Chapter Twenty-Three
Atlas
It's Christmas Eve tomorrow.
I came home from Story Grove yesterday. My parents were waiting for me by the front doors, speaking with Dr. Mason.
I packed up my things and said goodbye to the nurses who’d cared for me all month, the moment feeling bittersweet—more sweet than not. I was ready to leave, even if change always comes with a small ache.
But the bitterness vanished the second I saw my parents, waiting with teary smiles and open arms.
And I collapsed into them like a child, allowing some of my own tears to fall. Such a difference from when they dropped me off. I had felt as though I was in a daze, shaky, scared, panicked, and broken.
I'm not cured. Dr. Mason says I'm never going to be cured of this. But I will be stronger, and I will manage my panic and my PTSD. I will love my family more than I fear losing them.
I can't go back to the way things were and redo my mistakes, but I can carve a better path forward.
I can earn my children's trust back.
I can earn my wife's trust back.
And I will.
Dr. Mason said that if it helped me, I should visualize my panic in terms that come easily.
So, I visualize it as a faulty engine. I check all of the usual suspects—fuel, oil, electrical—before I assume catastrophic failure.
Panic is much the same. Something is wrong with the system so it sends everything into overdrive, but that doesn't mean the engine's blown. Broken things can be fixed.
And I'm working on that—myself, my marriage, my relationship with my kids. Getting my life back on track, one step at a time.
I'll go back to work on the 27th, and I'm looking forward to it. Dad has hired an assistant manager for me, so I can focus solely on running the shop and my clients.
I will continue attending therapy and take my meds. I'll be seeing Dr. Wilson twice a week, and a psychiatrist recommended by Dr. Mason in my area, Dr. Petra Newman, once a week.
It's going to be busy, it's going to be hard, it's going to be physically and mentally draining...
And I'm going to keep showing up every single day.
Mom and Dad left an hour ago to drop off presents for the girls at Carrie's parents' house and to see Silas, who's spending Christmas with his in-laws.
I'm finishing hanging some garland for my mother in their foyer when the doorbell rings. I walk to swing it open and freeze, feeling as though the world has dropped out from under me.
My wife stands on the doorstep, shopping bags in her hands, and bundled up in a red winter jacket, matching her rosy cheeks from the cold.
And I just... stare.
God, she looks fucking beautiful.
She's always been, but... after a month of not seeing her, the longest I've ever gone without seeing Wendy, it's something else.
She looks different. Good different. She got a haircut, though it's a little longer than when I saw her last. That day flashes in my mind, and I quickly shake my head to clear my thoughts.
"Hi, Atlas," she says, her voice is quiet, but—good lord—she gives me a smile.
"Hi, baby," I breathe, still a little in awe.
I hold out my hand, and she smiles, handing me one of the bags as she walks into the warm house. I want to take her face between my hands, warm her frozen cheeks up with my palms and kiss her cold lips. I want to wrap my arms around her to warm her up, hold her tightly against me.
But I don’t. I don’t have the right. Not yet.
"Your mom asked me to pick up a couple of things at Mabel's for tomorrow,” Wendy tells me as we walk into the kitchen.
Mabel's. Right, she told me she got a job. Just another thing I didn't care to notice.
"How is that going?"
"My job?" She clarifies, and I nod. "It's great," she beams, the sight making me stumble slightly. I can't... I can't remember the last time she looked that happy, not in the last year at least. My wife is glowing. "Mabel has me looking over the books too, so... it's been really nice."
"Math wiz," I mutter with a teasing smile, and she laughs, blushing slightly.
We place the bags on the counter, and unpack them. The task is so normal, so mundane, and it's silly, but emotion clogs my throat. We work in silence as Wendy puts the cold items in the fridge and I handle the pantry.
"I'm happy for you, Wendy," I tell her, and she turns from the fridge. She looks at me for a long moment before she grins.
"Thank you, Atlas," she says, sounding moved by my words.
The moment lingers between us, both smiling at each other, before she clears her throat and focuses back on stocking vegetables in the fridge.
Mom always makes dinner on Christmas Eve. Wendy and the boys will be coming over tomorrow. Anxiety twists my gut at the thought of seeing my sons.
Noah's wariness, Liam's irritation.
Inhale, hold, exhale.
When we're done, we stand in silence for a bit, the moment stretching until it becomes uncomfortable.
Fuck, I've known Wendy since we were kids, and it's never felt uncomfortable between us. We've always been able to just exist together, completely at ease.
