Chapter 13
“I left late.”
“From her?”
“Yes.”
I nodded.
The confirmation was almost less painful than the uncertainty had been.
Truth hurts differently from suspicion.
Suspicion makes you fight your own mind.
Truth lets you stop.
Mark leaned toward me.
“I ended it.”
I looked at him.
“When?”
He hesitated.
I almost smiled.
“After I stopped asking questions?”
His silence answered.
“When?”
“Last week.”
“Which day?”
“Friday.”
Two days after the message.
Two days after he had found a dark bedroom and a silent wife.
I felt something inside me become very still.
“You didn’t end it because you suddenly understood what you were doing.”
“That’s not true.”
“You ended it because I changed.”
“I ended it because I realized what I could lose.”
“That’s exactly what I just said.”
“No.”
His voice rose.
“I knew it was wrong.”
“While you were doing it?”
“Yes.”
“For a year?”
His mouth closed.
I leaned back.
“There’s something I need you to understand, Mark.”
He waited.
“The affair is not the only thing you did to me.”
Pain crossed his face.
“I know.”
“No. I don’t think you do.”
I could feel eighteen months pressing against my chest.
Every conversation.
Every apology.
Every time I had stood in front of a mirror and wondered whether I was becoming difficult.
“You made me doubt myself.”
He shook his head.
“I never meant to.”
“You told me I was insecure when I was right.”
“I was trying to…”
“What?”
He could not finish.
“Protect me?”
“No.”
“Protect us?”
His eyes filled.
“No.”
“Then what were you trying to protect?”
He stared at me.
Finally, quietly, he said, “Myself.”
That was the first completely honest thing he had said.
I looked away.
Outside, a car moved slowly down our street.
Somebody’s headlights passed across the dining room wall.
“I asked you if you were unhappy.”
“I know.”
“I asked if there was something wrong.”
“I know.”
“I asked if we needed help.”
“I know.”
“I asked what I could do differently.”
His voice cracked.
“Claire.”
“And every time, you made me feel ridiculous.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I cooked dinners you didn’t come home for.”
He lowered his head.
“I bought concert tickets you said you were too tired to use.”
“I remember.”
“I suggested weekends away.”
“I know.”
“You said work was too busy.”
“I know.”
“I spent eighteen months trying to repair a marriage you told me wasn’t broken.”