Chapter Eighteen
The kids were tucked in bed and Tessa curled up on the couch with her laptop. The house was quiet except for the hum of the dishwasher, and for once she had a moment to herself.
She typed into the search bar: online schools for fashion design.
Dozens of results popped up—certificate programs, online degrees, short courses she could start in a matter of weeks.
She clicked through them slowly, her heart tugging with a mix of excitement and uncertainty.
She had always loved design—the textures, the colors, the way a piece could make someone feel beautiful.
That dream had been set aside once more when she learned another baby was on the way.
But maybe, just maybe, this was something she could begin now.
After a while, her fingers hovered over the keys, and she opened a new tab and typed out: chances of marriage recovery after infidelity. She braced herself, half-expecting to find only grim pronouncements that confirmed the old saying she'd heard so often: once a cheater, always a cheater.
Instead, she found articles, studies, even counseling resources.
And again and again, the same points surfaced: the odds of marriage recovery increased if certain things were true: If the betrayal wasn't part of an ongoing pattern.
If the unfaithful spouse, husband in this case, had cut off all contact with the other woman.
If there was genuine remorse, a willingness to confess instead of hide.
If there was counseling. And if the injured spouse could find a way to forgive, and both worked to rebuild what was broken.
Tessa sat back, her eyes moving down the list. One by one, she weighed Mark against it.
First—perhaps she was being naive—but she was convinced this was the first time he had strayed. The signs—the distraction, the distance, the constant texting, the late nights at work—had never been there until this past year.
Second, Mark had told her it was over with Kate, that he had cut off all contact. Did she believe him? He had sounded sincere...she pushed the thought aside for now.
Third, she only knew about Kate because Mark had confessed.
As messy and painful as it had been, something in him had chosen to tell her rather than let her discover it on her own.
Today, he had expressed regret and remorse without deflecting or justifying himself.
They were still only words—but for the first time since everything happened, she didn't feel like he was using them to pressure her or try to elicit a certain response from her.
Next—and this one had surprised her—he had sought help. He was meeting with Jeremy, trying to gain perspective and work on himself.
A heaviness weighed on her chest. The last step—forgiveness—was hers to give. And she wasn't there yet. She didn't know if she ever would be. The wound was still too raw, the sting of betrayal too sharp. And even if she could forgive, without trust, how could they ever rebuild their life together?
But as she closed the laptop, her gaze drifted to a framed photo on the bookshelf--a family portrait taken a year ago: Michael's lopsided grin, Chrissy's wide eyes, Luke leaning against Mark's shoulder.
Soon another child would be added to that picture.
Their family was real. Their history was real.
She exhaled slowly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. She wasn't ready to trust. She wasn't ready to forgive. But she wasn't ready to walk away either. For now, she would wait. Watch. See if Mark's words proved true over time.
A wait-and-see policy.
It was the only thing she could live with tonight.