Tim left a little over three hours ago. I’m sitting on the couch, literally sweating at the thought of him coming home from his therapy appointment. After everything that happened, I never thought he would go, and my guilty conscience says it’s because he already suspects my act of infidelity. Maybe he even knows for sure now.
We haven’t spoken in days. Things are worse than ever, and that’s saying something. I can’t imagine what’s going through Tim’s head anymore. I like to tell myself that I used to, that it’s not my judgment that’s lacking, and that Tim has changed. Though I’m not so convinced by that line anymore, and I question if I have ever known my husband, despite having known him all my life.
The sun set a few minutes ago, but the sky is not in total darkness yet. I’m twitchy and ready to jump out of my skin. So much so that when the front door opens, I yelp. Tim looks at me, and the expression on his face has my heart sinking. Whatever it is, it’s not good.
Tight lines accentuate his eyes. His brows furrow together, and I notice he’s been mercilessly dragging his hands through his too-long hair.
“Hey, Ser,” he blurts the old nickname my mom used to call me, and all of my alarm bells blare. “You okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.” I struggle to recognize the sweet and gentle man in front of me.
“Yeah, I was lost in thought.” That’s an understatement. I was drowning in my thoughts.
He nods.
“That makes sense. I’ve been thinking a lot myself. Can we talk?”
My heart pounds so painfully that I strain to breathe. Forcing out the words, “Yeah, okay,” is almost more than I can manage. My gut is sure Shane told him. Tim knows what I did.
Taking a seat on the couch beside me, he sighs long and hard while I, in contrast, hold my breath to the point of seeing floating lights. “I don’t want to drag this out. I will always care about you, but I can’t do this anymore.”
He hasn’t even offered me an explanation or an accusation. Instead, he’s ending our marriage without any anger, not even a tear. I cheated on him, and he doesn’t even care. Has he already replaced me with this other woman so entirely? How can he not have even a single question? He just won’t do this anymore. And why should he? We’ve never been a real couple, never been anything more than two fucked-up kids clinging to each other to stay afloat. We’ve never even had sex, and I’ve never felt so small.
Now that I’ve had a sexual encounter, as confusing and shame-filled as it was, I understand how superficial our relationship has been. I thought I was closer to Tim than any other person on Earth, and maybe that’s technically true because I don’t have friends, but I can’t ignore that I know nothing about him. I don’t know how he tastes. I don’t know how he feels beneath my tongue. I don’t know the sound of him saying my name as he comes, and before I take my next breath, I understand how much I’ve lost.
But I don’t want to hurt him, and now that he’s leaving me, I’m not sure I like that either. I’ve always craved freedom, but the idea of having it is so frightening. I can’t even think what I would do with myself if I had it. I want to be beholden to Tim because what am I if I’m not anchored to him?
And how can I blame him for any of this when I know there’s so much more we could have been? It’s not his fault his father took it from us. What if we had a real chance? If we were not children who had been beaten, battered, and abused so intensely, there was nothing left of us but pain to pour onto each other, could we have been a genuine couple? Could we have been in love rather than just having love for one another?
I stare at him for a few moments. The fear hasn’t eased, but there’s pain welling alongside it.
“What can’t you do?”
He drags his good hand through his hair, and his eyes fall to the floor like he used all his courage telling me the first bit.
“I can’t be married to you. I can’t be your husband. It’s not right.”
“Not right,” I repeat, trying to understand what he’s saying. I expected this conversation to go in a very different way after what I did. I’m not surprised he’s leaving me, but I am surprised by his civilized reasoning.
“It’s never been right between us, and after what happened…” he trails off, and I’m shocked by how calm he is.
“He told you,” the words slip from my numb lips.
“I will never forgive myself for hurting you, Sera, but I did it because I am so fucking unhappy I am going crazy, and neither of us deserves that.” His gaze is distant. “I was so close to killing you. I’m not even sure what made me stop. I wanted to kill you, and I shouldn’t have let this situation get that far.”
A chill runs down my spine, violently shaking me. I take a deep breath. Does Tim really not know? Would he be talking about murdering me if he did? Queasy at the thought, I can’t say it for sure.
“You’re right. We shouldn’t stay together if you want to cause me harm.” Talking about my murder with the man I thought I loved, whom I promised my life and heart is an out-of-body experience
“Sera, I mean it. I do not want to hurt you. I have always cared for you, but I can’t keep doing this. I’m terrified of the person I’m becoming.”
“Me too,” I admit.
“Okay,” he seems relieved for a moment. “There are a lot of details to work out, but if we’re not fighting each other, there’s no reason this can’t go smoothly.”
“Of course not,” I’m speaking at the correct times, but I swear I’m not deciding what to say ahead of time. Instead, I mimic Siri, responding to prompts.
“I’ll leave for now, but I’d like to keep the house if you don’t mind.”
His words have a mean kick, “Of course I mind, Tim. I bought it. What else do you want me to just hand to you?”
“You have all that money from your mom’s settlement. You can buy another one. I can’t.”
I want to argue with him, but my transgression points an ugly finger at me. The idea of giving him this house and starting over infuriates me. This money was left to me by my mother, and he has no right to take it from me. But I’m a cheater, a liar, and I deserve whatever suffering comes my way.
“Okay, Tim. You can have the house.”
He opens his mouth, prepared to argue his case. I’ve always curbed myself around him, but he knows my temper sometimes gets the best of me. Tim was sure I would fight him on this, and I engage in the pointless exercise of wondering what his end goal was. And that is when he turns to me with an odd expression.
“You said something strange before.”
“I didn’t say more than a couple of words.”
“Yeah, but what did you mean you said he told me what happened?”
“That’s not what I said,” I answer too quickly.
“Yes. It. Is.” he enunciates. “What did you mean by that?”
“I—”
“Is he that piece of shit, the head-scrambling doctor?”
“No!” I splutter, and I curse myself for not having developed better lying abilities by now.
Something clicks into place for him. He reaches out, and I think he’s going to touch me gently for the first time in longer than I can remember, but instead, he grips my hair and twists me until I’m facing him.
“Tell. Me. What. You. Did.” His eyes narrow, and there’s genuine rage in them. If I thought he didn’t care, I was wrong because he is ready to kill me, and he has to care at least a little to do that.
“I, we—”
“We?” he scoffs, “Did you fuck him, Sera?”
“No!” I shriek.
“But you did something with him, didn’t you?”
What am I supposed to say? I already feel bad enough without lying too, not to mention it’s written all over my face. He came home intending to leave me for some other reason than my infidelity, and somehow I turned what could have been a peaceful breakup into a Shakespearean drama.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” He seethes, tipping my head to the side and staring into my eyes.
My hair pulls against my scalp, and several strands break away. Tears fill my eyes, and I try my hardest to look away. I hate myself so much right now that a part of me feels like I deserve this. Suddenly, his eyes go cold, his hand drops, and he stands.
“We’ll talk about this when I get back. Until then, try not to whore your way across the county.”
He stands and leaves me sitting on the couch. As soon as I hear the front door close, the dam breaks and I sob. Honestly, what was I thinking, and what have I done with my life? Even after all that, the thought of what Shane did to me makes me hot and quivery, and knowing that about myself certainly doesn’t help my ever-worsening self-image.
