Page 23 of Good Intentions, Vol. 2

I can’t.

I have to choose.

And we’ll all be hurt.

Only thing I can do is shield Ben as much as possible so he would be spared of this clusterfuck I made. So he wouldn’t feel any consequences of my mess.

If someone asked me twenty-four hours ago to do it, to choose, I would do it in a heartbeat. I would choose Heather, consequences be damned, and prepared myself for the battle of my life to keep Ben. But after this morning, after hearing Claire saying she has been going to therapy for the last six months and that all this started with her postpartum depression and her family putting pressure on her and on top of it all, her anxiety because of the same people, but also because of me pushing her away when she tried to fix things, I don’t know.

I know nothing anymore.

How the fuck is it possible that I didn’t see what was going on with her? It never even crossed my mind that she could be struggling due to depression. She was and is always full of attitude, full of life. Somewhere along the lines it all changed and she started struggling, and I didn’t see it.

I can’t blame Heather for it, since she wasn’t even in my life around that time.

And there was no other woman that ever interested me, beside Claire, so I could put blame on her.

No, it’s all my fault.

I kept feeling sorry for myself for so long because I wasn’t sure in my wife, in my life choices, that I didn’t see that the woman I vowed to love and protect needed just that from me.

To love her.

To protect her.

From her family.

From herself.

From me.

How do I choose between two women I love?

As fucked up as it is, I love both of them.

It’s not all consuming, threatening to devour me if I don’t have her right this second, physically hurting when I’m not with her, like I do Heather. But, she’s Claire.

The one who stood by me when I was paving my way to the top.

The one who always was so full of life, pouring that energy in me when I wanted to call it quits.

The one who made me smile.

The one who made me a husband.

The one who made me a father.

The one who is my wife.

“I miss you too, doll,” I whisper my last confession using a nickname that I almost forgot. Her parting words of how she misses me have been running through me all day. Watching her sleep, finally at peace, I can’t believe I was so blind. I can’t believe how colossally I fucked everything up. I can’t believe I almost gave up on her.

Turning away from her, I put my forehead into my hands and follow the tie Heather bought me with my eyes as it dangles from my neck. “To have something of mine with you at all times,” she whispered in my ear before kissing my neck, turning and walking away from me.

“Fuck,” I sigh.

I guess I made my choice.

As if she heard my decision, as if to try and prove a point, to maybe change my mind, I feel her moving around in my bed. I don’t. I stay in my position waiting for what she’ll do. Will she jump out and run out of my bedroom? Will she start screaming at me for sitting down next to her?