"My client will retain the house, while your client will continue to make the mortgage payments."
Atlas’ lawyer, Jonas, nods. He's a friend of Diane's who's been incredibly agreeable and not arguing with Atlas wanting to keep me in the house and continue to pay. "Agreed."
Atlas flashes me a funny look, and I stick my tongue out at him. Atlas smirks and uses his hand to cover his smile, before crossing his eyes. I snort and try to cover it up with a cough.
Our lawyers stop talking and glance at us, bemused, thatwe're giggling through our mediation. Atlas and I both look around the room, like we weren't doing anything, just like we used to in high school.
The easy camaraderie that Atlas and I always shared, from the moment we met, has been slowly shifting back into place.
We text every day. I used to keep it strictly to the kids, but when he texts me a funny picture or a snowy sunset, it makes me smile.
And the late-night calls come, more sporadic now, but I'm always there to answer when he has a nightmare and needs to hear my voice.
I stay on the line with him until he falls asleep or I do. We've even started FaceTiming instead of just phone calls, with him saying that seeing my face will help, but I think he just wants to see me in general.
I don't mind, because sleep-rumpled Atlas is one of my favorite versions of him. I can practically smell him sometimes, that distinct, slightly spicy Atlas scent coming from his chest that I used to want to burrow myself in.
His chest would rumble with laughter when I'd rub my face into his chest, right over the tattoo of my name, and he'd wrap his big arms around me. He'd squeeze me tight and bury his face in my hair and just hum in pleasure like a big bear.
I loved it. I love him so much.
"Okay, well, then, that's it for today," Jonas says, going to stand, but Atlas clears his throat.
"Actually," Atlas says. "Could I speak tomy wifealone?"
Imani glances at me, and I nod, trying to tone down my eagerness—especially since the way he emphasizedmy wifemade my stomach flutter.
Imani shares a look with Jonas, then they stand and walk out of the room, leaving us in privacy.
"Hi," Atlas whispers from across the table.
I laugh, "Hi."
"I—uh—I got a new diagnosis from Dr. Newman. I wanted to talk to you about it," Atlas says, his voice quiet and a littleunsure. I lean forward, eyes on him, letting him know I'm listening. "OCD. Uh—Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. She saidthat'swhere the intrusive thoughts came from. Of you dying. Fixating on the worst things I could imagine."
I soften, my husband is being so incredibly vulnerable in front of me.
"I'm on some new meds, I think they're really helping... I uh... sometimes when I call, I don't have nightmares, but it just... helps to hear your voice. It blocks out the… bad voice."
"You can just call me, honey,” I huff a laugh at the redness of his cheeks at that admission. “You know you can."
His eyes light up at the term of endearment, and he grins, almost boyish. Then, he stands up from the table and walks all the way around, keeping his eyes on me the entire time.
I turn in my chair and am shocked when he kneels on one knee in front of me. He holds his left hand out to me, and I don't hesitate to place my hands in it.
Atlas looks at our joined hands for a long moment with a soft smile, before he looks back up to me, eyes locked on mine.
"Last time I kneeled like this, I was... well, no, I was actually kneeling because you were against the bathroom door and I was eating your delicious pus—"
"Atlas!" I scold, glancing back to the door, though I'm laughing. And it feels really fucking good to laugh with my husband.
"Sorry," Atlas smirks, though he sounds anything but. "But the last time I kneeled like this for you, I was asking you to marry me. Now, I'm... I'm asking you for another chance—to prove that I can be the husband you deserve. I have no right to ask, not after I left you sitting in that therapist's office alone, but..."
His voice breaks, and I do too, reaching out to lay my hand on his cheek. He exhales and closes his eyes, leaning into my touch as my thumb brushes against his beard.
With that, his eyes snap open, and the intensity in them makes me glad that I'm still sitting.
"I only want you, baby. Only you and I will never stop apologizing for treating you so awfully. But I'm selfish, and more than anything, I want another chance. I love you, Wendy. Always have—"
