Chapter One #2
Blinking, I snap back to it. I can’t fall apart, I’m a mother. I have to get my sons to school, then I have to come home and do laundry, and clean the house.
That’s my job. That’s my only job.
I shake my head at the doctor's question.
"No, I think—" My voice cracks, tears imminent, and I clear my throat. "No, I think we're done."
Painting a polite smile on my face, I pull my purse over my shoulder.
"Thank you for your time, Dr. Anderson. I'm sorry for..." I trail off, the embarrassment choking the words right out of me. I bite down hard on my lip to stop the tears and clench my hand into a fist, nails biting the skin of my palm.
She watches me with kind eyes.
"Wendy, would you mind," she says slowly, like she knows I'm seconds from falling apart, "If I gave you a piece of advice? Not as your therapist—just woman to woman?"
I nod.
"So, I've been doing this for thirty years now.
I've seen marriages recover from some truly dire situations, and I've seen marriages fall apart over what seemed like nothing at all.
The one thing I've learned is this: sometimes, giving up is not failure," she says, her voice firm, but her face is soft and understanding.
"Sometimes it's just giving ourselves mercy. "
Her words wrap around me and I blink, letting them settle inside of me. The smile comes to my face a little easier now as I stand from my seat.
"Thank you again, Dr. Anderson.”
"Of course," she smiles, standing from her chair and walking me to the door. "Take care of yourself, Wendy."
"I will," I respond softly, a promise—to her and to myself.
The fall air is brisk, and the wind bites at my cheeks but I barely notice it as I walk into the parking lot.
I slide into my pearl-colored SUV which was my birthday gift from Atlas and the boys four years ago, complete with heated seats and an automatic start.
Atlas was so excited to show it to me, and the boys almost spoiled the surprise no less than six times before he brought me outside to see his dad pulling it into our driveway.
What once felt like the sweetest gift from the sweetest man, now just feels like another debt, another reminder that I cannot buy myself anything because I have nothing.
Atlas makes the money, I take care of the kids. That’s the deal. It could all be ripped away from me in an instant, so I have no room to complain.
I start the engine, turn the heat on, grip the steering wheel, but I don't move yet. I used to be so eager to get home, hearing the pitter-patter of little feet and the big booted steps of my husband rushing toward me.
What's even waiting for me there now?
If Atlas didn't bother to show up for the appointment, then he's probably still at work. I scheduled the appointment for five, so he could have an excuse to cut out from work an hour early. Stupidly, I thought it would be a much-deserved break for my hardworking husband.
Atlas probably just ignored the hour reminder, the fifteen-minute reminder, and the one-minute reminder on his phone.
Trying to talk to him doesn't work, scheduling appointments doesn't work either.
My husband doesn't care about saving our marriage, so why should I?
I had thought, naively, that tonight would change something. That Atlas and I could reconnect during today's session, not cure our issues, but feel better from doing something about them.
That's why I asked Diane and Emmett if the kids could stay over tonight, and they happily agreed. Tonight would be just about us, maybe finding each other again through intimacy and physical affection since there’s been a lack of it.
Sometimes, every once in a while, he'll absentmindedly peck my cheek in the morning before he runs out the door. If I'm awake enough, I'll be able to feel him kiss my head when he slides into bed late at night.
But other than that, there are no intimate hugs, no deep kisses, no makeouts, no heavy petting, and definitely no sex.
God, when was the last time we had sex? Months? More than eight or nine, I think. Even then, it was… awful. There was no kissing, no passion, no taking care of me like he used to.
"I'm sorry, baby, this pussy's just too tight," Atlas moans into my neck after his orgasm subsides and he's dripping down my thighs.
"It's okay," I whisper, bending my head back to kiss him deeply. He's still half-hard, and he rocks his hips against me, rubbing me with his fingers just the way I like.
"Atlas..." I moan, arching myself into him. He leans down and kisses my neck, his expert hands knowing just how to bring me to orgasm.
"That's it," his voice is pure gravel in my ear, "Let me feel you come on my cock, baby. Can't start my day without taking care of my best girl..."
"Atlas!" The shower running mutes the sound of me calling his name when I come, so we don't wake up the boys.
Atlas wraps his arm around my waist to keep me steady.
