The irritated mask on Liam's face melts away as he nods his head.
She pulls back and smiles, "I love you, baby."
"Love you too, Mama."
"Remember what you said?"
Liam hesitates for a moment before nodding, "I'll try. For me."
Wendy presses a kiss to his head, and his lips curve into a small grin.
"I love you, Noah. Be good for your Daddy," Wendy orders the boys, who nod before Liam rolls up his window.
She walks over to me, her face pinched into worry.
"If you need anything, just call me. Noah's on a blueberry kick now; he likes waffles for breakfast, not pancakes. If you make him lunch, he just likes turkey and cheese with crusts cut off, and those pickled kettle chips from Mabel's. I think your mom has some in her pantry. Liam will eat anything not nailed down. Noah has art class tomorrow at ten, Liam doesn'thave basketball until Monday, so you don't have to worry about him—"
"Wendy,breathe,"I gently cut her off, and she cuts herself off, taking a deep breath.
"I'm sorry, I just—" Wendy says, her glassy eyes going to the backseat where Noah is lying his head on Liam's shoulder, his older brother telling him something to make him laugh. "I'm... I'm going to miss them."
"I'll take care of them," I tell her, slowly stepping closer to her. "I promise, baby."
She looks at me with those big green eyes, her nose and cheeks a little red from the cold, and despite my instincts telling me to get her out of the cold, I just want—need—to be in her presence as much as I can.
Because she's going back to our house, and I'm going back to my parents' house with the boys. I fucking hate every single second that we're not together like we used to be, and I hate even more that I'm the one who caused it.
Sometimes at night, I still reach out for her, seeking her body in the bed next to mine.
I want to pull her close like I used to, pressing my chest against her back, legs tangled together, my arm wrapped around her, and feeling her heart beating against my hand.
I want to press kisses to the back of her neck to wake her up gently like I used to, roll her over, and kiss her. I can't even remember the last time I kissed her as my eyes drop down to her plush lips.
God, I want to. I want to feel her against me, I want to hear her laugh, I want to listen to her talk about her day. I want my wife back.
But first, I need to build trust with my sons.
One step at a time.
"Okay," she breathes, glancing once more back at the boys before meeting my eyes again.
She moves forward, her arms extending like she's going to hug me, and my arms are already opening to excitedly accepther embrace—before her face freezes and her eyes go wide. She stops and steps back, arms dropping to her sides and hands curling into fists.
The wind carries the warm vanilla scent of her to me, and I want to drop to my knees and bury myself in it.
I haven’t held my wife in months, and the need for her presses heavy in my chest.
"I... I'll see you on Sunday," she says, her face looking like it's battling the same emotions rolling around my chest.
She wants to touch me, too.
Her allowing me that brief touch of her hands before Christmas was like drinking water after months in a desert.
Fuck, a hug from my wife would probably be like a hit of heroin at this point. But, we go at her pace. I was the one who pulled away, who rejected her touch.
"Text me if you... if you need to."
I want to say more, even if I don't know what. I want to extend this moment into eternity, but instead, I nod. “Drive safe, baby.”
