Chapter 47
Liz, March 13
“Liz,” the whisper pulls me from my dream. “Liz.” I open my eyes to find Matt sitting on the edge of the bed, fully clothed. I rub my eyes and start to sit up.
“What time —” I stop when I see the box in his hand. “Oh… you found it.”
“Yeah. What’s going on? This was on the table.” Matt doesn’t look angry, just confused. I sit up the rest of the way, sliding my legs aside to make room.
“I found it in the closet,” I admit.
“You weren’t supposed to find it that way, baby. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” His voice is serious, almost heavy.
“You’re never here.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.
“That’s a bit harsh,” he says, looking like I slapped him.
“I’m sorry. But it’s true, Matt. That ring sat on the kitchen table for over 24 hours waiting for you to find my note. Were you even home?” Once I’ve said it, I feel a rush of release, as if a dam inside me has broken.
“I fell asleep at work.”
“You couldn’t call when you woke up?”
“I didn’t think I needed to. You’re not my mother, Liz.”
“No, but apparently you want me to be your wife. How can I be your wife if you don’t even think I warrant a phone call?” My anger is hot in my chest. I can feel it building, knowing if I let go, there’s no holding back the Liz-plosion. I take a deep breath to steady myself.
“We’re on the wrong foot here,” Matt says, noticing what I already knew. “I love you.”
I physically recoil. We’ve never said those words aloud before, and I don’t want them now. I silently wish he could take them back.
“Thank you,” I murmur, weakly. I know it’s not what he wants to hear. His eyes flicker with pain for just a second, then it’s gone. Silence stretches between us, a chasm I fear we may never cross.
“How can I raise this baby alone?” The words escape before I even realize it. I consider repeating them, but decide whether he heard it or not, I don’t have the strength to say them again.
“You’re not alone.” He doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t comfort me. He doesn’t insist that what he says is true. Just whispers the words into the room.
“The hell I’m not!” My anger bursts out. “I cannot marry you. You are married to your fucking job!” I rip the covers back and storm from the room. I freeze just out of sight in the hallway, wishing he’d follow, wrap me in his arms, and promise to do better.
Five minutes pass. Nothing. I turn back into the room. Matt hasn’t moved. He doesn’t look at me, but he knows I’m back.
“I’ll fix this. Give me one chance. I can work less. I will be around more,” he whispers.
I want to make this easy. I want to believe him — but I also need a reason to. I place a hand on my stomach, feel the tiny shift of life there, and I speak aloud. “One chance,” I say, steady and firm.
He nods and leaves the room.
“One chance,” I repeat to the empty space. “We’ll give him one more chance… for you.”