “He provided. He stayed faithful. He took care of practical things.”
“Sounds familiar.”
Alex absorbed the hit.“Yeah.”
Jessica almost apologized. She stopped herself.
Alex looked down at Sophia.
“My mother told me staying in the apartment isn’t always the same as staying.”
Something tightened in Jessica’s chest. “That sounds like Evelyn.”
“She has become alarmingly insightful in retirement.”
“She was always insightful. You just didn’t like the conclusions.”
“That also sounds like Evelyn.”
Sophia shifted. Alex rubbed her back.
Jessica watched his hand. “What are you afraid of?”
The question slipped out.
Alex looked at her. “Now?”
“Yes.”
He didn't answer immediately.
Jessica expected the old Alex.
The version who would tell her fear accomplished nothing.
Instead he looked toward the window. “That you’re happier without me.”
The honesty was almost physically painful. Jessica sat very still.
Alex continued.“That I’ll become the man I should have been and it won’t matter because you’ll realize you don’t want him anymore.”
She swallowed. “And if that happens?”
His mouth tightened. “I’ll hate it.”
“But?”
“But I’m trying to accept that you’re allowed.”
The answer cut through some layer of anger Jessica had been carrying for months.
She looked down. “I’m not happier.”
Alex said nothing.
She could feel his attention. Jessica rubbed her palms against her jeans. “I’m calmer sometimes.”
“Do you regret leaving?”
She looked up sharply.
Alex shook his head.
“Forget I asked.”
“No.” Jessica breathed. “I don’t regret leaving.”
Pain crossed his face.
She forced herself to continue. “I needed to.”
“I know.”
“But I miss you.”
The room changed. Alex didn't move.
Jessica’s pulse started beating harder. “I miss stupid things.”
“Such as?”
“Your coffee.”
“My coffee is objectively excellent.”
“It’s terrible.”
“Then your example is invalid.”
She smiled. “Your shoes by the door.”
Alex’s expression softened.
“The way you read every page I draw even though you understand nothing about illustration.”
“I understand perspective.”
“You think perspective solves everything.”
“It solves many things.”
Jessica looked at him. “I miss you in my bed.”
Alex’s breath changed. Not enough that another person might notice. Jessica noticed. Of course she did. Sophia slept between them like a tiny chaperone.
Alex’s voice lowered. “Jessi.”
She looked away. “That wasn’t an invitation.”
“I know.”
“I’m trying to tell you the truth.”
“I get it.”
She laughed softly. “That’s the worst part.”
His smile faded.
“I never stopped loving you.”
He stared at her.
Jessica could hear the blood rushing in her ears. She hadn't planned to say it. The truth had simply become too exhausting to carry privately.
Alex looked down at Sophia.
For one second, Jessica saw hope break across his face. Then he contained it.
“You don’t owe me anything because you do.”
Her throat tightened. She had expected pleading. Maybe not consciously. But some part of her had prepared for him to seize the admission.
Then come home.
Then let me fix this.
Then why are we apart?
Instead Alex handed the truth back without asking her to turn it into a decision.
Tears rose. “Damn you.”
Alex looked confused.
“What?”
“You’re getting better at this.”
A quiet laugh escaped him. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t push it.” Jessica smiled.
Sophia stirred. Alex stood carefully.“I’m putting her down.”
Jessica nodded.
He carried Sophia into the bedroom and returned a few minutes later. The apartment felt different without the baby between them. Too quiet.
Alex sat again. Not as close as before.
Jessica looked at his hands. His wedding ring remained where it had always been. She had begun to wonder whether he ever removed it.
“I’ve been thinking about the letter.”
Alex waited.
“I don’t know what to do with it.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“I know.”
Jessica tucked one leg beneath herself. “I believe you mean it.”
Alex’s face changed.
It was the first time she had said anything resembling that. She continued before he could misread it. “That isn’t the same as trusting you.”
“Okay.”
“But I believe you understand more than you did.”
Alex nodded slowly. “That means a lot.”
She smiled. Then stopped because his gaze had moved to her mouth. The air shifted. Jessica felt it. He did too. Neither spoke. Alex reached toward her. Slowly. His fingers touched a tear she hadn't realized had escaped. He brushed it from her cheek.
The contact was barely there but Jessica’s body responded as though he had touched every part of her. Her breath caught. Alex’s hand remained against her face. Their eyes met. The distance between them disappeared in increments Jessica could have stopped. She didn't.
His face moved closer. Her mouth parted. Memory flooded her. His kiss in their bedroom the morning Sophia was born. His hands in her hair. His body beside hers.
Then another memory. The hospital corridor.
I can’t keep abandoning everything every time you’re frightened.
Jessica pulled back.
Alex stopped immediately. His hand dropped. “I’m sorry.”
She stared at him.
He shifted away. “I assumed.”
“You stopped.”
Alex looked at her.
Jessica’s heart beat painfully. “You stopped when I did.”
“Of course.”
The words were so simple. She almost cried again. She stood. Not because she wanted him to leave. Because sitting there felt too intimate.
Alex rose too. “I should go.”
Jessica nodded.
He walked toward his coat.
“Alex.”
He turned. She had been thinking about this for two weeks. Maybe longer. “I think I’m ready for couples counseling.”
Jessica watched relief cross his face.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
His mouth twitched. “That seems appropriate.”
“I want to try.”
“Okay.”
Alex left a few minutes later. Jessica locked the door behind him. Then leaned against it. Her lips still felt as though he had kissed them.