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She’s lying down on the couch, as I requested, with her Kindle perched above her. “Not yet,” she says, “but I’m feeling more relaxed knowing that it will soon.”
“Do you want me to get your knitting needles?”
“No, I’m enjoying my book.”
“Have you eaten anything?”
A long silence follows. “Mark, stop hovering over me.”
I smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Go find something to do.”
I nod. “What do you have going on today? I’ll take care of it.”
“Nothing that can’t wait,” she says. “Why don’t you use your old home office and get some work done?”
I shake my head. “You’ll stress if you don’t get your stuff done, and you’ll be more likely to have another panic attack.”
Her jaw ticks, and I can’t help but smile. She’s been exasperated with me since I insisted on staying here and monitoring her, but my wife has the patience of an angel.
“My mental health is my responsibility,” she says. “I have to figure out how to take care of it myself.”
“And you are taking care of it yourself by accepting help when you need it.”
When her stern expression falters, I know my point hit home. I glance away to hide my gloating smirk. She always used to let me “hover” over her before our separation. One of the biggest changes over the last six months was her refusal to let me do a single thing for her.
It killed me at first. I saw it as a tangible sign that she was slipping out of my grasp.
Now I’m starting to see the value in it. If she’s ever able to forgive me, we’ll have to start over.
Fuck, it’s painful to have hope.
“I hate being so weak,” she says.
I scowl at her. “Weak? Are you out of your mind? Look at you. You’ve started a brand new life for yourself while I’ve been falling apart. You’re the furthest thing from weak.” Guilt grips my chest when a memory surfaces. “It’s my fault that you feel that way.”
She sets her Kindle on her chest and frowns at me. “How is it your fault?”
“I criticized your mental health.” I drop my gaze to my lap as shame washes over me, sinking into the pit of my gut. “Right after I found out about the affair. It’s one of my biggest regrets.”
She gulps back a laugh. “That’syour biggest regret?”
I lick my bottom lip. “One of them, yes. It was the cruelest thing I could have done. I wanted to hurt you for hurting me, but I never wanted to scare you, and that’s exactly what I did. I threatened to take the kids from you because of your mental health. It was reprehensible. You have no idea how much pain it’s caused me over the years when I reflect back on it.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her sit up. “Come here.”
I frown, shocked that she wants to be anywhere near me when we’re talking on this subject, but I do as I’m told. As soon as I sit next to her, she takes my hand. The warmth of her skin radiates through my whole body, like stepping into a hot bath.
“Don’t torture yourself over that,” she says. “I knew you would never do it. Even in the moment. I wasn’t really scared.”
I shake my head, squeezing her hand. “I think you’re remembering it wrong. I saw the fear in your eyes.”
“I was afraid of losing you. Not the kids.”
I frown. “Even back then, when you still loved Jason?”
Her expression grows incredulous, as if she can’t believe I would ask such a silly question. “Do you really still think that?”
