Chapter 28
Mason
The mini vacation was exactly what we needed.
Room service in bed. A heated pool. No alarms. No schedules. Just Megan, a TV we barely watched, and the kind of quiet that only shows up when you step away from real life for a minute.
We got home yesterday afternoon, still lazy, still lingering in that vacation bubble. Sunday crept in quick though.
I wake up before her this morning. She’s still out cold when I slip from the bed, hair fanned across the pillow, breathing deep and even. I pause longer than necessary, just watching her, then quietly pull on shorts and head downstairs.
I started the coffee, went for a quick run down the main drive and back. Silly goal, but I wanted to beat the coffee maker. I did. So I feel accomplished, and it’s not even seven a.m.
Megan comes downstairs a few minutes later, hair messy, eyes soft with sleep. I’ve got waffles stacked on plates and sausage thirty seconds away from being done.
“This is why Sundays are my favorite,” she says, smiling.
“Yeah? Well, I hope the smell woke you up and not me dropping the entire bag of chocolate chips on the floor.”
She snickers. “Can I say it was both?”
I sigh, laughing under it. “Sorry.”
We sit down together, plates full. She steals the crispiest sausage and drowns her waffles in syrup.
We eat in silence; not the weird or awkward kind, just the easy, comfortable kind.
When we’re done, we move around the kitchen together, clearing plates and wiping counters, bumping into each other once or twice.
Afterward, I head upstairs to shower, leaving the door cracked like always, knowing Megan usually wanders in halfway through to do her hair and makeup.
But when I step out, the bathroom’s empty. I grab my towel, dry off, and wrap it around my waist before glancing in the bedroom. Empty. Maybe she’s using the bathroom downstairs.
I get dressed in jeans, a button-up, nice boots, because we need to leave in about thirty minutes. I head downstairs to see where she is.
Not on the couch. Not in the kitchen. Then I see her.
She’s on the back porch, blanket over her legs, coffee in one hand, phone in the other. Just…scrolling.
I slide the door open. “Hey.”
“Hi.” She doesn’t look at me.
“Church is in an hour, babe.”
“I know.”
She says it calmly. Too calmly. The kind of calm she gets right before she shuts down completely.
I step past the threshold, completely outside now, my boots thudding against the wood deck. Fifteen minutes ago she was smiling, now her face is blank. No emotion. No spark. Like if I told a joke, she wouldn’t even blink.
“What’s wrong?”
She swallows once, eyes fixed straight ahead.
“I’m not going.”
I sit down beside her, my knee brushing hers and letting out a slow sigh.
“Talk to me.”
“I don’t want to see people.”
“Why?”
“Because happy people are triggering.”
“Oh my gosh…” The words slip out under my breath, more irritated than I meant. Her head snaps toward me, and just like that, my stomach drops.
“What?” she asks. Voice sharpening, she repeats, “What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head, instantly wishing I could take the tone back.
“No. Clearly you have an opinion—so what is it?”
I exhale hard, running a hand over my jaw. “I just…I don’t understand how happy people are triggering. So…what? You wanna be around sad and angry people instead?”
“Yes!” she fires back. “I want to be around people who aren’t all great all the time.”
“You think everyone at church has some perfect life or something?”
“Well, they sure act like it.”
“Well, clearly you’re not talking to people,” I say, frustration tightening my voice.
“Because every time I talk to anyone there, they’re not bragging about life being so great.
They’ve got stuff going on too—work, money, holiday stress, family drama—everyone’s got it, Megan. They’re just not gonna advertise it.”
“Well, it seems fake,” she snaps.
“They’re not fake,” I shoot back. “They’re just thinking more positive than you, I guess.”
Her jaw drops slowly, disbelieving. But, I mean, it’s true. She’s not thinking positively. Lately she rarely does.
Megan stands up, blanket in one arm, coffee and phone in the other, and brushes past me toward the door without another word.
“I’m just being honest,” I call after her. “That’s all.”
She spins around, eyes sharp. “No. You’re being rude.”
“Alright.” I shrug, not backing down. “It came out blunt. Fine. But I’m not wrong, Megan. You are stuck in a negative mindset. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Oh.” She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh wow.”
“What?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“So I’m negative. Got it.”
