“Of course, I know that, Chance!” I reply hotly. It’s not lost on me that he’s called me Christina instead of Di, and I think that hits me harder than his other words combined.
“Good! Because I’m sick of feeling like I’m letting you down because our home or our kids and our life isn’t worthy of its own fucking Instagram page. If you only look for the bad, guess what, baby, you’re gonna find it. There’s some bad in every person, or situation, or couple out there. But there’s a whole hell of a lot more good in most of them. And I always thought that applied to us, too. And I also think that if you justtriedto look for the good, instead of focusing on the bad all the damn time, you’d see it, too. But maybe you don’t agree. Maybe this isn’t the life you want.”
My lips part, my mouth forming an “O” as I stare at him in disbelief.
Iknow I’ve been unhappy.
Somewhere along the way the bad started to outweigh the good, and it’s just been snowballing ever since. I get madder and madder, and nothing he does reverses the course of my anger, it’s all just destined for doom, some huge inevitable blowup on the horizon.
I didn’t realizehewas so fucking aware of it, that my sourness spilled out of me and tainted his happiness, too.
I don’t know what I expected of him, but it wasn’t for him to call me out like this, or come to the conclusion that I hate our life. That I don’t appreciate all the good we have in it. Thatstings.
When he talks again, I hear a note of despair in his tone that makes my stomach literally flip over, as if it’s being wrung out. It makes me nauseous in a nervous way that I despise.
Like nothing will be okay again until thisthingbetween us is fixed; that I fucked it up and didn’t even realize it, and now it might be too late. The feeling makes me panic deep inside.
“Sometimes it feels like our life isn’t enough for you. Like you’re not happy with me, the house, the kids.” He takes a deep breath and looks back at me. “Are we not enough for you?” He doesn’t give me time to respond before continuing, but I shake my head frantically with wide eyes as he keeps going. “Because there’snothingthat could make me happier than the life we’ve built together. And if you don’t feel that way… Fuck.”
He takes a huge breath, tossing his hands up in the air in frustration, his eyes looking glassy for a beat before continuing. “I don’t know what the right thing to do would be, Di. But it fucking hurts me to see you so unhappy with me, withus.”
I’ve certainly never looked at it as this life isn’t enough for me, just taken my irritation and anger out on him, without really thinking twice about it, as I’m prone to doing. That’s just been more and more frequent lately. Now I’m wondering if there might be more truth to what he’s saying than I thought.
“I… I don’t know what to say to that, Chance. I thought I was happy. But lately it’s just been overwhelming how muchshitthere is in our lives compared to how much of that good you’re talking about.”
“I’mtryingto show you the good we’re fighting for, this whole thing we’re doing is supposed to be showing you how much good there still is between us. But you aren’t willing to even see it most of the time! You’re still just focusing on any bits of bad, and it’s like one little thing undoes an entire day or week of good shit, just fuckingpoof,like I never did any of it.” His hands fly up,poofingin the air. “And you’realwaysgoing to find those bits of bad if that’s what you’re looking for. Why not workwithme to create the good you want in this marriage? Huh? Why not work with me on this? Or is it just up to me to salvage us?”
His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath and calm down, obviously struggling to keep his voice low so as not to wake the kids. “Let me ask you something. Do you think thatIlet our marriage disintegrate? Or thatwedid?”
I don’t answer him, but that’s all the response he needed.
“Am I the only one responsible for keeping us on track? Hmm? I’m the only one who made vows in front of God and our family and friends? Because that’s what it fucking feels like lately.”
His next words come out in an uneven tone that makes me hurt for him; it actually physically pains me to hear my calm and confident husband sound so despondent.
“I am determined to make this work, Di. Iknowwe can get back to us again. But I need you to meet me halfway here. You think it’s just going to magically be perfect again? No, Christina. It takes WORK. It takes you, and it takes me. Both of us doing the things that are going to make the other one happy. We can’t each live in our own little isolated bubbles and expect a perfect marriage to justhappenon its own.” His nostrils flare with his breathing, taking a calculated inhale before saying, “If we don’t breathe life into it, it won’t fucking exist.”
I’ve never looked at it like that before. Honestly, I’ve been so mad at him for letting our marriage dissolve into something unrecognizable—andthatincident, which I still can’t think about without wanting to throw up—that I have been holding him fully accountable in my own head.
His words have absolutely found their mark, and while my flames haven’t been wholly doused, I am starting to see that I haven’t been entirely fair on him.
I can feel my expression softening as we stare into each other’s eyes for a long, tense moment from several feet apart, neither of us willing to bridge the distance that divides us.
“I have tried forweeksto get you to open up to me, to find the good in what we have and cherish it, bring back the way it used to be with these dates, but whatever is going on in that head of yours, you aren’t sharing it with me and it’s clear I’m gettingnowherewith you. Whatever you’re battling, you’re notsupposedto be doing it alone. We’re supposed to stand together in life. But you’re not joining me out here in the middle. This fucking no man’s land where I’ve put myself out here on a limb. You’re just fucking leaving me out here on my own.”
The gravity of all he’s telling me winds me as it hits its intended target. My mouth is agape, but no words are coming. I think I might be shaking, but I can’t really feel my limbs to be sure.
He blows out a heavy breath, runs his hands over the top of his head and faces me again.
“So I’m not going to pretend like this is okay with me anymore. You just keep looking at me likeI’mthe reason you’re unhappy. And I’m not here to make you feel that way.” A sardonic chuckle. “Kinda the opposite, actually.”
He looks so bitter at the thought of causing my unhappiness that it really hits me how much this man does to try to keep me happy on a daily basis. I feel something deep inside me falling, sinking beneath the waves, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this level of guilt.
“I want you to really think about it. Think about us. What we have. What you want. And if it’s me, if it’sus, I’m gonna need you to show me that for once.”
And without giving me time to consider or respond, he walks out of the room, his sad eyes cast downward as he walks away and makes his way to our bedroom, leaving me to wonder if, after months of tearing him apart in my mind, of holding him accountable for everything that’s gone wrong between us, maybeI’mthe bad guy in this story.
SIXTEEN
