My wife is within a foot of me, and I don't have permission to touch her, kiss her, or hold her.
"The boys and I have been seeing a family therapist," she says, her voice soft. She hesitates before adding, "And... I've been seeing someone."
The world stops. My heart sinks into my stomach at those words, dread flooding my entire body.
Is she seeing someone? Am I too late? She's already found someone who will cherish her when I didn't? Did they meet at the store? Did she introduce him to our sons?
Dread turns to jealousy that spreads hot and fast in my chest, before Wendy's green eyes widen.
"Oh, no Atlas—a therapist!I'm seeing a therapist. Not a man—I'm not dating anyone, we're still married—separated—but... I'm not interested in that. I'm focused on the boys and myself."
Relief floods me and I place my hand over my heart. "Sorry, I just... we're not... together anymo—"
"But, we're still married," she cuts me off, her voice trembling on the last word. She shrugs. "That still means something to me, Atlas. I'm... I'm going to support you through this. Whatever you need."
I don't deserve it, but fuck—I'm not selfless enough to not accept it. I can't believe she's still here after the way I've treated her.
She's still here, looking at me with those big green eyes and a soft smile and pledging her support and loyalty.
I'll be damned if I take that for granted.
"Thank you, baby."
Her expression melts for a brief moment before she blinks and straightens in her seat. I clear my throat and ask, "How are the boys?"
She exhales, "They're good. Liam had a good time at his birthday party. It was just pizza and cake at the house. And all of his friends. Loud, but he had a good time."
"Good, I'm glad," I reply, despite the ache in my chest.
I missed my son's fourteenth birthday. I know Wendy had it covered; she has all the kids' activities, parties, field trips, homework, projects, and...
Jesus, now I just feel worse, leaving her with all of that, even before going away to rehab. I left her to raise our two boys on her own.
Dr. Mason's words crack through my brain:remember, but don't dwell, learn and change.
Now comes the hard part.
"I want to... I want to talk to you aboutwhy,"I say, and she tenses, but takes a deep breath and nods her head. I correct myself, "I want to tell you why, Wendy."
"Of course," she nods, folding her hands in her lap and focusing all of her attention on me.
I feel as though I'm at the top of a cliff, staring down at the water. It's far down, I'm high up, and this is probably going to hurt, but it's not going to kill me, and the relief when I'm down will be good. I know that. The same relief I felt when I unburdened myself to my doctors.
This is my wife. She, above all else, deserves to know.
"I want to start from the beginning. It was... it all started with Carrie's death..."
???
Wendy's face is in her hands as she sobs.
I feel the same way I did before, drained and empty, but alsolight. Like the weight that had been pressing on my chest was finally lifted.
But, as I stare at my wife crying, I hate that I had to make her feel like this. I hate that I've had to make her cry so much. I'll spend the rest of my life making up for every tear.
"Atlas, oh God—honey.”
The wet cheeks and agonized look on her face feel like a kick to my throat. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you had to do that. Oh, my God.Silas...I should have known—I should have seen—honey... honey, why did I not see—"
