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And just when everything with my husband was going so well. I thought we’d finally gotten back to the way things were, where Owen was my world and we were so strong nothing could pry us apart. How wrong I was. All it took was one look from Bo, one touch. What did that say about me? Was I now incapable of being faithful? Or was it only this man that could turn me into such a wanton that I was willing to throw sixteen years of marriage out the window?
I didn’t want to be someone even I couldn’t trust. And the fact of the matter is, that as long as Bo is close by, I can’t. Then I think that if we move, everything could change. Or who knows, now that the Jensens know what Bo and I have done, they will move.
My stomach sinks, just like it does every time I think about them and how they must see me!
I feel so lost. It’s at times like this that I miss my mother the most. It’s not that I don’t talk to her now, we do talk a few times a week. The thing is, we were so close my entire childhood. She was my best friend, my confidant in everything. Then when she left, everything changed.
It became almost impossible to talk to her on a daily basis. I’d have to be sure to have a calling card on hand at all times, and sometimes that wasn’t possible. Days and even weeks would go by without a word to her. I mourned the loss of my relationship, crying for her like an abandoned child, even though I’d already married Owen by this point.
It was during this time that I became closer to my dad, helping him through the pain caused by an unfaithful spouse. The pain I’d just put Owen through. Even though he’d done it to me before, I didn’t want to wound him. Not anymore.
Yes, I’d become so much tighter with my father, but I always missed that relationship I’d had with my mom. I still do, even though technology allows us to talk every day now, it’s never been the same. The trust was never rebuilt. And I miss her. I want her here, her arms around me, telling me everything will be fine. That I’ll figure this mess out, fix it. I want my mommy.
The sound of the front door startles me, and so does the sunlight coming in through the window. I’d fallen asleep with my forehead pressed against the desk, and there is now a sore spot there when I go to wipe hair from my face.
It’s six-thirty in the morning, and Mia would be up very soon. I want to talk with Owen before she gets up. When I get down stairs, I find him still standing at the door. He’s unshaven, his clothes a wrinkled mess. His green eyes are red and crusty, dark circles framing them, sinking them into his skull. There is a grayish hue to his skin, making him look tired, weary and so much older.
And I caused this.
“Owen. Can we talk?”
Looking pretty much like a zombie, he walks right past me without a word, and up the stairs. A door closes up there, and I go to follow thinking he’s gone to our bedroom, but when I reach the top of the stairs, I realize he’s gone to the guestroom.
“Owen?” I knock softly on the door. His response is to lock the door.
