“Forever.” I look away and return to rummaging in a drawer for my final necessities. “You’re leaving me?” she asks, her voice strained with emotion. She swallows, audibly trying to control her tears. “Is there someone else? Am I not enough?”
Her question splits me open. Of course she’s enough. She’s amazing. But she can’t be the one to piece me back together. For all her strengths, she can’t fix this.
My heart aches. She was my world. But worlds change, and people fracture. Ours started long before now. Back then, I thought I had time, we had time. Maybe I should have fought harder, like she’s fighting now. But maybe I should have been brave enough to walk away.
I turn and walk toward her, then take both her hands in mine.
“There’s no one else, but there will be.” Tears fill her eyes, but I soldier on. I need to be honest. “Having a child is non-negotiable for me. I need to be a father, and I’m running out of time. As much as I want it to, it’s not going to happen with you, and I have to move on. It’s the only way for me to realize my dream.”
“But,” she stammers, “you’re my soulmate.”
Her grip tightens on my hands, and I pull them from her then take a decisive step back. She moves toward me, and I hold my hand up in protest.
“No,” I bark, sharper than I intend.
She recoils. My rebuke hurts me as much as it hurts her, but I can’t stop. I need to make this final before I lose my nerve.
“I can’t waste any more time on our marriage. You have your life and dreams all figured out. Mine are reduced to dust. I’m leaving, and I’m filing for divorce.”
My resolve wavers for a moment. I witness her heart break in front of me, and mine shatters with it. I’ve loved her since long before we were together. I love her now. But love isn’t enough. Not anymore. This is something that must happen.
I won’t become the man who resents his wife on his deathbed for something outside her control. The way I’ve justified this to myself is being cruel to be kind. Or perhaps just selfish. Either way, I’m taking this step.
“Now, I’m leaving. I won’t be back. Move out of my way.” I zip my suitcase closed and lift it from the bed. She retreats from my space and goes to sit where the suitcase once was.
I march to the doorway and take one final look at my old life. My beloved wife sits on the edge of our marital bed and sobs into her hands.
Guilt, pain, and fear hit, but if I don’t take this step, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. I whisper an apology she can’t hear and close the chapter with the door.
Chapter seventeen
Amy
Terry left hours ago, and I sit in the same position as when he walked away. My bare feet are chilled against the cold laminate floor. Numbness climbs my shins like ivy.
I tried to stand, but my legs gave way, and I fell back onto the mattress. The sun has gone down; our bedroom is veiled in darkness. The only light comes from the stingy streetlight outside our window. Day slid to night without asking.
Our bedroom door is firmly closed. Terry shut it behind him. He’ll come back; he has to. But in my heart, I know he won’t. My breath waits for a key that won’t turn.
Being a father is non-negotiable for me, Amy.Sometimes love just isn’t enough; sometimes one person must walk away to realize their dream. His words loop until they grate inside my skull. Vicious. Raw. Truthful.
I’ve watched discontent harden him, grain by grain. In recent months, he has become more conscious of his ageing body and reduced opportunities.
Before Christmas, I encouraged him to apply for a role in an amateur drama production ofBeauty and the Beast. They cut him before the warm-ups were done. His confidence plummeted.
Terry hasn’t been on stage for years, but I hoped I could reignite his passion for theater. He returned home that day, told me it had been a disaster, and never mentioned it again. Back then, I told him it was one audition. Tonight, it feels like an insight into our destruction.
Goosebumps prickle my skin. The heating hasn’t kicked in like it normally would. Resolving myself to move, I push up from the bed and make my way to the boiler. It sits in the corner of our kitchen, hidden behind a white cupboard door. I squint at the control screen. ERROR flashes across it.
For fuck’s sake, this is all I need. The brochure is wedged beside the boiler, covered in grime and dust. I flick aimlessly through the pages and give up. I need to sleep. Or at least close my eyes and not think. Returning to my bedroom, I crawl under the covers fully clothed and cry myself empty.
The following morning, I emerge from my duvet cocoon. The spring sunshine streams in the window. For a stupid second, I think I dreamed it.
“Terry,” I call. “Terry, where are you?”
Silence.
Sitting up, I glance around the room. His stuff is gone. It happened. He packed up and walked away from me. He walked away over a situation that is completely out of my control. My heart aches; my mind hisses. The wardrobe sits open, ransacked like we were robbed.
