Fifty-five #2
He turned, drawing his knee onto the couch and sliding his hand, palm upward, between us as a silent offering. I slipped my fingers into his, thankful he wanted to hold my hand after everything I’d done. “I want to respond to a few things you said.”
I squeezed, cueing him to proceed.
“First of all, you thinking you caused this separation by leaving is not real.” He shook his head, his expression clouding with a deep sadness that made me want to curl into the crook of his neck and hold him.
“I caused this, okay? We need to get that straight in our heads before we continue because I don’t want you carrying guilt for walking away.
It’s the only reason I finally woke up, Sarah.
” His cheek feathered as he wrestled his emotion back.
“I know the past month was painful for both of us in different ways, but I needed it. Even though I would take back everything I said, or at least would say it differently than I did, I still was advocating for something I truly needed. I didn’t understand why I needed space at the time, but I know why now. ”
“Why then? Tell me.”
His inhale trembled. “It sounds silly to use the term self-fulfilling prophecy, but I was living out what I believed. I told myself I could never be what you needed, or even wanted, and that I wasn’t good for you anymore.
I told myself I was a worthless deadweight and couldn’t give you the beautiful life I wanted you to have.
I told myself I could never be a parent or competent partner.
I was convinced that you needed to just find someone else. ”
He interrupted himself with a soft, disbelieving huff.
“I laid in the fifth wheel for three days after you left. I would’ve stayed there—wasting away and feeling sorry for myself—if it wasn’t for Tag and Jesse and Cooper.
All three of them came down to the fifth wheel, ganged-up on me, and told me to find a new place to live or move to the bunkhouse and start working the ranch.
Of course, as a man, my pride got tangled up in that and I didn’t have any place else to go, so…
” He shrugged. “I started working.” A laugh almost escaped his smile.
“You know what they had me doing the very first day?”
I shook my head, forgetting momentarily he couldn’t see that response.
“Throwing hay bales—hundreds of them. We followed a truck back and forth across a field for miles, throwing bales into the trailer. My hands were blistered and bleeding and I was so tired I could hardly walk straight. But early the next morning, Cooper handed me a pitchfork and wouldn’t even give me gloves.
No one did anything for me. No one lifted a finger.
No one comforted me on my bad days. For a straight week, I almost fell asleep in my dinner plate every night.
“But that was exactly what I needed. Pretty soon, I was doing tasks alone. I did all the grooming by myself and had areas of responsibility. I spent free time with my family or Cooper. I helped my sisters around the bed and breakfast and got to know my nieces and nephew. I even helped Tag and Bea make some financial decisions. I started riding horses. Then good old Cooper let me train and get up on a bucking horse. Every single one of those things made me feel…like a human again.” His eyes misted with tears.
“Like a man. Like someone who had something to give to the world. They made me feel powerful and capable. And as much as you love me, you never could’ve given me that.
I had to prove to myself I could be something better.
And the cowboys gave me a huge serving of tough love by forcing me to put the work in.
I will always owe them.” His voice choked off.
“They saved my life, and hopefully—hopefully my marriage, too.”
He lifted my hand as if he wanted to place a kiss on my knuckles, but thought better of it, easing our hands back to the leather.
His brow was furrowed, tortured at his confession.
“The only thing I regret is that I hurt you so much in the process. And that I essentially abandoned you while I floundered for so many months. If I could change that part of this, I would.” His voice scraped. “I’m so sorry, Sarah.”
He sniffed and continued. “The other thing I wanted to respond to…when you were talking about your mom, you said she was looking right through you, like you didn’t exist. And then you said you started to feel like that with me, too.”
A vice gripped my throat, my breaths wheezing through the pain.
He pressed his lips together, distraught.
“I stopped seeing you, and that might be the thing I regret most of all. That I got so focused on myself I made you fight your demons every day to stand beside me.” He shook his head, a tear carving a path down his cheek. “You deserve a lot better than that.”
I reached up and touched his face, swiping my thumb over the trail of his tear. He leaned into my hand with a soft puff of laughter. “It’s ironic that a blind man’s wife is scared of not being seen—of being looked over and invisible to the people she loves.”
Him so easily striking the nail on the head was indicative of our many years together.
Something in my stomach spiraled, unraveled.
Deep within me, all the way down to my genetic coding, lurked an ingrained tendency to follow in my mother’s footsteps.
To follow her fear and selfishness. To obsess over a man in order to feel safe, while never actually loving him.
But I was not my mother.
And Peter was not my father.
Martha was right.
Loving a good man was a beautiful way to spend my life.
He grabbed my wrist, holding my hand against his cheek so he could press a gentle kiss to my palm.
“The darkness of being blind cannot hold a candle to the darkness of feeling like I lost you forever, Sarah.” He blinked, sending another tear down his opposite cheek.
“I was pitying myself for all the wrong reasons. I still had you. And you have brought more light to my life than any sun ever could. I love you, Sarah. Please forgive me.”
I stared into the eyes I loved so much. “Yes, Peter. I forgive you. But I need you to forgive me, too.”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Yes, there is.” Taking a deep, steadying breath, I poured out my regrets.
My impatience. My irritation. The ugly things I’d said.
The burdens I’d handed him. And my stubborn unwillingness to surrender the timeline of my hopes and dreams. “I promised to love you through the best and worst, but I didn’t. Please forgive me, Peter.”
His hands cupped both my cheeks as he pulled me closer. “Sarah, I forgive you.”
I exhaled with relief.
He dropped his forehead to mine. For a moment, we just sat there, touching each other, breathing the same air.
This would be the perfect time to kiss him.
All we had to do was lean forward a couple inches—already so close.
A deep yearning for his skin on mine sent a bolt of heat through my torso, tightening me.
When he wet his lips, I figured he was thinking of all the same things.
But then I remembered he kissed someone else and as much as I loved him, I still didn’t know how to act with that looming between us.
As soon as I thought of the other kiss, I pulled away.
Peter’s hands dropped, letting me go.
Trying to distract my panicked thoughts about the women from the bar, I looked at our now-cold drinks. “We forgot our coffee.”
“Let me get you some fresh.” Grabbing our mugs, he went back to the counter, dumping and refilling our mugs.
When he sat back down, we started on our food.
And talked again for a long, long time.