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She stares into my eyes and I search for something to give me hope. Her mouth opens but no words escape.
I drop to my knees and wrap my arms around her thighs and rest my head on her stomach.
“I need you Luna. I can’t breathe without you. Please.” My voice cracks and I struggle to hold back my emotions.
She lays a hand on my head and lets her fingers dig into my hair. I turn my head and place kisses on her soft stomach. Images of her with a swollen belly carrying our babies flood my mind.
I press my forehead against her and on my knees, there in our closet, I pray for one more chance.
“Roman,” she whispers. “Roman. Stand up.”
I release her and wipe my face on my sleeve. I rise to my feet and look into her eyes. Her head is bent back so that she can meet my face.
“I…I will try to get past this because I love you. With all my heart. But you hurt me. You’ve broken my heart.” Her words trail off in a flood of emotion.
“I know. I know and God what I wouldn’t do to take it all back. But you have to believe me…it meant absolutely nothing. I stopped it and immediately after I was sick. I mean, I was literally sick, bent over the toilet emptying my stomach, sick.”
Her jaw clenches and she gives me a curt nod in understanding.
“I don’t know how you can prove it to me, but it has to be big. I have to be able to trust you again, and right now…it’s going to be difficult.”
“I understand,” I reply. “But I’ll do whatever it takes.”
She inhales deeply and says on an exhale, “I think you should go. I need some time alone.”
Nodding, I tell her, “okay, baby. I’ll text you when I’m there. And I’ll call you tomorrow during Poppy’s nap time. I’d like to talk with you.”
I don’t give her a chance to respond and take her in my arms. I kiss her hard and deep, like it’s the first and last time. when I pull away, tears leak from the corner of her eyes. I wipe them away and step back.
I watch her and she watches me as I walk backwards to the door, open it and leave.
Tomorrow is day one of my self improvement. Tomorrow starts when I work to win my wife back.
Chapter 8
Luna
By Friday, I’ve fallen into a routine not much different from when Roman is home. Aside from eating alone with the kids and crawling into bed alone at night, very little has changed. It proved to me that I can do this on my own if it comes to that.
Everyday, however, Roman has called me multiple times. During Poppy’s nap time like he said he would, when the kids get home from school, to say goodnight to them and to talk to me.
He’s asked me about my days and he’s told me about his. On Wednesday he gave me the shock of a lifetime.
He told me that he found a therapist that he will begin seeing twice a month. He said he thinks he needs an unbiased third party to point out his flaws and help him change. He told me he already knows he’s flawed and what he should do, but having someone else to guide him and hold him accountable is necessary.
He asked that I go with him after a few visits on his own, and I agreed. I promised him I’d try to get past this and I won't go back on my word.
He’s been working remotely from his dad's office and said he’s been busy, searching for a new assistant since Angela has given her notice. I gave him an Oscar worthy performance andacted totally surprised when he told me. He said it was actually a relief and that it was best to start over.
He also told me how his dad really let him have it on the first night…and the next day…and the next. His dad has never been so harsh on him, and he said the disappointment he saw in his dad's eyes was worse than if he’d have stabbed him in the heart.
His dad texted me on Tuesday telling what a dumbass his son was, but that he can see the regret in his eyes.
Now it’s Saturday morning and I'm woken up by a sound coming from downstairs. I jolt awake and my heart begins racing and look at the clock that reads seven a.m. My nerves rattle and I look around the room for some type of weapon I can take with me to check out what’s going on.
I remember the bat that sits in a corner of our closet, deciding against the gun in the safe. I white knuckle the bat in one hand and grip my phone in the other and slowly creep down the stairs.
A thud echoes followed by a hushed “shit” and I lower the bat recognizing the voice as Roman’s.
