I Said Yes

by Kiersten Modglin

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you in a lot of pain?” he asked, baring his teeth in a grimace.

  “Not a lot,” I said, “but some.”

  “Do you have chamomile tea? I used to make it for my mother during her special time. It helped. I’d love to make you some.”

  “You’re too kind, Luis, but you don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay.”

  He rubbed his nose across my cheek, pressing his lips to my temple. “I know you will. You are fuerte, my love, strong. But even the strongest people need someone to take care of them from time to time. Let me strengthen you.”

  In that moment, there was nothing I wanted more than to let him hold me and make me tea and care about me for the rest of the day—the rest of my life. But it would’ve been selfish. I needed time to figure out what I was going to do, and stringing Luis along wouldn’t help anyone.

  “Luis, I—I’m sorry. I really think I need to deal with this alone.”

  “I understand,” he said, kissing my hand. “But the offer stands. Your phone has my number on it now. You can call,” he lifted my chin so I would meet his eyes, “anytime. I mean that.”

  I nodded, standing from his lap. When I did, I gasped at the red stain I’d left on his jeans. “I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?” He shrugged as he stood. “It is no big deal. This will come out.” He pointed to the stain, then to his heart. “This, though, the stain you’ve left on my heart—” He pulled me into him and pressed his lips to mine. For just a moment, every bad thing in my life faded away, and I realized how much I needed him. “Well,” he said as he pulled away, “I’m not sure there’s anything that will take that away.”

  I smiled at him, looking down. I couldn’t hold his eye for too long without feeling like I was going to break down again. “Thank you, Luis, for everything.”

  He walked toward the door and turned around one last time to see me as he exited. “I meant what I said. You call if you need me. I will take care of you, mi tesoro. Every chance I get. Every day that you’ll let me.”

  I pulled him in for one more kiss before closing the door and watching him descend the stairs of our porch through the beveled glass. All I wanted to do was call him back and stay in his arms forever. But I didn’t deserve that. I deserved nothing. Instead, I searched for the remainder of my drink.

  I wasn’t sure if Mark would come home at all, but to my surprise, at half past five, I heard his keys jingling in the door and then his heavy footsteps headed across the hardwood floor in the living room. He stepped up the half-step into our kitchen, and I watched his eyes trail over me, wasted in my pajamas at the kitchen table.

  He looked around the room, taking in the dishes I hadn’t touched and the open liquor cabinet. I expected him to say something, but instead he grabbed a glass for himself and sat down in front of me, pouring a bit into his cup.

  He drank it down without a word, his eyes locked on mine. It felt like a challenge, though I had no idea why. I filled my cup up again, taking another half-sip. I was surely going to have alcohol poisoning by the time I went to bed. I’d never drank so much in my life, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop. It was no longer bringing me any joy, but it seemed to be the only thing I could manage to do.

  He took another drink, this time filling his cup to the brim. I watched as he turned the cup up and chugged the whiskey down as if it were iced water on a hot day. Who was this monster of a man? I stared into his eyes only to see darkness. Maybe that’s what he wanted me to see, I don’t know. Maybe that’s what he saw in me.

  “Are you ever going to want kids with me?” I asked, the words leaving my throat before I’d meant for them to.

  He sighed, running his palm over his face. “I don’t know, Hannah. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to care about how I feel.”

  “How would I know how you feel? You won’t talk to me!” He slammed his fist onto the table.

  “You aren’t trying to talk. You want me to be okay and just move on from all of this, but I can’t. I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. I can’t just pretend I don’t want children. I can’t just pretend it’s something we can move on from.”

  “So, where does that leave us?” he asked, pouring himself a new drink. It was as if the alcohol didn’t faze him. He didn’t seem to be affected by it at all. How much could he drink before he had had too much? I was almost scared to know.

  “If you don’t want babies with me, someone else will.”

  His eyes narrowed at me. “Are you saying you’ll leave me if I don’t want children? An ultimatum? Is that really how far we’ve fallen?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “How fair is that, Hannah? What if I was infertile? What if I couldn’t give you children?”

  My jaw dropped open. “Are you?”

  He jerked his head back a bit, his brows drawn down. “What kind of question is that? You were just pregnant, so you know I’m not. That’s not the point. What if I was? Would you leave me then?”

  “Of course not. That’s different than you choosing not to.”

  “But it’s still a choice, isn’t it? I mean, look, I’m sorry we didn’t have this conversation before we got married. I thought you knew where I stood because of how important my career was to me.”

  “Your career?” I scoffed, looking up at the ceiling. “What about my career, Mark? You made me quit—”

  He scowled. “Oh, I didn’t make you quit. I’m so sick of you playing the victim card with me. Your traveling got to be too much for both of us. We’ve been over this. I thought I was doing you a favor. I was trying to give you a break and let you be home. If you want to go back to work, by all means, go for it.”

  “You mean that?”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  I nodded. “I guess I just have to think about things, then.”