"That fucking sound," he groans out into my neck, biting softly on the skin there.
When I stop trembling, he gently pulls out of me and spins me to cup my face, "I love you, baby."
"I love you," I whisper against his lips, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him deeply.
I flinch at the memory that invades my brain without permission.
Atlas was home earlier last month, and as we were getting ready for bed, I tried to go down on him. He pushed my hand away and said he was tired, barely even glancing at me.
I've even gotten so desperate that I walk naked in our bedroom to entice him, and to remind myself that I have a nice body, even after two kids.
I’ve always been tall, around five-foot-nine, and from being pregnant so young, my metabolism allowed me to shed baby weight fast. Despite my abdomen having some loose skin and stretch marks on my belly, breasts, and hips, I think I still look good.
I just… wanted to remind myself that, at one time, he used to desire me more than anything.
Atlas didn’t even look up at me.
To add to my humiliation, I’m wearing a new lacy lingerie set in a soft pink under my clothes. Atlas always said he liked me in pink, that I looked so sweet and girly in the color.
In this set that I had felt so sexy in earlier, I just feel stupid.
I should probably just face the fact that I'm no longer attractive to my husband. He’s only ever been with me, so maybe he’s bored and wants variety.
I don't even want to think about him with someone else.
They did hire that new front desk girl, Audrey or Aubrey. She’s young, pretty, and bubbly.
Is that it? Has he found someone else? Is that why he’s not interested in sex or even intimacy?
For me, it’s always been Atlas, always would be Atlas. No one has ever compared, no one has ever seen me the way he has. He’s my best friend and I used to think that I was so lucky that I could say that and mean it.
I married my best friend and he gave me two beautiful boys.
Liam is my moody teenager, almost fourteen years old.
He loves playing basketball, and hanging out with his grandfather Emmett—his hero.
Those two watch whatever game is on, shoot hoops in the driveway, play cards, and talk about everything and nothing.
I love the bond Liam shares with his grandfather.
Noah is my sweet boy, eight years old, and always spoiled by his grandmother with new paints or colored pencils. He's an incredible artist and I always cherish every piece he brings home.
Diane and Emmett can sense that something is going on, but I don't even know how to broach it with them. Not without feeling like a failure.
Also, I don't want to add even more to their plate. Not after their focus has been on Silas after Carrie's sudden death last September.
Her passing really destroyed Silas, mainly because he was deployed at the time. Thankfully, he seems to be doing better now. He's been discharged from the military and it’s given him more time to be with his daughters, Molly and Jem.
We all truly loved Carrie and miss her dearly. Atlas was his brother’s rock in the storm, while Diane and Emmett handled the funeral arrangements for Carrie’s devastated parents.
I primarily took care of all four kids, my nieces clinging to me while my boys did everything they could to comfort them.
The month following the funeral, Atlas was a little more clingy with me and the kids, but I think we all were.
The night we buried Carrie, he made love to me slowly and reverently. I remember feeling so connected to him, so grateful and in love while we whispered our devotion to each other.
I can't even seem to pinpoint the moment he started pulling away from us.
Was there even a moment, or was it just a slow death?
The glowing clock on the dashboard reads 6:38. I can't just stay here forever, so I start driving mindlessly.
My body seems to know where it wants to go.
Twenty minutes later, I pull off to the side of the road and walk the short way to the overlook—our spot.
Atlas and I used to spend hours here when we were teenagers. It’s just a small area under a patch of trees that offers a complete view of Mercy Ridge.
This is our place.
My eyes briefly glance over to the tallest Maple tree, its vibrant orange and red leaves stark against the darkening sky.
Our initials are carved into the bark: A + W, encased in a heart. Atlas had done it after we had talked about our future, about marrying as soon as we could, about always staying together no matter what. I was unknowingly six weeks pregnant with Liam.
When's the last time we came here?
Years.
Whenever life got too hard, whenever we needed a moment to ourselves, we would call his parents to babysit the boys and Atlas would bring us here.
He would toss a blanket over one shoulder and me over the other. We'd cuddle under the trees, talking and kissing until the stars came out.
Back then, after Noah was born, I was so tired from breastfeeding, from caring for two boys, that I'd fall asleep against his chest to the sound of him whispering about how much he loved me.
I miss that. I miss my husband.