“Does that make me a bad person?” I ask.
I want her to answer. Want her to tell me I’m not completely fucked up for thinking this.
Instead she just looks at me. Then quietly says, “But if you married me, you wouldn’t have Ben. So it wasn’t a complete loss.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
Because she’s right.
And because it means I’m sitting here wishing away the marriage that gave me my daughter.
What kind of fatherdoes that?
“I should go,” she says, standing.
“Jess. Please don’t.”
She hesitates.
“I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Then why did you?”
Good fucking question.
“Because it’s true,” I tell her. “And because I’ve been carrying it for five years and I’m tired of pretending I don’t think about it.”
She sighs. “Marco. You can’t change the past.”
“I know.”
“And you can’t wish away your marriage just because it was complicated.”
“I know that, too.”
“Then what do you want me to say?” Her voice softens. “That it’s okay? That you’re not a bad person for wanting someone else?”
“Are you asking or telling?”
She smiles. Just barely. “Both.”
“I guess what I was trying to say is... you matter. Ben matters.”
She nods. “Do you have any of that red wine of yours?”
“The ‘03 Cabernet?” I stand. “That’s all it takes to get on your good side? Done!”
I make a quick dash to the wine cellar, retrieve the Cabernet, and set it on the stand. I pour it into the decanter, and serve us each a glass.
We make small talk while we drink. Safe topics. The cabin trip. Ben’s excitement. The weather forecast.
But underneath it all is the thing we’re not saying.
That wanting each other doesn’t erase the past. It just complicates the present.
By the time we both have a heady buzz, we’ve circled back to easier ground. She’s giggling at something I said about Matteo’s vendetta against truffle oil. Her whole face lights up when she laughs.
I want to freeze this moment. Bottle it. Keep it for when things get hard again.
