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I know exactly how she feels, and she should know that. I have no idea where all this is coming from, but I do know one thing: this is the woman I married. This is not the bitchy, ice-cold person she’s turned into since losing our child. This is the woman I chose to be a parent with and she is the only one who understands the depth of our loss just as I do. It may be nothing more than a weak, tangible connection that is left for the two of us, but it is there nonetheless.
“I know you have your own life now, and you’re probably seeing someone.” She glances at me and more tears fall. “I understand why, but it still hurts. You’re still….you know….mine.”
My stomach rolls at the implication and suddenly it’s Merrick’s face I see before me. He’s the only one who has made me smile in years. The only one to listen to me talk about Charlotte. The only one to reach out and hold me when the grief threatens to consume me. He’s given freely of his heart, his home, his body. In truth, he’s only just evergiven….never once has he tried to push me into the divorce or badgered me to walk out on Chantal. He’s given me friendship and loyalty and understanding and not once asked for anything more than I was able to give him. It’s damn unsettling to realize that he’s given more to me in the span of a few months than she’s given me in years.
“You have met someone, haven’t you?”
Disengaging our hands, I rise and move across the room. “Yeah, I have.” Chantal is a smart woman, and I believe she knows more than she’s willing to put into words. She knows that my truck only leaves the neighborhood when I go to work. She’s aware that I disappear many nights and every weekend on foot. She has to know that whomever I’ve hooked up with lives close. She may even have an idea about who I’m spending my life with these days, but she’s always been good at denying the truth and seeing only what she wants to see.
Am I prepared to answer questions about me and Merrick? Not hardly. After the fiasco that was yesterday and all the weirdness between us—all of my own doing, I admit—it’s clear that claiming him as my own in public will be a challenge for me. What I do know is that he’s worth the sacrifice of a little embarrassment or possible hate from others. However, if that is the case, why not come clean now? Why not tell Chantal everything?
The answer comes swiftly, a hard punch to the chest: Because deep down in my soul, I know I owe her more. I have an obligation to her, not only as my wife but as the mother of my child, to keep trying to work things out. She’s the person I made vows to and purchased a home with. I may not like the idea of being with this person she’s turned into, but there is a certain duty I feel as her husband and a deep sense of obligation that I cannot seem to shake no matter what I do. I cannot walk away completely until I’ve given it my all: Every last drop of blood. Every ounce of sweat and tears. My entire life and my soul too. Everything, until there’s nothing left of myself to give.
Chantal’s tears continue as she gives me a sad smile. “I kinda thought you had. You seem….happy. Not as miserable. Content, I guess.”
I am happy. I’m more content than I have a right to be, especially because I am still legally bound to someone else. But when I’m with Merrick, life is easy, for the most part, and the thought of staying with Chantal never really enters my mind. I have tunnel vision when I’m with him, losing myself in the simple day to day life of being fully connected to another human. He’s given me hope where there once was none. When he and I are together, I don’t have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. I don’t have to put up pretenses and make him think I’m something I’m not. He accepts me for me, always has. It’s one of the things I love most about him.
My heart constricts as the words bleed through me. Admitting to yourself that you’re in love with someone while standing in the same room as your spouse is awkward as hell. But I do love Merrick; I can’t deny it any longer. I think I’ve loved him for a very, very long time and yet I’ve always felt guilty about admitting it—to myself or to him –because I’m not truly free to do so.
Now is not the time to dwell on my emotions about the man who has intrigued me from the start and given me a reason to hope again, to smile again. I’ve got some serious life choices to consider, none of them easy. I’m not at all certain if Chantal is saying these things to hopefully stop the divorce, and in turn save her from supposed public embarrassment. If what she says is true—that I’m still “hers”—what the hell does that mean for us? And what does that mean for me and Merrick and the future I’d been envisioning for myself the past few months?
“Davis, if you really want the divorce, I won’t fight you on it.”
It’s really that simple, right? I tell her I want the divorce, we file, and in a few months it’s a done deal. So why does the idea of permanently severing ties with her fill me with a nagging sense of fear that I’ve never felt before? And why is the little voice inside of my head not mine, but that of my child’s? Is this all nothing more than a ridiculous acknowledgement to myself that change is terrifying, or do Ireallyintend to give my marriage another chance?
The walls suddenly begin to feel like they are closing in. Any decision I make going forward will hurt someone, myself included. But can I walk away from the person I vowed to spend the rest of my life with? Can I then walk into the arms of the sweet man who has swept me off my feet, while never once looking over my shoulder to the past I left behind?
The future is suddenly terrifying and I’m filled with doubts about all the choices I have made in recent years. I have this urgent need to run far and fast away from any decisions I need to make. I’ve never made choices with only myself in mind and I honestly don’t know if I can do that now. Could I walk away from her, and say goodbye to him, and go on to start a new life somewhere else? Am I strong enough to do that? And could I ever begin to forgive myself for leaving so much pain in my wake?
There are no quick or easy answers.
There is no painless way to resolve any of this.
There are only doubts and questions. Fear and agony and loss.
