Failure. Failure. Failure.
"Wendy?" I whisper, her name scraping its way out of my throat. "What the fuck have I done?"
There's a gentle knock on the door, Aubree's quiet voice asking me, "Atlas? Are you okay?"
No, I'm not okay. Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
I'm already moving, grabbing my keys and bolting past her out the office door.
"Aubree, close up, please!" I shout as I sprint out the front door, pushing it open hard enough the glass nearly cracks.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see my employees staring after me in alarm, but nothing matters now.
Life has shrunk to a single point in my mind—home.
I need to get home. I need to get to Wendy and my boys and...
I don't even know what I'm going to say, or how I'm going to fix this, but I have to try.
I need to see if I can salvage anything from the destruction I've caused.
Chapter thirteen
Atlas
November
It's funny how your mind can just lie to you.
Or maybe it's you lying to your mind, rationalizing your own behavior because it feels safer, more comfortable, than facing the truth head-on.
A thousand tiny justifications stacked on top of one another, forming a story you can live with.
Because the truth fucking hurts.
The truth that your wife can exist in one moment, so perfect and wonderful and beautiful. You're struck dumb that this amazing woman chose your dumbass out of all the men in the world; she chose you.
She loves you.
She gives you two amazing kids, raises them, makes them into these silly and incredible little people, and is such a loving, wonderful mother.
She's gorgeous, so goddamn sexy, especially after having those kids, that it sets your blood on fire. You desire her near constantly, so much so that you have to jump her in her morning shower because you feel like you'll die if you don't get a taste of her.
And you stay awake while she gets much-needed sleep, just looking at her and knowing that you would rip apart anyone or anything that ever tries to take her from you.
Then she has a brain aneurysm and doesn't wake up.
Or she dies in a house fire.
Or she slips on ice, hits her head hard enough to pass away.
Or she is murdered.
Or she gets sick with cancer and withers away.
Or she...
