Chapter 7 #2
If he’d stopped loving me, maybe I could have understood. If he’d wanted out of our marriage, maybe I could have understood that too. But this, he loved me. I’d seen it in his eyes yesterday. I’d heard it in his voice. He’d meant every word when he’d said he was sorry.
None of it changed what he’d asked.
I looked down at the cards spread across the bed.
Every one of them had been written by the same man.
The same husband who’d promised we’d face everything together.
The same husband who’d once written that I would never face anything alone.
Yesterday, he’d let me face the worst accusation of my life by myself.
I gathered the cards carefully and slipped them back into the envelope.
For a moment I held it against my chest. Then I placed it inside the top drawer of the dresser and closed it.
I wasn’t ready to throw them away. I wasn’t ready to pretend they meant nothing.
They meant everything. That was the problem.
Because I never doubted that Patrick loved me. I simply couldn’t understand how love had become small enough to leave room for doubt.
My phone buzzed for the first time just after lunch. I didn’t need to look at the screen to know who it was. I looked anyway.
Patrick Calling.
My thumb hovered over the answer button. For one impossible second, I imagined picking up. I imagined hearing him say he’d figured everything out, that he’d found whoever had sent the message, that none of it mattered anymore, that we could somehow go back to the couple we’d been yesterday morning.
Instead, I pressed decline. The phone stopped ringing. A few seconds later, it buzzed again.
I’m so sorry. Please talk to me.
I locked the screen without replying. I carried my mug into Hannah’s backyard and sat beneath the shade of the maple tree.
The air was warm. A light breeze stirred the flowers lining the fence.
Normally I’d have noticed how beautiful the afternoon was.
Today I focused on something much smaller. Breathing. In. Out. Slowly.
My hand drifted to my stomach again.
“I know,” I whispered. “I’m trying.”
The phone buzzed. Another text.
Please let me explain.
I turned it face down on the table. There was nothing left to explain. He’d already explained. He’d been scared. Dustin had gotten into his head. He hadn’t been thinking. None of those things changed the question he’d asked, or the hesitation that had come before it.
I closed my eyes. The silence lasted almost ten minutes before my phone buzzed again.
This time it was an email. The subject line read Please read this.
I didn’t. I deleted the notification without opening it.
An hour later, another one appeared. Then another call.
Then another text. Each notification tightened something inside my chest. Not because I wanted to answer.
Because every vibration pulled me back into the worst night of my life.
By the time Hannah came home, I’d turned my phone onto silent. She set the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and looked at me.
“He hasn’t stopped, has he?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“You don’t have to answer.”
“I know.”
She unpacked quietly while I washed strawberries for the refrigerator. For a while neither of us spoke. Finally, I broke the silence.
“I hate that he’s hurting.”
Hannah looked over at me.
“I know.”
“I don’t want him sitting alone thinking I don’t care.”
“You do care.”
“I do.” The admission surprised me. “I still love him.”
She nodded as though she’d never doubted it.
“I know.”
“I don’t want revenge.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want him miserable.”
She placed a carton of milk inside the refrigerator before closing the door.
“But you can’t make his pain disappear.”
“I know.”
“Not without making your own worse.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Every message feels like he’s asking me to comfort him.”
Hannah stayed quiet.
“And I can’t.” My voice cracked. “I don’t have anything left to give him today.”
My phone buzzed again against the table. Neither of us looked at it.
“I feel guilty.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“But I do.”
“Naomi.” She stepped closer. “You walked away because you needed somewhere safe.”
“I know.”
“If every five minutes he reminds you of what happened,” she said, letting the sentence hang, “then he’s asking you to carry his guilt while you’re still carrying your own grief.”
I stared at the floor.
“I hadn’t thought about it like that.”
She squeezed my shoulder gently.
“You don’t owe anyone immediate forgiveness.”
The phone buzzed again. Then again. I picked it up. Six missed calls. Nine text messages. Three emails. Every one of them from Patrick.
My chest tightened. He wasn’t trying to manipulate me. I knew that. He was desperate. He loved me. He wanted to fix what he’d broken. But every message asked something of me. Read this. Answer me. Talk to me. Forgive me. Even if he never used those words.
I opened the message screen. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. For several long moments, I simply stared. Then I began typing.
Please stop trying to make yourself feel better.
I paused. Deleted nothing. Kept going.
I’m trying to figure out how to survive what you did.
I read the message once. There wasn’t any anger in it. Only truth. I pressed send before I could change my mind. The three little dots appeared almost immediately. Patrick was already typing. I didn’t wait to see what he wrote. I turned my phone off completely. The screen went black in my hand.
For the first time since leaving home, the silence returned. Real silence, not the constant interruption of calls and messages. Just the quiet hum of Hannah’s house. The ticking clock in the hallway. The birds outside the kitchen window.
I rested both hands over my stomach and let out a slow breath.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Not to Patrick. To the tiny life depending on me. “I’m going to do better.”
Tears filled my eyes again, but they didn’t fall. I’d spent enough time thinking about what I’d lost. This baby deserved a mother who could still see what remained. For today, that meant protecting the only peace I had left, even if protecting it meant shutting out the man I still loved.