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Greyson had been the author of his own destruction. And it would be so easy to say he deserved every bit of punishment he had received after his lies and distrust and cruelty. But all Libby felt was an overwhelming sense of sadness that he had been so alone. That he had been in so much pain he had verged on the brink of self-destruction.
Even at the times she’d felt like she hated him beyond all reason, she would never have wished such suffering upon him.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“I’m sorry, Olivia. You deserved better. You both deserved so much better,” he said, his eyes lifting to meet hers, and she found herself drowning in those dark-blue depths. His sincerity and regret were unmistakable, and Libby felt immeasurably lighter as she comprehended that she no longer harbored any anger or resentment toward him.
She lifted her free hand to his lean cheek, and her thumb ran over the sharp line of his cheekbone.
“Finally apologizing for the right thing,” she said, a slight hitch in her soft voice. “Greyson . . . this isn’t easy for me to admit. But I do forgive you. For everything.”
She meant the words wholeheartedly. The things he had said and done had seemed so completely unforgivable for such a long time. They had been heinous and painful, but in the end, they had hurt him much more than they had her. After everything she had learned since that day, she could see that his actions—while reprehensible and horrific—were the end result of misinformation, misplaced anger, and misunderstandings. It didn’t make it right, but she could understand where it had all come from. And with understanding and sympathy had come forgiveness.
His face seemed to crumple, and he shut his eyes before hurriedly yanking his hand from hers and covering his face with his palms in an attempt to hide his reaction from her and the rest of the lunchtime crowd.
This was an entirely inappropriate venue for such a private discussion, but there was nothing to be done about that. Things happened when and where they were meant to. But in such a busy place, every table was a microcosm, each encapsulating its own tale of joy, sorrow, anger, or apathy. Nobody was interested in anyone else’s business, and Libby, Greyson, and Clara may well have been alone for all the attention anybody else paid them.
She sat quietly while he got himself under control. When he finally lifted his emotionally ravaged face back to hers, he graced her with the smallest of smiles.
“Thank you. That means so much to me.”
Feeling horribly weepy herself, Libby could only nod. Afraid that if she spoke, she would break down. Because it felt wonderful to forgive him, to move on from all the anger and negativity. But without all that fuel to fire her determination to remain emotionally distant, she felt ridiculously vulnerable and uncertain of what to do next.
She thought of those divorce papers. After he had signed them, she had moved them from nappy bag to nappy drawer. All she had to do was sign them and send them to her attorney, and the deed would be done. But she hadn’t signed them yet, and to all intents and purposes, the man sitting across from her was still her husband.
The man she had known and hero-worshipped her entire life. The man she had hated for a brief sliver of time. The deeply flawed, vulnerable, slightly insecure man she now knew she still loved with every fiber of her being.
She was so confused. And she didn’t know where to go from here.
The half-hour drive home was comfortably silent. Clara was awake and happily diverted by the toys on her car seat, but by the time Greyson brought the car to a halt outside Libby’s house, the baby was starting to fret.
They both exited the car, Libby grabbing the baby bag while Greyson unbuckled Clara and lifted her into his arms. She was crying, a nagging sound that told them she was hungry and tired. They didn’t speak, but Libby marveled at how in accord they were as they entered the house. It resembled a well-rehearsed dance: Libby went straight to the kitchen for a bottle while Greyson carried Clara to the room. He changed her nappy and gave her a quick wash and powder before putting her in a more comfortable onesie. By the time he was done, Libby was waiting with her formula and a bowl of homemade butternut squash puree.
Greyson put Clara in her high chair and then sat across from them. Libby was very aware of his avid gaze while she fed the baby, who gradually calmed down and happily ate her butternut. She kept futilely trying to take the spoon from her mother to feed herself and then happily guzzled down half of her bottle.
