Chapter 14
“I needed my husband.”
“I know.”
“You knew then.”
He looked down.
“Yes.”
That mattered.
Regret did not rewrite knowledge.
He hadn’t betrayed me because he failed to understand what marriage required.
He had betrayed me while trusting that I would absorb the damage.
“I miss stupid things,” he said.
I waited.
“The porch light.”
My chest tightened.
Nathan laughed without humor.
“You always left it on.”
“Yes.”
“The first few nights after you left, I kept forgetting you weren’t there. I’d turn onto our street and look for it.”
I said nothing.
“Then I’d remember.”
I looked out the window.
Pedestrians passed with shopping bags.
A woman pushed a stroller.
A man walked a golden retriever.
Ordinary life continuing.
“I used to think that light meant you were worried about me,” Nathan said.
“Sometimes.”
“What did it mean other times?”
“That I wanted you to know someone was waiting.”
He swallowed.
“And now?”
“Now I turn my apartment light off when I go to bed.”
He closed his eyes.
There was no pleasure in hurting him.
That surprised me too.
For months, I had imagined revenge because revenge seemed like the opposite of helplessness.
Then I left and discovered peace was better.
Nathan reached across the table.
Not far enough to touch me.
“Is there anything I can do?”
The question came too late.
Still, I wanted to answer honestly.
“Yes.”
Hope flashed across his face.
“Become someone who doesn’t do this to another person.”
His hope disappeared.
“Claire.”
“You asked.”
“I meant for us.”
“I know.”
“What if I go to therapy?”
“You should.”
“What if I change jobs?”
“If that’s healthy for you.”
“What if I sell the house?”
“Nathan.”
He stopped.
Every solution he offered still contained an invisible sentence.
Then will you come back?
I could not become the prize for his improvement.
“You need to stop making your recovery from this dependent on whether I return.”
He looked devastated.
“You really don’t want me anymore?”
The question hurt.
Not because the answer was simple.
Because it wasn’t.
Part of me still loved Nathan.
How could I not?
Love does not evaporate on schedule just because dignity finally arrives.
I loved the boyish man who made pancakes in the yellow bowl.
I loved the husband who held my mother’s hand at the hospital.
I loved the person he had been during thousands of ordinary mornings.