I also know I'm delaying the inevitable.
"If..." I start, my voice cracking slightly. She looks at me, her eyes softening and giving me the courage to speak.
"Could we talk?"
Her eyebrows raise, "Oh."
"Do you have to go get the boys? Because we can talk later."
She laughs, "No, Noah's with Taylor, and Liam's at his friend Birdie's house—"
"Birdie?" I ask, raising an eyebrow in amusement. A girl?
"Yeah, she's his best friend,” Wendy smiles. “A real sweetheart."
"Are they..." I trail off with a grin.
"He's fourteen," she shrugs, glancing down with a fond smile on her face. "We were twelve."
The words warm me, and I smile. Our young love survived time, because even if we're not together, it still survives.
I love Wendy, always have, always will.
We walk into the living room, and Wendy sits at her normal spot on the couch. I pause, motioning to ask if I could sit next to her.
Only after a moment's hesitation, she nods, and I ease myself down. I catch her scent in my nose, and the warm vanilla wraps around me like a blanket.
God, I've missed that. I've missed her.
"How are you feeling?" She asks me, catching me by surprise. Her expression is open, curious, and so kind.
"I'm... I'm doing better," I say honestly. "The rehab really helped me. I feel more in control now..."
"You look better," she observes with a true smile.
I blink. "I do?"
"You seem less tense."
"You look..." A million adjectives battle their way out of my mouth, and I land on, "Beautiful."
She blushes, and after all these years, I feel proud and so fucking happy that I can still make her blush. "Thank you, Atlas."
"Not just your appearance," I say, clarifying. "You're always beautiful, but... you seem different—in a good way."
"I feel different. I feel... new," she admits, huffing a laugh. "I feel more confident in myself."
I smile, genuinely happy even though I ache to just reach out and pull her in my arms.
My wife is within a foot of me, and I don't have permission to touch her, kiss her, or hold her.
"The boys and I have been seeing a family therapist," she says, her voice soft. She hesitates before adding, "And... I've been seeing someone."
The world stops. My heart sinks into my stomach at those words, dread flooding my entire body.
Is she seeing someone? Am I too late? She's already found someone who will cherish her when I didn't? Did they meet at the store? Did she introduce him to our sons?
Dread turns to jealousy that spreads hot and fast in my chest, before Wendy's green eyes widen.
"Oh, no Atlas—a therapist! I'm seeing a therapist. Not a man—I'm not dating anyone, we're still married—separated—but... I'm not interested in that. I'm focused on the boys and myself."
Relief floods me and I place my hand over my heart. "Sorry, I just... we're not... together anymo—"
"But, we're still married," she cuts me off, her voice trembling on the last word. She shrugs. "That still means something to me, Atlas. I'm... I'm going to support you through this. Whatever you need."
I don't deserve it, but fuck—I'm not selfless enough to not accept it. I can't believe she's still here after the way I've treated her.
She's still here, looking at me with those big green eyes and a soft smile and pledging her support and loyalty.
I'll be damned if I take that for granted.
"Thank you, baby."
Her expression melts for a brief moment before she blinks and straightens in her seat. I clear my throat and ask, "How are the boys?"
She exhales, "They're good. Liam had a good time at his birthday party. It was just pizza and cake at the house. And all of his friends. Loud, but he had a good time."
"Good, I'm glad," I reply, despite the ache in my chest.
I missed my son's fourteenth birthday. I know Wendy had it covered; she has all the kids' activities, parties, field trips, homework, projects, and...
Jesus, now I just feel worse, leaving her with all of that, even before going away to rehab. I left her to raise our two boys on her own.
Dr. Mason's words crack through my brain: remember, but don't dwell, learn and change.
Now comes the hard part.
"I want to... I want to talk to you about why," I say, and she tenses, but takes a deep breath and nods her head. I correct myself, "I want to tell you why, Wendy."
"Of course," she nods, folding her hands in her lap and focusing all of her attention on me.
I feel as though I'm at the top of a cliff, staring down at the water. It's far down, I'm high up, and this is probably going to hurt, but it's not going to kill me, and the relief when I'm down will be good. I know that. The same relief I felt when I unburdened myself to my doctors.
This is my wife. She, above all else, deserves to know.
"I want to start from the beginning. It was... it all started with Carrie's death..."
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Wendy's face is in her hands as she sobs.
I feel the same way I did before, drained and empty, but also light. Like the weight that had been pressing on my chest was finally lifted.