"I think..." Diane says quietly, her eyes wide and shining with fear. "I think this is bigger than we thought, sweetheart."
My hand presses harder against my chest, rubbing over my heart where there's a deep, physical ache.
My Atlas.Suffering mentally.
Suddenly, everything makes sense—the absence, the pulling away, the short temper.
Guilt floods my body again.
Why did I not see? How could I not see? Am I stupid or willfully ignorant?
"Emmett brought him home. He's still locked up in himself, wouldn't say much to me," Diane continues, voice thick. "But we're going to bring him to a therapist. Silas saw a really good one after..."
She trails off, but I nod, understanding without needing the rest.
"Atlas agreed to go. We said it was the only way you would allow him to have a relationship with the kids. He... I think last night was necessary for Atlas. There's something going on. I don't..." Diane breaks off, covering her face with her hands. "How could I have missed it? I'm hismother..."
"Diane," I whisper, my voice cracking but needing to comfort her, to take the blame myself. "Iexistedin the same house, and I didn't even know. If anyone is to blame, it's me—"
"No!" Diane snaps fiercely, dropping her hands and pointingat me. "You take those words back, shove them down, and never think of them again. We told him that what he did—no matter the reasons—was wrong: neglecting you and his sons was cruel. He fucked up, and he knows it."
I shake my head, still shaken, baffled, and aching. "How could I not see?"
"Because you were running a household, Wendy. You were doing your job, you were being a mother to your sons. Youtriedto get him help.”
Her words make sense, but my brain doesn’t want to accept them. Instead it just wants to find someone to blame.
“I keep thinking that if he had shown up to couples therapy, maybe that therapist could have recognized something,” Diane shakes her head. “He told Emmett he purposefully missed it."
I nod in confirmation, remembering his words yesterday and how much it fucking hurt to hear them.
He chose not to come.
Because he was suffering, and I didn’t see.
"I feel like a failure."
"You're a mother," she says plainly. "It's funny—if you feel like a failure, that usually means you're doing great. If you feel like you're doing everything right, that's when you need to reexamine."
She softens, smiling at me. "And you, Wendy, are a fantastic mother. Those boys adore you. You love them, and they love you. You're protecting them right now. You are doing everything right."
"I can tell myself that over and over again," I whisper, "but..."
"But the maternal guilt is still there."
I nod.
"Our lawyer knows a family law attorney," Diane says with a tired sigh. "We're setting up a meeting this week to respond to the separation. Atlas is taking the next two weeks off from the garage. He needs a break before he breaks completely."
I wince, feeling so uncertain.
"Should I pause the—"
"No," Diane says, shaking her head. Her dark eyes blaze, "No, you keep the separation. He was not a good husband or father this last year. Whatever is going on with him mentally might explain to us why, but it doesn't erase the damage. And there is a-fucking-lot of it."
Diane tilts her head as she studies me and asks gently, "Do you think that there is a chance for you to get back together?"
I don’t think, because my mind will twist itself into knots if I think too hard right now, so I just answer from my gut.
