Pulling her into my arms, my knees nearly buckle at the feel of my wife in my arms again. What happened this morning is nothing compared to now.
Her hands close around my back, grabbing me so tight that it's almost hard to breathe. When I take in a deep breath, it comes out in shudders against her hair.
Jess isn't any steadier. Her laugh bleeds into sobs that shake her whole body, her face pressed against my chest like she's afraid to let go.
I hold her like salvation.
Like gravity has returned to the world.
And for a long moment, we just stand there, wrapped around each other, crying for the marriage we almost lost and for the future we're still going to have.
Together.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jess
Once Logan said okay, I honestly didn’t believe it.
After months of uncertainty, it feels surreal. Just yesterday I was browsing apartment listings. Today I’m standing in Simone’s living room, waiting for her and Darren to get home with their newborn.
I hadn’t planned on coming.
But Darren called late last night and asked me to be here. He said Simone needed me. And despite her jackassery these past few months, I couldn’t stay away.
Logan stayed home with the kids. His mom dropped the boys off early this morning. Things between the two of them felt frosty, even after she told me she was “happy to see me.”
The last few times I’d seen her, she’d been cold. Honestly, I’d expected that. I broke her son’s heart. As a mother myself, I wouldn’t have blamed her for calling me a whore.
Logan’s therapist wanted him to talk to his dad, not fight with his mom.
Not that it matters. He seems done with therapy altogether.
Individual. Marriage. All of it.
Last night he announced he no longer wants or needs it. It came wrapped in a mini lecture about how therapists use vague techniques to keep couples hooked.
I bit my tongue.
Orange Cove Therapy Center rarely has immediate openings.
But sure. They’re conspiring to trap us for profit.
Still, given the precarious position I’m in, I’ve chosen not to meddle. Not to push.
Would you look at that. Therapy actually works.
Someone tell my husband that.
A car pulling into the driveway snaps me out of my thoughts.
I grab the muffins, brownies, and cookies I baked and set them out on the counter. Then I fluff my hair and immediately throw my hands up at myself.
Why am I acting like I’m sixteen and my crush is coming over for a study date?
Trying to appear casual, I lean against the breakfast bar and wait for them to come inside.
Any other time, I’d be outside already, insisting on carrying the baby. But after how vague Darren was yesterday, I don’t want a yelling match or a crying session happening in the driveway.
