She forgave her parents so that it would not affect our son.
I've always known Wendy was strong. I mean, I watched her push our nine-pound son out of her body. That was the most terrifying thing I ever witnessed at the time, and I wasn't the one who had to do it.
But that quiet little moment just sealed it for me. My wife is the strongest woman on this earth because of her kindness and her compassion, because she could forgive the unforgivable, because she loved our son more than she hated her mother.
"Atlas," Wendy's voice is so sweet and soft, too soft, and I don't deserve it. "Please...please,just talk to me. Tell me..."
Her wide eyes fill with tears as they silently plead with me to talk to her. To let her in on what's going on in my head.
But when I open my mouth, all that comes out is, "I can't..."
All the softness building on her face tightens, the appeal in her eyes dies, and her mouth flattens into a thin line.
The dread builds in my gut as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, steadying herself.
"Then you need to answer my questions, and I need honesty now."
"Wendy—"
"Is there another woman?"
She asks the question so abruptly that it stuns me.Another woman?How could there ever be another woman when all I see is her?
I've loved Wendy since I was twelve years old, when I first met her in sixth grade. She stood in front of our class to introduce herself as Mercy Ride’s newest addition. Her yellow shirt was like sunlight and her long hair was bright red and curly.
She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
I went home that day and told my mother and my eighteen-year-old brother that I had met her—the girl I would marry.
"That's nice, honey," my mom had chuckled, my brother rolling his eyes at me.
Neither took me seriously. I was twelve and so young, but I was dead serious.
A month later, we kissed at the dance, and that was it. My dad had always said he had met my mom once and just knew.
Well, so did I.
From then on, for me, it was only Wendy. When all my other friends were dating girls and having crushes and trying to get me "to explore my options," I wasn't interested.
It's Wendy for me, and it'll always only be Wendy.
"No!” I exclaim immediately, taking one step closer to her. Desperate for her to believe me, I drop to my knees. "No, Wendy. How could you even ask me that?"
"Are you serious?" Her eyes go wide, nostrils flaring. "How could Inotask you that? What the fuck am I supposed to think, Atlas? When was the last time we had sex? When's the last time you even kissed me? I tried to initiate sex, and you rejected me! I paraded myself naked in front of you like a fucking pathetic moron, and you didn't even look up!"
The embarrassment in her furious voice makes me flinch.
I remember. I remember how fucking sexy she looked, kneeling in front of me and grinning while she asked to suck my dick. I remember how it took all of my fucking willpower to tell her that I was tired.
I waited till she was asleep and went into the shower and violently jerked my dick like I was punishing myself, thinking of her the entire time.
Then, that night, I had a nightmare of her being stabbed and dying in my arms.
I remember that time when she walked around our bedroom naked, looking so goddamn delicious and tempting. I wanted to crawl to her, worship her the way she deserves, and beg for the privilege to touch her.
But I didn't. I had to force my eyes on my phone, my teeth gritted hard enough to crack.
The last time we had sex, I couldn’t get into it because I kept thinking—is this the last time we'd ever have sex? Is this the last time I'd ever touch my wife?
