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Kendall’s brow rose. “For?”
“To say I’m sorry, Kendall.” She fidgeted with the ends of her coat’s belt, wrapped tightly around her waist. She choked back a sob. And then cursed inwardly. She’d promised herself on the ride over that she wouldn’t break down. That she wouldn’t come off broken and needy—although she was.
Broken.
Needy.
She’d thought the separation and pending divorce would be easy; that she could walk away from her marriage and move on with her life, without him. But it wasn’t and she couldn’t.
“Look, Kris—”
“I’m in therapy,” she blurted out. “Working on my, um, issues. Dr. Dangerfield referred me to a—”
Kendall blinked, somewhat shocked by this revelation. “I thought you didn’t like her.”
“I didn’t.” Krista shook her head. “I mean. I thought I didn’t. But I swallowed my pride and broke down and asked her for help. It wasn’t her I disliked. I realized it was me I detested. I blamed her and that whole trip for what happened between us, when all the while she was right, you were right. I—my thinking—was the problem. And I came here to thank you.”
Kendall gave her a confused look. “For what?”
“For helping me see that. Had we not gone to that island for that couples retreat, I would still be living in denial, still stuck in that crazy way of thinking. And I would have never gotten the help I need.” Krista pushed out a breath. “I mean. I’m still struggling, still trying to wrap my mind around sexuality and desires and trying to tap into what my own sexual desires might be. After years of it being ingrained in me of how a woman—a Christian woman should behave sexually . . .”
Krista stopped herself. She didn’t want to rehash her upbringing with Kendall—the way her mother shamed her into thinking being sexual was dirty, that it was a sin to have desires. She didn’t want to relive, at this moment, the memories of her abuse at the hands of her mother—of being tied down or, most times, held down, and her genitalia being whipped raw by the back of a hairbrush or a wooden spoon for exploring her own body.
“Look, Krista,” Kendall said. “I’m happy for you; really, I am. But, why do you think I need to hear all this now; we’ve been separated for nearly six months. Why now?”
Krista winced. She felt her window of opportunity slipping through her fingers by the second.
“Can you ever forgive me?” She fastened a desperate gaze on him. “I’m still trying to forgive me. But I pray every day and with therapy, I’m getting better at forgiving myself.”
She bit her lip.
“Krista, there’s nothing to forgive. I guess we both hurt each other in some way.”
Father, give me strength . . .
“If you want your husband back, then fight for him . . .”
“I-I—um. Can I use your bathroom?”
Kendall gave her a strange look, then shrugged. “Yeah. Down the hall on the left.”
Krista quickly spun on her heel, nearly breaking her ankle as she tripped over her feet to make her way down the hall.
Kendall stared in part amusement and part puzzlement, wondering why she would come here now, looking for forgiveness. He decided he wasn’t going to put any energy into trying to figure it out. In another week, they’d be divorced.
And then he could finally get on with his life.
* * *
Krista stood nervously before the mirror in Kendall’s large bathroom.
She unfastened her coat, and then let the big, burly fabric drop to the floor.
Her breath caught.
And then her heart stopped.
She couldn’t believe she was doing this.
