If he were any other man, some stranger or even just a boyfriend, I would have kicked him to the curb by now. But this is Lincoln. The man I fell in love with. The man I’ve known most of my life. The man I trusted more than anything… or at least, I used to.
Part of me wants to reach out after him, wants to grab him, kiss him, pleasure him, remind him of who we are, remind him that we’ve survived every storm so far. But I can’t be the only one fighting day in and day out. If I keep chasing him, he's not going to respect me, and the fact that he even pulled what he did tonight, and what he’s been doing lately, tells me I messed up somewhere in showing my worth.
For the rest of the night, I try not to lose my mind imagining Lincoln having sex with Sarah. I try to convince myself that despite all his ignorance, he would never do that to me… even though I know it's possible.
But he's not that far gone. Not yet.
-??-
Chapter 13
I wake up in our bed feeling completely drained, my body heavy from a night of barely any sleep. My eyes burn. My head aches. Everything inside me feels bruised.
When I drag myself down the hallway toward the living room, the smell hits me before I even see him. Eggs. Bacon. Pancakes. Hot chocolate. All of it blending into something warm and sweet drifting through the house.
For a moment, just a single stupid moment, I think he ordered breakfast from somewhere nice. But when I step into the kitchen, Lincoln is standing there finishing up a plate, spatula in hand.
He turns around and sees me, shock in his eyes.
"Damn it," he exclaims with a small smile, "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed. I was trying to hurry and get it all done."
I don’t respond. Not one word. He was horrible to me last night. Absolutely horrible. I don’t even want to look at him, let alone talk to him. Why should I? After all, he clearly prefers talking to Sarah.
A petty part of me wants to snap,I thought you were making this breakfast for Sarah.But I refuse to make myself look any more pathetic than I already feel.
He quickly pulls out a seat for me, trying so hard to butter me up. I don’t have the energy to even fake a smile, so I sit stiffly. He serves a plate with fluffy pancakes, his signature ones, fresh strawberries, and my favorite mug, the pink bunny one, filled with hot chocolate and marshmallows.
He really went all out.
I chance a look up at him, then drop my eyes back down to my food. My appetite is nowhere to be found. I don’t know what to say. I said everything I needed to say last night.
He sits directly across from me, and we eat in silence. Or pretend to. He scarfs his food down quickly, then wipes his mouth.
"I'll clean up everything," he offers.
Why he’s saying that like he expected me to do it, I have no clue. I still say nothing, only managing to eat half of my plate.
"You don't like it?" he asks, his face falling with such pathetic sadness that guilt pricks at me, guilt I have to force myself to ignore.
"I… I don't think I can eat all of this. Sorry."
Lincoln looks downcast. I study him. The man I call my husband, the man I always thought was reliable and safe and loving. And inside the back of my mind, something ugly whispers:Does he do this for Sarah?
Do I actually believe nothing is going on between them?
Is he happier with someone like her?
He reaches across the table slowly, gently taking my hands in his. His fingers warm, his thumb stroking the top of mine.
All I can do is stare. My mouth refuses to move.
"I know that we both said… things to each other," he murmurs, sincerity softening his face, "and I've been really shitty towards you. I'm so sorry. I know it seems as though I've been saying sorry over and over again and the truth is… I don't know what I'm doing. I feel kind of lost right now. But that's not an excuse to push you away, and I realize I've been doing that… and I'm so sorry."
I just watch him. Is he actually sincere?
We’ve had this conversation before. Repeatedly.
I want to ask a million questions, but I don’t have the emotional strength to even form one.
