Chapter 5 #2
“Tuesday. You came home, and you were quiet, and you had two beers before dinner,” I whisper with my hand over my mouth, horrified I could have missed such an obvious sign he’d been unfaithful.
Jackson never drinks mid-week. He wasn’t much of a drinker in college.
Early-morning practices and long days spent studying and training as a Division I hockey player meant he couldn’t afford to be a partier if he wanted to stay at the top of his game.
He wanted to be a pro NHL player too badly to risk throwing away all the work he’d put in over the years to get a full-ride sports scholarship at a good school.
“I felt so guilty,” Jackson says in the same low voice, lifting his head to spear me with his anguished gaze. “I nearly told you what I did so many times.”
“Why didn’t you?” I plead, willing him to understand that we could have come back from a kiss. Therapy, marriage counseling to dig deep into why he was unfaithful, and if he showed he was really, truly sorry, I’d have forgiven him in time.
But this?
What I saw today changes things in ways I don’t see how we can come back from them. Permanent ways.
He pulls a shaky hand from his pocket and drags it through his hair. “Every time I opened my mouth, the words wouldn’t come.”
With each passing second, I remember more and more about the day my husband came home from work and sat quietly in the living room.
He was so quiet that I hadn’t realized he was even home until I walked into the living room and he scared the shit out of me. Jackson always called my name when he got home from work, kissed me, and asked about my day.
Always.
But not that day.
That day, he’d slipped quietly into the house, sat silent in the living room, and hadn’t even bothered to turn on the TV.
He’d just sat there, staring at nothing.
I asked him if he had a bad day at work, but he looked at me for the longest time, forced a smile on his lips, and told me work was fine. That he was fine.
Even though he denied anything was wrong, I’d caught the way he’d looked at me over dinner. Haunted. Almost sad. He’d drunk two beers before we’d eaten and was about to get another when he caught me looking at him. He’d smiled and shaken his head, telling me a terrible joke that I’ve forgotten now.
The strange mood had continued in our bed that night.
When we made love, it was several times a week, and it was more often tender.
That night, there’d been an almost desperate need driving him to thrust deeper inside me.
As if he couldn’t get deep enough. His kisses had been as hungry as his urgent thrusts, and after I’d shattered, he’d wrapped me up so tight against his chest, repeating over and over how much he loved me. How much I was everything to him.
Now I know what was driving him. Guilt.
“You told me it was a mistake,” I whisper. “But a month ago, you kissed your assistant, and today you did something so much worse. Have you slept with her?”
“No!” he bursts out. “I would never do that to you. I love you. Not her or anyone else. Just you, Ellie. You have to believe me.”
“But you were escalating,” I shout, uncaring who hears, just needing to get these words out. “You say you made a mistake, but you kissed her. Loving me didn't stop you from kissing another woman and then having her suck your dick, did it?"
He doesn’t respond.
“We could have come back from a kiss, Jackson,” I whisper as fat tears roll down my cheeks.
He shakes his head. “Don’t, Ellie. Don’t do this. Please.”
“Why?” I dash the moisture from my cheeks, willing more tears not to fall, but knowing I’m fighting a losing battle. “Why did I think everything was perfect between us, and you were cheating on me? Tell me that, Jackson. You owe me that much.”
He stares at me, his expression tortured. “I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t… I just…”
“You had another woman suck your dick, Jackson.”
He flinches when I say it, his eyes sliding away from mine.
I make myself say it, no matter that it hurts. Especially because it hurts. I need to remember exactly what he did to me so my heart won’t soften.
“Something had to be wrong between us for you to betray me like that. Was I not enough for you? Did she give you something I never could?”
He paces. “No. I just… it was a mistake.”
“That wound up with your assistant falling mouth-first on your cock?”
From my left, one of my parents’ neighbors slides their window open. I’m too consumed by rage and pain to care about what they think of what I practically screamed into my husband’s face.
Two seconds later, the window bangs shut.
His shoulders slump. He drags a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how it happened. Just that it did. I felt sick after.”
“But you said that about the kiss, and look what you did.”
He’s the same man I married, but he’s not.
Not really. I look at him. Same dark-blond hair.
Same gorgeous blue eyes. Same big shoulders and handsome face belonging to a man I fell in love with at sixteen.
But this is not the man I married. Along the way, he changed into a stranger and I never noticed until now.
“Do you love her?” I ask when he doesn’t respond. It’s a battle to keep my voice steady when I want to howl and scream each question into his face.
“No!” he blurts out, reaching for me.
Disgusted, I recoil. “Don’t touch me.”
He freezes, chest rising and falling as he stares at me through anguished eyes. “I don’t love her, Ellie. I love you.”
My bitter laugh makes him jerk in response. “Love? You don’t love me. What you did…” I stare at him, sick to my stomach. “You kissed her, and then you came home and kissed me, didn’t you?”
I know he did. I remember his kiss and I feel sick, wishing I could scrub all memory of it away. But I need him to admit what he did. I need him to hurt more than he hurt me.
He doesn’t respond.
“Answer me,” I snap.
“Yes,” he says quietly.
My stomach roils, and I back away, hugging myself, wanting to throw up, hating him. Wishing more than anything that this is a nightmare I’ll wake from any second now. “Because I wasn’t enough for you?”
“No.” He takes a step toward me.
I step back. Immediately.
He halts, takes a breath, and lets it out in a loud exhale. “It wasn’t like that. It just… something was missing. Something wasn’t enough.”
“I wasn’t enough.”
“That isn’t it…” He shakes his head, frustrated.
“If I were enough for you,” I say, “you wouldn’t have done what you did. Don’t lie to me. Do you love her?”
He snaps his head from side to side. “No. Never. I love you.” Something in my gaze makes panic skitter across his eyes. “I love you. You know that, Ellie. Please tell me you know that.”
“I want a divorce,” I say firmly, holding his gaze.
His knees hit the ground soundlessly. He reaches for me, eyes desperate, but I’m already backing away before he can touch me.
He will never touch me again.
“Don’t,” I bite out, stepping back. “Just don’t.”
“We can fix this, Ellie. We can fix our marriage,” he begs, his voice cracking, still on his knees.
Tears run down his face, soaking the front of his shirt, but they don’t soften my heart. Nothing can.
Blinking hard, I look away. “There’s no fixing this. It’s over. I’m staying with my parents until I can find a new home. I’m getting a job and filing for divorce as soon as I can speak to an attorney.”
“Don’t do this, Ellie,” he begs. “Don’t break our family apart.”
I wrench my gaze toward him, my rage erupting. “You broke our family apart.” I jab my finger in his face. “You did that. Not me. You did things with another woman—a woman you brought to my birthday party—that make me sick when I think of them. You ruined our marriage. Not me.”
His face crumples. “Please, Ellie… I can fix this. Please let me fix this. We’ll go to counseling. I’ll quit my job, move town, whatever you want, please.”
“Go home,” I whisper. “I can’t even look at you without wanting to throw up. Don’t call and don’t text me. I need to forget that I have a husband, and I need you to go.”
He reaches for me. “Ellie—”
“It’s over.” I force myself to look him in the eye. “Our marriage is over. Go. Home.”
I step around him.
By the time I’ve reached the kitchen door, my cheeks are wet with tears.
It opens before I can reach for it.
I stumble inside, past my dad, who shuts the door behind me, and into my mom’s arms, so blinded with tears I can barely see her.
My mom catches me before I can fall, my dad wrapping his arms around us both from behind. As I sink to my knees, my parents embrace me, cocooning me in their love, their soothing voices offering me reassurances I barely hear.