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“I took care of you because you needed me,” he says. “Not because I wanted something. I’m never going to do that again. If you want to go on a date, it needs to be because you want it. Not because you feel obligated to me.”
My throat grows tight. “What if I do want it?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I want you to think on it for a bit. Make sure it’s what you really want. Why don’t you give it a week? If you still want this date a week from now, it’s yours.”
I nod jerkily.
“I don’t need forgiveness, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
It’s not, but I don’t need to tell him that.
“All I need is a beginning,” he says, “even if it’s a short one. Even if you decide after one date that our new beginning should end. But I need you to be sure you want that beginning. I need you to be sure we aren’t repeating our same miserable patterns.”
I’m somehow able to hold the tears back while he dresses himself and walks away. As soon as the front door shuts, I unleash the sobs.
CHAPTER15
Mark
Hope is agony.
I’ve spent the last week trying to distract myself from thinking of today.
But the images remain vivid—the warmth of her skin under my fingertips, her soft moans as I moved within her, her beaming face as Cole entered the world, her rapt expression as I told her stories to impress her on our first date.
A whole world exists between us.
That world will end if she doesn’t choose me.
My heart pounds as I turn onto the winding road that leads to the house where we raised our children. The moment is almost here.
I hate that I’m bursting with joy. My first thought when she told me she wanted to meet at her house during our old Friday lunchtime was that it must be a sign of a new beginning. She wouldn’t invite me over to crush me.
Then again, she has such a soft heart. Maybe she feels like she has to tell me in person so that she can console me if I break down.
I would break down. I’d probably even resort to begging again.
My self-control the last time I saw her amazed me even in the moment. A part of me screamed at myself for taking the risk that she’d change her mind after a week’s reflection.
I did it for her. I can’t rush her like I did twenty-three years ago.
I can’t make any of my old mistakes again.
When I pull up in front of the house, she waves from the kitchen balcony. It’s a clear day, and the ocean is sparkling.
This is a good sign. She wouldn’t choose a romantic spot like the balcony for our conversation if she didn’t have good news to share. She’d bring me inside her private sanctuary, where I could sob against her chest in the dim light of her knitting room.
I’m right. I can feel it in my gut.
I wish I could feel it in my heart.
After stepping out of the car, I close my eyes, gathering my strength.
She’s waiting for me, leaning over the balcony railing. Her smile is soft, and her eyes are warm.
She’s perfect. She’s my wife.
She’ll always be my wife, even if she divorces me. In my heart, it will always be her.
