I can earn my wife's trust back.
And I will.
Dr. Mason said that if it helped me, I should visualize my panic in terms that come easily.
So, I visualize it as a faulty engine. I check all of the usual suspects—fuel, oil, electrical—before I assume catastrophicfailure.
Panic is much the same. Something is wrong with the system so it sends everything into overdrive, but that doesn't mean the engine's blown. Broken things can be fixed.
And I'm working on that—myself, my marriage, my relationship with my kids. Getting my life back on track, one step at a time.
I'll go back to work on the 27th, and I'm looking forward to it. Dad has hired an assistant manager for me, so I can focus solely on running the shop and my clients.
I will continue attending therapy and take my meds. I'll be seeing Dr. Wilson twice a week, and a psychiatrist recommended by Dr. Mason in my area, Dr. Petra Newman, once a week.
It's going to be busy, it's going to be hard, it's going to be physically and mentally draining...
And I'm going to keep showing up every single day.
Mom and Dad left an hour ago to drop off presents for the girls at Carrie's parents' house and to see Silas, who's spending Christmas with his in-laws.
I'm finishing hanging some garland for my mother in their foyer when the doorbell rings. I walk to swing it open and freeze, feeling as though the world has dropped out from under me.
My wife stands on the doorstep, shopping bags in her hands, and bundled up in a red winter jacket, matching her rosy cheeks from the cold.
And I just... stare.
God, she looks fucking beautiful.
She's always been, but... after a month of not seeing her, the longest I've ever gone without seeing Wendy, it's something else.
She looks different.Good different. She got a haircut, though it's a little longer than when I saw her last. That day flashes in my mind, and I quickly shake my head to clear my thoughts.
"Hi, Atlas," she says, her voice is quiet, but—good lord—shegives me a smile.
"Hi, baby," I breathe, still a little in awe.
I hold out my hand, and she smiles, handing me one of the bags as she walks into the warm house. I want to take her face between my hands, warm her frozen cheeks up with my palms and kiss her cold lips. I want to wrap my arms around her to warm her up, hold her tightly against me.
But I don’t. I don’t have the right. Not yet.
"Your mom asked me to pick up a couple of things at Mabel's for tomorrow,” Wendy tells me as we walk into the kitchen.
Mabel's.Right, she told me she got a job. Just another thing I didn't care to notice.
"How is that going?"
"My job?" She clarifies, and I nod. "It's great," she beams, the sight making me stumble slightly. I can't... I can't remember the last time she looked that happy, not in the last year at least. My wife is glowing. "Mabel has me looking over the books too, so... it's been really nice."
"Math wiz," I mutter with a teasing smile, and she laughs, blushing slightly.
We place the bags on the counter, and unpack them. The task is so normal, so mundane, and it's silly, but emotion clogs my throat. We work in silence as Wendy puts the cold items in the fridge and I handle the pantry.
"I'm happy for you, Wendy," I tell her, and she turns from the fridge. She looks at me for a long moment before she grins.
"Thank you, Atlas," she says, sounding moved by my words.
The moment lingers between us, both smiling at each other, before she clears her throat and focuses back on stocking vegetables in the fridge.
