Desperatelittle things.
But she keeps going as if I never spoke. “It wouldn’t matter anyway.” Her voice cracks, as does my chest. “What’s the point?” She shakes her head. “There’s no point anymore.”
And then her lower lip trembles, the sight nearly gutting me. “I don’t…” Her voice grows small. “I don’t see it.”
The room falls silent. I stare at her while my heart pounds itself bloody against my ribs.
Because I know what she means. She doesn’t see us anymore.
Not the future.
Not the marriage.
Not the love I keep trying to show her.
All because I buried it under my neglect. My obligations. My misguided priorities. My lies of omission.And I have no argument left.
“I love you,” I whisper brokenly, words leave me embarrassingly desperate. “I don’t know what else to say.”
Cece closes her eyes.
For a moment, I think she might cry. Her chest rises and falls rapidly.
But then she exhales sharply, looking at me with her bone-deep, exhausted eyes. “I know.”
My throat tightens. “You do?”
She shakes her head, frowning. “I mean, I hear it.”
“You just don’t know if it’s enough anymore,” I mumble, completing her hollowing thought even as itdestroys me.
I lower my head. And for several seconds, neither of us speaks.
Finally, I force myself to look at her. “Will you please come? Just this once?”
“Fine,” she croaks, helplessly running her hand through her longer hair.
She never did go to the salon appointment I scheduled—then rescheduled. Twice.
“I promise I won’t force you agai—”
“I said I’ll go,” she cuts me off on a dry sob. A cracked moan that’s somewhere between a wail and a scream.
Relief should have hit me then. I should have felt that pitiful loosening of my chest that she just agreed.
Instead, dread settles deeper into my chest.
Because I’m sitting right next to her, with the silence whereI love you tooshould have been. If only I’d said it back when it counted.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Levi
She’s standing too stiffly. Smiling too long.
Fidgeting with the strap of her dress as if it is strangling her. Like this isn’t her thing at all anymore.
And I know. I fuckingknowshe’s done ‘socializing’. I also know I’ve forced her into this charade, made entirely for public consumption. A carefully crafted image that rings hollow even to me.