  “About whether or not you’re going to leave me?” Again, he took a drink, though I was sure I’d heard his voice crack.

  “Is that what you want?”

  He reached for my hand, caressing it in his. “Of course not, Han. I want you—us. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I want to be better for you. I want us to go back to the people we used to be.”

  “What if we can’t?” I asked.

  “I’ll make sure we can.”

  “You can’t just say that—” My voice was barely above a whisper as I responded, shaking my head.

  “I can and I do. You know, when I said my vows to you, I meant them. I’m starting to think you’re just looking for a way out.” He paused. “If that’s the case, Han—”

  “It’s not the case. I just…this is a big deal to me, and I hate that you’re acting like it shouldn’t be. We aren’t talking about hanging up the wrong color curtains or fixing something different than we planned for dinner. This is the rest of my life—my entire future—”

  “Our entire future,” he corrected. “At least, I thought it was.”

  “I just…need time.” I pressed my lips together, begging him to understand.

  His face grew stern with disbelief. “You’re choosing fictional children that don’t even exist yet over your very real, very here husband.”

  “You’re choosing to let me walk away from us because of it. You won’t even try—”

  “And what happens when we try and it doesn’t work?” he asked, cutting me off.

  “We hadn’t been trying for that long. We could see a doctor—”

  “I don’t mean try try. I mean…what happens when we have a baby and I’m no good at being his dad?”

  The question sucked the words from my mouth, and I froze, staring at him. “Is that what you’re worried about?” I asked after a moment.

  “Hannah, you’ve seen me. I can’t quit drinking, and it’s not like I was given any kind of tutorial on how to be a parent. I have no memories of my mom at all, and my only memories of my dad are of him beating the hell out of me. What kind of parent
do you think they could’ve possibly raised?”

  “I can help you!”

  He scooted his chair back away from me, his hands up in defense. “That’s, no, you’re missing the point. I don’t trust myself to do a good job, and I won’t accept anything less. No child deserves to grow up the way I did.”

  “But is that the real reason why you don’t want kids? Because you don’t think you’ll be good at it, or because you truly don’t want them?”

  “What difference does it make?” he asked.

  “Only one of those can be fixed…” I reached for his hand again, and to my surprise, he gave it to me.

  “I don’t want to fail.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  “You can’t promise that.”

  “I can. And I do.”

  His smile was small, but it was there, and it was the only thing I needed to see in that moment.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Her

  At some point that night, once the whiskey was long gone, I passed out. I woke up as Mark carried me to our bed. He moved the covers back, placing me down gently and removing my house shoes. His touch was so gentle as he eased my pajama pants down.

  I wondered if I’d bled through them again, and then I couldn’t remember if I’d ever changed them after I’d bled through them the first time. Either way, I was sure there was dried blood on my pants, but I was too out of it to ask. His hands ran over my skin carefully, his thumbs sliding under the sides of my underwear as he pulled them off, too. I was self-conscious. It had been a month since I’d shaved and I was sure it must look like a crime scene in my pants. I tried to move my leg, but it hardly lifted.

  “Shhh,” he whispered, lowering his face between my thighs. I felt his tongue graze my skin, and a moan escaped my throat instinctually. What was he thinking? The doctor had said we had to wait two weeks before having sex to make sure my cervix had closed. We couldn’t do this.

  He seemed to have forgotten our instructions as he lifted my shirt above my breasts, his tongue dancing between my nipples. I tried to wiggle free, worried about the blood between my legs—the lights were off, but surely he knew I was still bleeding.

  “Mark,” I whispered, my words slurring as I tried to move.

  “Shh,” he said again, this time his words were sharp and his hands gripped my wrists, pinning them down. The proof of his excitement was growing harder by the second against my thigh. He freed his erection from the zipper of his pants, rubbing his hand against me to get me ready as he so often did.

  I wasn’t ready, though. I was terrified. Would it hurt? The memories of my recent pain were so vivid. Would I get an infection like I’d been warned about?

  “We can’t—”

  “Shhh,” he whispered again, squeezing my wrists harder. I swallowed, closing my eyes and willing the tension from my body. We needed this. Both of us. We needed to be together in every sense of the phrase, and maybe this was the first step of getting there.

  “I love you,” he said, his face shoved into the pillow beside my head. I tried to say it back, and maybe I did, but the next thing I remember, I was waking up.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Her

  Doctor Fremont sat across from me, one tweed pant leg crossed over the other. He looked up from his yellow notepad, lowering the thin glasses from his nose and clearing his throat.

  “So, Hannah, how about we start by you telling me why you think you’re here?”

  I looked at Mark, offering him a smile that I hoped wouldn’t show the nervousness I felt. “Oh, um, well…same reason as most couples, I guess. We want our marriage to work, but we’ve had problems. We’re hoping you can help us work through them.”

  He wrote something down then looked at Mark. “And, Mark, when Hannah says you’ve had problems, what do you think she means?”

