He's spent the last year shoving his children and me away, and then when I tell him to leave, he's begging to stay.
Atlas didn't give me any explanation, but when I started crying, he gave me a flicker of hope.
He held me. He told me he loves me.
And God,I almostbroke there. I almost said I would forget about the separation, I almost said I would forget it all, just because he held me.
I was starving, and he tossed me a meal. But I knew it would be fleeting, one meal, not enough to sustain me forever.
Most importantly, not enough for my sons.
But he can't stay, I won't let him. Not without answers. Not without change.
Say I let him stay, say I give him another chance, and then he does the same thing to us again. I make my sons hurt even more than they already are. I fail as a mother for not protecting them.
I've already failed so much by trying to keep the peace, keep our routine, keep in denial about my husband and our marriage.
Atlas looks at me for a long moment, like he wants to say something.
Please, just say something. Please, please, please...
"Let's go!" Emmett barks at him, and Atlas' face folds in on itself.
His eyes shut, and he sighs, glancing back up to me before turning and closing our front door with a soft click.
...
Three hours later, my tears are dry, my boys are asleep, and I'm freshly showered.
I called it at eleven and told them it was time for bed. They trudged to their bathroom, both frequently yawning as they brushed their teeth and washed their faces.
Liam went to his room to clean up while I went to Noah's to tuck him into bed. He was out before his head hit the pillow, so I tucked his green blankets around him and kissed his head.
Liam fell asleep on top of his covers, sprawled like a starfish, and I had to stifle my laugh. I grabbed a throw blanket from his bean bag and laid it over him before turning off his lamp and kissing his head.
When I walked into my bedroom, I pointedly ignored how empty our walk-in closet is. Atlas left some of his things, but Diane texted me that she would stop by later to pick them up.
I said I'd box them up for her tomorrow.
Instead of dwelling on the emptiness, I put on my most comfortable pajamas, and slid between the sheets.
It's almost too quiet, even with the ceiling fan going. I won't be hearing Atlas' deep breaths or snores, any of his grumbly bear noises.
I won't feel him pull me closer in the night, his arm heavy and warm around my waist.
I won't feel him wake me up with his head between my legs.
I won't have any of that again.
So, I mourn. I cry, silently, hot tears that fall to my pillow.
And it feels like more relief to just let it out.
Afterwards, I replay the words from our conversation.
He's not cheating on me. I had thought I didn't care. I thought that I was too checked out and focused on the future to care, but the relief and even the burst of anger that flooded me when he assured me that he wasn't cheating made me dizzy.
Anger because then what the fuck was it then?
