“I didn’t realize all this in a day. I didn’t magically figure it out. I went to rehab. To AA. To therapy. I did the work. And the truth is… it wasn’t about you. Or Milo. Or even work.”
I look her in the eyes, feeling stripped open.
“It was about how I started treating drinking as my only outlet. I didn’t even realize I was doing it.” My voice drops. “So how could you? There weren’t any signs.”
I step closer, lowering my voice even more.
“I need you to hear me, Lore. You didn’t cause this. You didn’t miss anything. I drank because it was easier than facing myself, not because of anything you did or didn’t do.”
Her eyes shine, but she stays quiet.
“Please,” I add softly, “don’t carry guilt that isn’t yours.”
Lore turns away from me, her gaze drifting back to the view, the moon half–hidden behind the mountains, stars scattered like someone threw a handful of diamonds across the sky. The wind lifts her hair, brushing it across her cheek, and she shivers.
Without thinking, I wrap an arm around her and pull her closer, giving her whatever warmth I can. She presses her cheek against my chest, fitting there like she always used to, and for a second, I forget how to breathe.
“Do you think it’s too much?” she asks quietly. “Everything that happened between us?”
“No.” I shake my head immediately, tightening my arm around her. “History is what makes us…us.”
She swallows but still doesn’t look at me.
“Until now,” I continue, staring out at the dark horizon, “I thought night shifts were bad. Milo wanting to sleep with us was an inconvenience. Your past was unimaginable. And now I know-”
I take a deep breath, hating that the next part happened yet glad it wasn’t worse.
“Now I know there way worse things than inconvenience. All the problems we had back then feel… insignificant compared to what came after.”
I close my eyes, picturing it, our old life, the one I didn’t appreciate enough.
“What I wouldn’t give,” I say quietly, “to wake up to our kids sneaking into our bed during a storm again. I wouldn’t even mind the feet in my face. I’d take that any day over empty houses and me-time.”
Lore turns, her cheek brushing my shirt as she looks up at me. Her eyes are full of understanding.
“I thought we had a blessed life,” she whispers. “Like… actually perfect. So, whenever something bad happened, I just swept itunder the rug. Pretended it wasn’t there. I think I did that with your drinking too. Told myself it was temporary stress. You’d snap out of it.” She laughs, small and self-deprecating. “I don’t know why I do that.”
“Do you…” I swallow, nervous to even ask, “want to talk to someone about that?”
“Like a shrink?” she says, raising a brow.
I nod. “I mean, I still see Dr. Brett. Not as often as I should, but I go to AA regularly, I have a sponsor. It’s… nice, actually. Like a support group without bias.”
She wrinkles her nose, thinking. “I did go to a group for a while. But then I got busy and stopped.”
“What group?” I ask, genuinely not remembering.
Her eyes flick away. “A group for people who’ve been… cheated on.”
“Oh.” My chest sinks. “I guess you fit right in.”
She doesn’t respond, just watches the mountains like they’re easier to look at than me.
“You know I’ll never do it again… right?” I say quietly. “I’m not just saying it, ok, I mean it. I-”
“Stop,” she says quickly.
I clamp my jaw shut, inhaling through my nose, and try to steady the panic rising in my chest.
