Chapter 32 #2
"Josh is going to be thrilled," Emilio said, and I could hear satisfaction. "When can you three drive up to Vermont to see the property and start planning specifics?"
"Next weekend, if that works with his schedule," I said, already anticipating the conversation where I'd tell my children that their mother was starting a business with her friends in a different state. "We're ready to stop talking about possibilities and start building something real."
An hour later while I was making dinner and mentally planning how to explain to Devin and Kimberly that I was about to become a business owner in addition to everything else that had changed about their mother's life in the past year, the phone rang.
Brett's name on the caller ID made my blood pressure spike immediately.
He was violating the restraining order by contacting me directly, which meant either he'd decided the legal consequences were worth whatever he wanted to say, or he was desperate enough to risk criminal charges for the chance to manipulate me into something I'd already refused.
I let it ring three times while I decided whether answering would be strategic or stupid. Finally, curiosity won out over caution.
"You're violating the restraining order," I said instead of hello.
"Lauren, please don't hang up," he said, and something in his voice had changed.
He sounded like someone who'd been reduced to begging for things he used to take for granted.
"I know I'm not supposed to call, but I need to talk to you.
Really talk, not through lawyers or children who shouldn't have to carry messages between their parents. "
I could hear something that might have been tears, which would have moved me six months ago but now just made me curious about what manipulation he was planning to attempt.
"What do you want, Brett?" I asked, settling into the kitchen chair that had become my command center for managing crisis and opportunity in equal measure.
"I want our family back," he said, and now I was certain he was crying.
"Lauren, I've made terrible mistakes. I know that.
I know I hurt you and the kids and destroyed everything we built together.
But people can change. I've been going to therapy, working on myself, trying to understand how I became someone capable of betraying the people I love most."
Therapy. Of course. The therapeutic language Devin had quoted when he'd delivered Brett's previous reconciliation attempt. Brett was learning to frame his manipulation as personal growth instead of strategic behavior designed to regain control of the narrative.
"I'm lonely, Lauren," he continued, getting more desperate as he built toward whatever argument he'd prepared for convincing me to destroy my new life for the possibility of rebuilding our old one.
"I miss you. I miss our house, our conversations, the way we used to laugh together before I screwed everything up.
I miss being married to someone who knew me better than I knew myself. "
"You miss being married to someone who managed your life while you conducted affairs with women who thought you were available," I said, feeling anger build in ways that surprised me with their intensity. "You miss the benefits of marriage without the responsibility of being faithful to your wife."
"That's not true," he said. "I miss you. Really miss you, not just the convenience of being married. I wake up every morning in my apartment thinking about coffee in our kitchen and reading the newspaper while you made breakfast. I miss the life we built together."
The life we built together. He was describing my unpaid domestic labor like it was something we'd created collaboratively instead of something I'd provided while he focused on more important priorities like career advancement and affair management.
"Could I come home for the weekend?" He asked, shifting to something that sounded like a child asking permission for something he already knew was inappropriate.
"Just to see if maybe we could talk about trying again?
I know it's a lot to ask, but Lauren, I'm dying here. I can't live without my family."
He couldn't live without his family. Not his wife specifically, but his family.
The structure that had provided him with domestic comfort and social respectability while he pursued excitement elsewhere.
Brett missed being married the way he missed any other luxury that had been taken away when his deception was finally exposed.
"Brett," I said, and something must have warned him that whatever he was hoping for wasn't going to happen.
"I need you to listen to me very closely.
We are never getting back together. Not this weekend, not after more therapy, not if you grovel for the next ten years.
Our marriage is over because you destroyed it while I was trying to save it. "
"But Lauren…"
"I'm hanging up now," I said, cutting off whatever additional manipulation he'd prepared to deploy. "Don't call me again. Don't contact me through the children. Don't show up at the house or my apartment or my speaking events or anywhere else I might be. We're done, Brett. We're done."
I ended the call and blocked his number, feeling something like relief that had nothing to do with avoiding his emotional manipulation and everything to do with finally being able to articulate exactly how finished I was with being married to someone who'd confused control with love.
The restraining order would ensure there were legal consequences if he tried to contact me again, but I doubted he'd risk criminal charges for the chance to continue begging for something I'd already given him a clear answer about.
Brett was calculating enough to recognize when a strategy wasn't working and move on to approaches that might be more successful.
Dinner felt peaceful in ways that had nothing to do with the food and everything to do with eating in a space that belonged entirely to me, making decisions about my evening based on what I wanted instead of what someone else required for their emotional maintenance.
Kimberly appeared in the kitchen at seven-thirty, home for spring break and radiating satisfaction that came from surviving another semester of organic chemistry without poisoning herself or anyone else.
"How was your day?" she asked, settling across from me. "You look like someone who's been planning something interesting."