“I said mindset, not you. Don’t twist it.”
“Same thing!”
“It’s not,” I insist.
We stare at each other, both breathing sharp, neither budging.
She shakes her head, tears gathering. “You don’t get it. You act like I’m choosing to feel like this.”
“And you act like I’m not in it with you,” I fire back, standing now.
“That’s not what I said—”
“But it’s how you act,” I cut in, heat rising up my neck. “Like you’re the only one hurting. Like you’re the only one carrying this.”
Her lashes flutter in disbelief.
“You just… It’s always your pain. Your fear. Your disappointment.”
She blinks.
“It’s wearing on me too, Megan.”
Silence.
“I’m the guy,” I add, hand pressing to my chest. “I’m the one who’s supposed to make it happen. And it’s not happening. So don’t stand here and act like it’s all you.”
Her lips part, but nothing comes out.
“It’s wrecking me.” I press on, “Every single month I watch you fall apart, and all I can think is, Why can’t I fix this? Why can’t I give her what she wants?”
“Mason…” she whispers, but I’m already in it too deep to stop.
“I try to make up for it too. God knows I do. I wake up every day thinking about you. Thinking about making you happy. Making you smile. Making your life easier. Because that’s what I want.
That’s what I love. So when I can’t make this one thing happen?
” I shake my head, throat burning. “Yeah. It’s freakin’ wrecking me. Right alongside you.”
Her eyes fill immediately—shock, guilt, heartbreak…
all tangled together. But she doesn’t say anything, she just looks down, tears streaming down her cheeks, hitting her shirt.
My heart knows I should hug her, console her, but my body doesn’t let me.
I just stand here, chest rising and falling, all of it finally out in the open between us, raw and unfiltered, like the truth had been rattling around in me too long to keep quiet anymore.
“You wanna go to church or not?” I ask, taking one step forward. She shakes her head and sniffles.
“Okay. Well…” I clear my throat. “I need it today. So I’m going.” I step past her into the house. I don’t shut the door behind me, just in case she has something else to say.
I fill a coffee to go, grab my phone, grab my keys, and leave.
* * *
I slip into my usual spot, right beside Cody, and the rest of the family follows down the pew. Almost all of them give me a face, wondering where Megan is without saying. I just gesture my hand to not ask and that’s she’s fine. Even though she’s not fine.
The sanctuary is cool and bright, sunlight pushing through the stained glass windows. People settle in around me, families filling in spaces.
Normally, this place feels steady. Like the one spot in the world that calms the noise in my head.
Today? I feel like I walked in here missing something important. Probably because I did.
Pastor Charlie begins with a prayer, voice low, intentional. I bow my head, but instead of paying attention, all I see behind my eyes is Megan on the porch, tears sliding down her cheeks.
Tears I caused. God, I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I run a hand over my jaw and try to focus.
The sermon’s about patience in suffering and bearing one another’s burdens. Of course.
Everything he says feels like he’s aiming straight for me.
I think about everything I’m carrying—the fear, the pressure, the quiet ache of month after month of disappointment—and how fast I let it twist into defensiveness instead of compassion.
And then I think about her hurt. How she’s probably sitting on the porch right now thinking she ruined the whole day.
God, I’m supposed to be her safe place.
Not…whatever the hell I was this morning.
People laugh softly at something the pastor says, but it passes right over me. I stare down at my hands, and for the first time in a long time, I feel ashamed.
I should’ve held her. I should’ve taken a deep breath instead of snapping like a damn rubber band.
When the closing prayer starts, I bow my head again. This time with more intention.
Lord…help me fix this. Help me be better.
When the final amen echoes around the sanctuary, everyone rises, chatting and stretching, kids running down the aisle. Normal Sunday energy.
And I feel…heavy. Clearer, but heavy.
I walk out of the pew before anyone in my family can ask any questions, and I leave.
* * *
When I get home, she’s curled on the couch under a blanket, staring at nothing. Not watching TV. Not on her phone. Just…lying there.
“Hey,” I say quietly, shutting the door behind me.
She doesn’t look up right away, but when she does, her eyes are softer than I deserve.
“Hi.” Her voice is small.
