Colin looks at me, hurt, pain, and guilt written plainly across his face.
“But I hope that one day I can,” I continue. “For me—not for you. Because I don’t want to live with this bitterness, this pain, this resentment, this anger forever. It eats you alive, Colin. From the inside out.”
I shake my head slightly. “And I don’t want that. Not for me, and not for our children.”
He nods, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t forgive myself. Not now, not ever… not after everything. I don’t even know if there’s anything left I can do to make Ethan talk to me. And Alicia…”
His voice breaks. “She doesn’t even want to see me anymore.”
He drops his head into his hands.
“I don’t deserve forgiveness,” he says finally. “Not from any of you.”
I say nothing. There’s nothing left to say.
He’s finally beginning to understand the damage he caused to our family.
“I’ve been looking into therapists for the kids,” I tell him after a moment. “Felicity recommended one her own therapist suggested, but I’m searching for other options. I want them to start as soon as possible.”
He nods. “That’s good. They’ll need someone they can talk to. Things they won’t want to tell even you.”
“Exactly. It’s about giving them a space to process all of this.” I hesitate. “What about you?”
He frowns. “Me?” Then he lets out a low, bitter laugh. “Therapy isn’t going to fix me, Cecily. I broke this. I have to live with it. And I don’t have the time. Not with everything going on at the company right now.”
I nod. I expected that. Colin has always been a problem-solver—if he can’t fix something his own way, he won’t let anyone else touch it.
“You should still go,” I say. “I’m looking for one for myself too.”
He doesn’t answer — just watches me, like he’s searching for something he can’t quite name.
“How was Christmas Eve?” he asks finally, his voice careful, reaching for safer ground.
“Good,” I say. “Peaceful, actually. Mom outdid herself with dinner. The kids laughed, loved their presents. It was... a nice night.”
He nods slowly, staring out past the porch rail.
“And you? How was yours?”
“Uneventful. Dinner with my parents. The usual people. I left early.”
I don’t need to ask why. His family has always been the opposite of mine—polite to a fault, cold beneath the surface.
Since everything happened, I’ve only heard from his mother once. A carefully worded phone call assuring me that time heals everything.
Time doesn’t heal everything. It just teaches you to live around the wound.
I want to ask him about the one thing neither of us has had the courage to say out loud. The thing that makes the pain and resentment feel even deeper.
The reason our children might never forgive him.
If it’s true... if he’s going to be a father again, I don’t even know how I could ever forgive him for that.
But before I can say a word, the front door creaks open.
Alicia stands there, my mother’s hand resting gently on her shoulder. Colin shoots to his feet so fast the chair nearly tips backward.
“Alicia,” he says, his voice cracking. “You came.”
