Chapter Thirty-Six #2
"I have to say something, and I want you to listen and not interrupt, because I know you're going to want to. Okay?"
Wendy frowns in confusion, but she still nods. "Okay..."
"I neglected you, Wendy."
She opens her mouth, but I shoot her a look that makes her snap it closed.
"I erased you from my life, and that's not right. I didn't talk about you when I should have been singing your praises from every rooftop in Mercy Ridge. I gaslit you about couples therapy. I snapped at you, yelled at you, and made you feel small."
A tear tracks down Wendy's cheek, and my hands itch to reach out, cup her face, and kiss it away. But I don't think I'd be able to get the words out if I did. And I don't want to try to soften or sweeten my words with gestures. She needs to hear the words, from my mouth, the truth laid bare.
She needs to see my face, my regret, my love.
"I am so sorry, Wendy. Not sorry just because you felt that, but sorry because I did it.
I made you feel that way. And I say now, as serious as I take our wedding vows, that I will never make you feel that way again.
I will love and honor and cherish you every single day, for the rest of our lives.
I won't let the fear I have of losing you override my love for you.
I will treat you like every day is our last, because it might be.
I cannot control that, but I can control how I treat you and our children while we're together. "
Wendy stares at me for a long moment. Her brows are pinched, and her mouth is in a tremulous line, but she looks thoughtful as she processes my words.
She inhales deeply through her nose and squares her shoulders.
"You did," she says, her voice firm. "You treated me awfully."
"I did," I nod, gesturing in a come-on motion with my hands. "Let me have it."
"Atlas, that year was..." she shakes her head, her face pinching even tighter.
She grounds out, "I felt so alone. I felt like I wasn't doing anything right, but I couldn't figure out what.
I felt taken advantage of, doing all of this work, wearing all of these different hats, and being so damn exhausted at the end of the day just to come to bed and.
.. you were either not there, or sleeping as far away from me as you could, like I was diseased! "
I flinch at that, but I let her continue. She needs to say this and let it out.
Her pretty little heels click against the hardwood as she paces back and forth.
"I felt ugly, Atlas. You wouldn't even look at me—I even bought new lingerie for after our couples therapy. I felt like an idiot taking it off that night after you acted like you had no idea where I was!"
Her broken face hits me right in the gut. I didn't know about that, about the lingerie. She's never, for a single second, been ugly.
Not when she was hours deep in labor, not when she's sick with the flu, never—but I made her feel like that.
"I questioned every single move I made. What was it that I did? But I didn't do anything. It was this event that I wasn't even aware of, but I took it upon myself because I just thought I was the problem. And every time I think of how you were struggling, I get so sad..."
She closes her eyes, and her face shudders slightly. "And then I think of how I was treated, and I get so angry. But I don't want to feel that anger—"
"You should, though," I gently cut in, her eyes snapping open as I step closer to her. "You deserve to feel angry."
"I deserve to feel angry," she whispers, before repeating, with welcomed irritation bleeding into her tone. "I deserve to feel angry! For being neglected. For being ignored. For being erased."
I nod, encouraging her.
"You erased me. You didn't have any pictures up in your office; it was like we didn't even exist. I trust that you weren't flirting with Aubree. I trust that you weren't flirting with anyone... but feeling erased like that really hurt me, Atlas."
"I know, baby," I whisper, nodding. She stops pacing and turns to me. I hold my hands out between us, and she looks at them before placing hers in them. I close my hands around hers and gently squeeze. "Never again. I am so, so fucking sorry."
She glances at our joined hands before locking on my eyes.
"I love you, Wendy. You are my entire world."
Wendy stares at me for a long moment before she gives me a small smile.
"I forgive you, Atlas."
Forgiveness.
It's not something I was actively seeking, because Dr. Wilson told me that forgiveness isn't owed to me by anyone I've hurt; it's always up to the ones I've hurt to give.
Forgiveness is personal. Some people have a larger capacity for it; others do not. I certainly don't forgive myself, not yet.
But my wife is kind and loving, and she forgives me, and I will never, ever take her for granted again.
Whatever coil that remained wrapped around my body finally loosens. I feel almost weightless as I look into my wife's eyes.
She has a small smile on her lips as she gazes back at me, and I bring our joined hands to my mouth, pressing long kisses to her soft skin and breathing in her scent.
My wife, my Wendy.
Wendy looks just as affected by the forgiveness, her shoulders dropping and her fingers flexing in mine.
"I love you, Atlas."
Her words hit me like a bolt of lightning, jolting my entire body.
All of my nerve endings, all of my tendons, my veins, right to my bones. I feel those words sink deep in my marrow, into my fucking DNA.
Because that is my purpose on this earth—to belong to this extraordinary woman.
I don't know if soulmates exist, but I do know that if they do, Wendy is mine, and I am hers.
And that's a fact, not a feeling, not fear, and it can't be washed away from the intrusive thoughts in my brain.
No matter what, I love Wendy, and she loves me.
She moves first, but I follow.
I always will.
My hands come up to gently cradle her face as she presses her lips to mine.
Her words were electric, but her lips are pure fire, soft and warm and moving against mine in a rhythm that's all our own.
When was the last time I kissed her? Really kissed her, not just a quick peck before I rushed out the door. I can't even remember, and that's a problem, because my Wendy deserves to be kissed, to be adored every second of every day.
So, I'll make that a new mission. Morris' words echo in my brain—I'm going to kiss my wife as if every single time is the last.
Wendy's plush lips feel fucking amazing, but I pull back because my pants have become uncomfortably tight and I want to take her to dinner.
This isn't about just cherishing Wendy's body; this is about cherishing her soul.
We pant against each other's mouths, trying to catch our breath while unable to stop placing soft, delicate pecks on each other’s lips, greedy for what I've starved us of.
My heart slows from pounding against my ribcage to a gentle thrum in my chest, and I can feel hers beating almost in sync with mine.
"Come on, baby," I say, pressing one last lingering kiss on her lips. "We've got dinner plans."