I move closer. “I, uh…shouldn’t’ve talked to you like that.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” I insist gently. “I was frustrated, but that doesn’t make it okay.” I sit on the edge of the coffee table, facing her. “I should’ve listened better.”
She presses her lips together, then shrugs just slightly. “No, I get it. I didn’t know you were struggling with it as much as I am.”
“Of course I am.” I reach my hand to her leg, resting it there.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize.”
“You don’t need to apologize, Meg…I do, I lost my patience. That never happens and I just hate that I did that to you.”
“It’s okay. I’m not mad.”
“You sure?”
“Promise.”
I nod, throat still a little tight, but I feel better.
She sits up and I sit beside her now. She leans into me, head on my chest, my arms around her, and we sit in silence for a few seconds.
“I would like to go up for lunch; is that something you want to come along to or…?”
“No,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “You can go.”
“They’ll wonder where you are.”
“So tell them.” She looks at me. “Please?”
This is a first. She was hell-bent on not telling anyone anything. But now she’s fine with it?
“I don’t want them to think we’re not doing good or something. So just tell them the truth.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m not gonna be mad. I’m just tired, and I want you to go.”
I study her face for a long moment, trying to read between the lines, but there’s nothing there. She’s being serious.
Finally, I nod.
“Okay,” I say softly. “But I’ll come back right afterward.”
“Okay.” She pulls the blanket tighter and lies back down.
I lean over to kiss her forehead. “I love you,” I murmur.
“Love you too.”
I linger a second longer, like maybe she’ll change her mind and want to come or want me to stay, but she doesn’t move or say anything.
* * *
I walk into the big house, lighter than before, but the question of where Megan is will surely hit any second.
“Hey, where’s Megan?” Mom asks from the sink.
Ella’s stirring something on the stove, and Karissa’s carrying a steaming-hot casserole dish to the table.
“It’s just me today,” I say, trying to act like that’s normal.
The room goes a little quieter. Ella glances back over her shoulder, Karissa slows as she unfolds a towel, and Mom slows as she stirs whatever’s on the stove.
“Is she okay?” Mom asks, her voice soft but serious.
The question hits harder than I expect. I swallow, feeling it settle heavy in my chest. “I don’t know,” I admit. “She’s… We’ve had a rough week.”
Mom nods once, not pushing. “Sorry to hear that,” she says, ending the conversation there. Ella and Karissa don’t say anything; one of them changes the subject to something about pot holders.
I take my usual seat at the table. Megan’s spot is still set beside mine. A napkin folded, silverware placed just right.
Once Dad says the prayer and food starts making its way around the table, the conversations pick up, but I can feel everyone’s eyes on me between bites. They’re wondering. They just don’t want to be the one to ask.
So I clear my throat and set my fork down, looking around at everyone. “We got our ninth negative pregnancy test last week.”
It’s quiet for a beat—too quiet. Then the soft coo of Gage breaks the silence, followed by one of the toddlers whacking a spoon against their tray.
Mom exhales slowly. “Oh, Mason…” she murmurs.
“Sorry to hear that,” Jesse says.
Ella looks to me. “That has to be hard.”
Addison nods. “Yeah, especially with all these babies, and another on the way.” She looks down at her own stomach that’s about ready to pop.
And then, leave it to Cody—mouth full of mashed potatoes—to break the silence. “Maybe you guys aren’t doin’ it right.”
“Cody!” Karissa gasps, smacking his arm.
The whole table erupts with groans, laughter, Mom saying his name in that warning tone, Dad shaking his head.
Leave it to him to cut through the tension with the world’s worst timing.
“Cody, apologize,” Karissa scolds him, her fingers pinching his arm.
“Sorry.” Cody nods, still recovering, but I know he means it.
“It’s all good. I’m pretty positive that isn’t that issue though,” I say.
“Of course it’s not,” Mom insists.
“Hang in there. All in God’s timing,” Dad says, leaning over and patting my shoulder.
“Yeah, tattoo that to my forehead,” I mutter. The line comes out of my mouth nearly every other day.
Mom gives me a sympathetic smile. “We’ll be praying for you two,” she says.
“Thanks.”
“Tell Megan we love her, okay?” Dad insists, and everyone agrees.
“I will.” I nod.