Chapter 21
“We ended it.”
Her eyes remained on the soup.
“Because of the accident?”
“No.”
“Dominic.”
“Maybe the accident made me stop lying to myself.”
She looked at me.
I continued.
“But I’m not going to tell you I ended it for you and expect that to fix anything.”
Something in her face softened.
Only slightly.
“It doesn’t,” she said.
“I know.”
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You made me feel foolish.”
That was harder to hear.
“You were never foolish.”
“I felt that way.”
I nodded.
“Then that’s what matters.”
She set down the spoon.
“For months, I wondered if everyone knew.”
My chest tightened.
“Some did.”
She looked toward the window.
“That was the worst part.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say it because I’m in a hospital bed.”
“I’m not.”
“Don’t say it because you were scared I might die.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why?”
I considered the question.
Because apology had always been easy for me.
Flowers.
Jewelry.
Trips.
The right words delivered with enough confidence.
But Clara did not need a performance.
“Because I kept choosing what was convenient for me and expecting you to carry the cost quietly.”
She looked back at me.
I continued.
“I told myself that because you weren’t fighting with me, you weren’t hurting.”
Her eyes glistened.
“That isn’t an excuse.”
“No.”
“And I don’t know if I can trust you again.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying you know.”
I almost smiled.
“Fair.”
Clara shook her head.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled too.
It lasted only a second.
But it was there.
I leaned back.
“I’m not asking you to decide anything now.”
“That’s new.”
“Apparently I’m developing patience.”
“How terrible for you.”
“Extremely.”
She looked at me for a long time.
“Why are you really here every day?”
The question surprised me.
“You’re my wife.”
“That’s a title.”
I considered my answer carefully.
“Because when I thought I might lose you, I realized I’d spent a year acting as if loving you was something I could postpone.”
Her expression changed.
I kept going.
“And because now that you’re awake, I understand that being afraid to lose you doesn’t automatically make me worthy of keeping you.”
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, Clara looked down at her hands.
“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said in several years.”
“I’ll write down the date.”
She laughed.
A real laugh.
Soft because laughing still hurt.
But real.
I had heard thousands of people praise me.