Chapter Thirteen
Mark sat on the floor at his apartment, sorting through one of the boxes he'd brought from the house. Most of it was clutter—bills, unopened mail, school handouts.
He lifted a stack of papers, and a lavender envelope slipped to the floor.
His name was written across the front in Tessa's familiar hand.
His heart jolted. She used to tuck little notes like this into his briefcase, so that when he got to work, he'd find reminders of her love.
When was the last time he had read one of those with joy and anticipation?
The envelope wasn't sealed. With careful fingers, almost afraid, he opened it. A faint trace of Tessa's perfume clung to the stationery inside. His mouth went dry as he began to read.
My dearest Mark,
I wanted to tell you in person — or plan some cute surprise — but lately we keep passing one another with hardly any time to sit and talk. But I couldn't keep this news to myself much longer, and I hope you're sitting down because it will come as a big surprise: we're having a baby!
Sweetheart, even though this little one wasn't in our plans, I feel so lucky and blessed to share him or her with you, the love of my life. When I watch you with Michael, Chrissy, and Luke — how patient and tender you are — my heart overflows. I can't wait to see you with this baby as well.
I know I've been tired lately, and you've been working so hard. That's why I planned a little get-away for just the two of us. My parents have agreed to watch the kids this weekend so we can laugh, rest, and remember who we are together. I've already made the reservations.
I'm so grateful for our life, for you, and for everything we've built. I love you more than words can say.
Always yours,
Tessa
Mark's heart stopped. A baby?
He read the words again, the air rushing out of him as if he'd been punched.
She must have written it before his confession about Kate—maybe even that very morning—a note she'd likely meant to tuck into his briefcase.
She had been pregnant—is pregnant—and after his betrayal, she must have chosen not to tell him, forgetting she had even written the note.
The letter trembled in his hands as the enormity of it sank in.
She had been carrying their child, planning a surprise, still feeling grateful for him, blessed even—while he had been throwing away their marriage on illicit kisses and self-indulgent conversations with Kate.
He remembered her swaying in the kitchen that awful day.
She had been pale, with shadows under her eyes, the burden of the household on her shoulders, and then he came along and knocked her flat with his words, his arrogance, his selfish entitlement. Oh Lord, what had he done.
She had been excitedly planning for the next weekend to be a get-away for the two of them, but instead she had spent the weekend alone, in pain and confusion.
The boy who had promised her a lifetime had become a man who would betray her in the worst possible way, at the worst possible time.
Self-disgust roiled through him so violently that his stomach lurched.
He barely made it to the bathroom before he retched, emptying the contents of his stomach.
Back in the living room, he reached for his phone before he realized what he was doing. He pressed her name, his hand shaking.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
"Answer, Tessa, please—" he whispered, his voice breaking.
Voicemail.
He tried again, pacing the small apartment, his pulse hammering. She didn't answer.
Mark sank onto the couch, the letter still clutched in his hand, his breath ragged. The crushing reality closed in on him: while she had trusted him to be her anchor—to care for her, their family, and the new baby—he had failed her in every way.
And now he didn't know if he would ever be allowed the chance to make it right.
After he'd calmed down, Mark realized that talking to Tessa about the letter and the pregnancy was something that needed to happen face-to-face—and only after he'd gathered his thoughts.
That night, lying in bed, he did something he had rarely done in his life but now felt like the only thing left: he prayed.
At first the words caught in his throat, but then they poured out in a rush of remorse and desperation.
God, I don't really know if you're even there, and if you are if you even hear me.
I know that I don't deserve anything from you after what I've done.
But if you do hear, I want to say that I'm sorry, so sorry for what I've done to Tessa and our family.
She didn't deserve this, but she's the carrying the pain of my choices. I just ask that You protect her and our baby. That you keep them safe. I know that I haven’t been the husband and father I should have been but I pray that in some way You'll let me make this right. Please.