  He rubbed his hands together in his lap, picking at a callus on his palm. “Well, for one thing, I’m an alcoholic.” He sniffled. “A recovering alcoholic. And…that’s been an issue for us. Ya know, and there are other things.”

  “Like?” He pressed us to continue.

  “Like, Hannah has a great relationship with her family, and I don’t.” He paused. “With my own, I mean. So that causes us a little strain. And then…well, Hannah wants children, and I don’t know if I do. So,” he laughed nervously, “we aren’t going to be easy.”

  Doctor Fremont’s smile was kind, and I felt my nerves calming already. “The most important thing is that you’re here and willing to work on it. You’ve taken a big step coming here today.”

  Mark reached for my hand, not breaking eye contact with our doctor. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “Good. That’s good. Now, let’s go back and talk about the beginning of your relationship. Mark, what were your first impressions of Hannah?”

  “I thought she was beautiful,” he said. “Smart. Incredible. She…she had this presence about her, you know? Like, she had it all. I just…I had to get to know her. I can’t explain it. I’ve never been drawn to anyone like I was drawn to her.” He met my eyes then, and I couldn’t help the blush that warmed my cheeks. He’d never told me any of that before.

  “And, Hannah, what about your first impressions of Mark?”

  “He was handsome. Charming. I remember thinking that when he talked to me, it seemed like he really cared. You know? Like he was one of those rare people who asks you a question because he genuinely wants to know the answer.”

  Doctor Fremont was jotting down notes as we spoke, though I wasn’t sure we were saying anything of significance. What could he already tell about our relationship? Were we doomed to fail, or did he see hope in us?

  “And tell me about your first date.” He looked between us. I wasn’t sure who he was asking, but Mark went ahead.

  “It was the same night that we met.”

  “Well, that was fast. You two hit it off right away, then?”

  “We did,” I answered. “Everything about the beginning of our relationship was a whirlwind.”

  “A whirlwind,” Doctor Fremont repeated my phrase. “Do you feel like it happened too fast?”

  Mark looked to me, waiting for me to answer the question. I hesitated, but shook my head. “It didn’t feel like it at the time.”

  “But now it does?”

  “I’ve just…I’ve learned things now I wish I would’ve known before, you know?”

  Doctor Fremont nodded, and I felt Mark loosen his grip on my hand. “What sort of things?”

  “I don’t know,” I said quietly.

  He pushed his glasses back on his nose and looked at his page. “The thing is, I can’t help if you don’t choose to both be open and honest in here. This is a safe space, a place where we can work through our issues. But we can’t work through them if you don’t admit that they’re there.”

  “Well, you know, the alcohol for one thing—”

  “You knew about that from the beginning—” Mark argued, dropping my hand instantly.

  “Mark, let Hannah speak,” Doctor Fremont corrected. I smiled at him but quickly tucked my chin to my chest.

  “When we got married, Mark was sober. I did know he was an alcoholic, but I’d never seen what he was like when he drank.”

  “I see,” Doctor Fremont said as he wrote something down. “So, Mark, you’re no longer recovering?”

  “I am. I just…struggle.”

  “How long had you been sober when you met Hannah?”

  “Three years.”

  “And how long have you been sober as of today?”

  He looked at his watch with a sigh. “Seven hours.”

  Doctor Fremont nodded slowly. “Are you attending meetings?”

  “Not regularly, no.”

  “And do you have a sponsor?”

  Mark shook his head. “We’ve lost contact.”

  “Are you recommitting to your sobriety, then? Have you made plans to start attending meetings and contact your sponsor?”


  “Well, not exactly, but I know it’s what I need to do. I just…I work long hours. It’s hard for me to find the time to do it like I need to.”

  “Sometimes it’s easier for us to find the excuses than to find the time,” Doctor Fremont said, his tone caring but firm. To my surprise, Mark didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  “So, I think that’s step one, then, don’t you? If alcohol is causing a problem, and you’re both committed to fixing it, we need to all get on board with Mark’s sobriety. Can you both commit to that? No alcohol in the house. Hannah?”

  I nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”

  “Great,” he said, writing something down. “Sometimes it’s important to remember that even the most daunting things can be broken down into smaller steps. Then smaller. Then even smaller. The first step to fixing dinner is walking to the kitchen; the first step to solving this particular problem is to both be on the same page about your goals.”

  As our sessions continued with Doctor Fremont, I’d learned he was big on steps and goals, some of which we completed, most of which we never got the chance.

  If only I’d known the night I met Mark, the night I’d thought was the beginning of the rest of my life, was actually the night that began my downfall.

  If only I’d never walked into that bar.

  If only I’d never said yes to the man who I let ruin my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Her

  The beginning of the end came in the form of my husband coming home from work early one day. It was exactly three months after we’d started therapy and, for the first time in so long, it actually felt like we were getting back to being the people we once were.

  One sentence changed everything.

  “I’ve just been suspended.” He said the words with panic in his eyes, but no alcohol on his breath. He’d been sober for twenty-two days, enough to break a habit, thanks to Doctor Fremont’s advice and support.