His words trailed off as a fragile peace settled over him. Mark lay back, letting sleep take him, until the dreams came:
A vase was lying shattered across the floor.
He dropped to his knees, desperate to fit the broken pieces back together, but they slipped through his hands no matter how carefully he tried.
When he looked up, Tessa stood there, one hand on her rounded belly, her eyes sad and reproachful.
She slowly shook her head, as if to tell him it was useless.
Their children clustered at her side, silent and watchful.
Panic pressed at his chest as he tried harder, his hands moving faster, but the pieces only slid farther from him.
The more he reached, the more impossible it felt, and a weary desperation settled in as he realized he couldn't make it whole again.
The next evening, Mark pulled his SUV into the driveway after picking Michael up from soccer practice.
In the past couple of weeks, he and Tessa had slipped into an unspoken arrangement: he would come by in the evenings, help with the kids' routines, then head back to his own place.
It wasn't easy, but it helped keep the disruption to a minimum for Michael, Chrissy, and Luke.
Tessa handed Michael a snack while reminding Chrissy to finish her homework, then coaxed Luke toward the bath.
Mark carried in Michael's gear, rinsed out lunchboxes, and set things in order for the next day.
They moved through the motions side by side, speaking only when necessary, the quiet between them strained.
Later, when the house finally quieted, Mark found Tessa in the kitchen loading the dishwasher.
He noticed then, really noticed, how pale she looked.
The faint shadows under her eyes. The weariness in her movements.
He felt a crushing wave of shame—how could he have once thought she didn't measure up to Kate?
This woman had been holding their entire world together, nurturing their three children, carrying another, all while he'd been. .. elsewhere.
He cleared his throat. "Tessa... um, I found your letter."
She turned to face him, confusion flickering over her face, "Letter?"
"In a box of papers I brought from home," he explained quickly, his voice uneven. "I—I know you didn't mean for me to see it. I came across it by accident."
Her eyes widened, then shuttered, as realization dawned. "Oh." She turned back to the sink, shoulders tightening.
Mark stepped closer. "You're pregnant?" His voice cracked on the word.
Tessa kept her back to him for a moment, then finally nodded. "Yes." Her voice was flat, tired.
His chest ached. "How... how are you feeling?" How far along are you?
She shrugged faintly, still not meeting his gaze. "A little more than three months. I'm tired. Sick some mornings. But I'll be fine."
A lump rose in Mark's throat. He pressed a hand against the counter to steady himself.
"In the letter, you said... you said you that you were grateful for me.
That you wanted us to get away, just the two of us.
" His voice faltered, and he had to stop, breathing hard against the rush of emotion.
"Tessa... I read those words, and all I could think was, how could I have done this to you?
To us? You believed in me, in us, and I—" His voice broke.
Finally, Tessa looked at him, her eyes glossy but hard. "Yes, I did believe in you." Her voice was calm, almost too calm. "I never saw this coming, not in a million years, Mark. That's how much I trusted you."
The silence thickened, Mark reeling from her words. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Tessa's voice cut through the air.
"Tell me something," she said, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "If you'd known I was pregnant..., would it have changed anything?"
Mark froze.
"Because let's be honest, Mark. Isn't this exactly what you were chafing against?
Another baby would only mean more responsibility, more stress, more of the same dull, ordinary life with your boring wife.
" Her voice broke on the word boring, bitter tears shining in her eyes.
"Would that have been the last chain—the thing that made you resent me even more? "
He felt gutted, like she had reached inside and ripped out the darkest, most shameful thought he'd had but never dared voice. His lips parted, but nothing came out.
She shook her head slowly, her laugh hollow. "You don't have to answer. I already know."
"No," he said hoarsely, finally finding his voice.
He stepped forward, desperate. "No. Tessa, you don't know.
I was blind, stupid, selfish—but you were never boring or dull or ordinary, far from it.
It was me, me who lost sight of everything precious right in front of me.
I never should have—" His voice caught, ragged with anguish.
"I can't undo it. I would give anything if I could. "