He shook his head. “I know. I’m so sorry. It was Angie who convinced me to cut off all communication with you and move things forward fast—to put it behind all of us. She said a clean break would be best, that it would easier on you and Scott.”
I frowned at him. “Are you her little minion? You don’t have a mind of your own?”
He wrung his hands together. “Like I said, I went a little crazy.”
“Yes, you did, and that’s something you’re going to have to live with.”
Neither of us spoke for a long time. We just sat there in a thick cloud of broody silence.
Then Wes inhaled deeply. “I know I can never make up for what I did, but I have something to tell you, and I wish I had known this before. If I had known it, it might have made a difference. It might have eased some of the strain on us and prevented any of this from happening.”
I hated that I was so curious. “What is it?”
He sat back. “A couple of weeks ago, I found out that my father set up a trust fund for me, but he never told me. Apparently he wanted me to make every effort to make my own way in the world, but if that didn’t pan out by the time I was thirty-five, he wanted me to have something. Who knew he actually had a generous bone in his body? Certainly not me.”
I sat forward slightly. “How big is the trust fund?”
Scott stared at me for a few seconds. “Before I tell you that, I want you to know that I want to try to work things out between us, Claire. You’re my wife, and I shouldn’t have done what I did. I’m here because I want to ask if you’d be willing to give me another chance.”
I sat there in shock and dismay. I had no idea how to respond.
“Does Angie know about the trust fund?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. Things were already pretty rocky when I found out about it, and it just didn’t seem right that she should benefit from it, when you’re the woman I married. The one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”
While I stared at him in astonishment, he cleared his throat and continued. “Please, Claire. I want to come home to you and try to put our relationship back together, and have a baby. We can do IVF or whatever you want, and I swear I’ll never complain about it or resist it again. And I’ll never betray you or cheat on you, or hurt you. I’m so sorry about what I did.” He sat forward, his eyes penetrating. “You know me, Claire—better than anyone. That person I was in January… That wasn’t the real me. I was under some kind of spell or something. Looking back on it, I can’t believe I could have been that stupid, to have walked out on what we had, thinking I’d be happier with her. I wasn’t, and it didn’t take me long to realize that I’d made a stupid, stupid mistake.” He shook his head at himself and looked down at his shoes. “But then…it just seemed so irreversible. So unforgiveable.”
I blinked a few times, and struggled to process what he was saying. “So you want to leave her and come home to me…?”
His eyes lifted. “Yes, please. Just give me one more chance. I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life doing everything I can to make up it up to you. I just want your forgiveness, and I want the happy life we used to have. Don’t you want that, too?”
I let out a breath, and my heart began to pound like a drum.
“Wes, you can’t just walk in here and expect me to forgive everything in a heartbeat, and to throw my arms around you and say ‘No problem!’ What you did killed the love I felt for you. You knew my history. You knew how hard it was for me let myself trust you, to believe that you would never break my heart. You promised you would never hurt me, but you did, without the slightest hesitation. You made me hate you. How could I ever trust you again after that?”
“Please don’t say that,” he said. “Your feelings can’t be dead. We were part of each other’s lives for a long time and I’m certain we’re meant to be together. I know we are. We were so good together. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever known, and I was an idiot to think it would be better with Angie. She’s not as good a person as you are. She can be so emotional sometimes, and clingy.”
I looked away, toward the fireplace, because I probably knew more about Angie than he did. I knew her family history, and there was a part of me that understood and sympathized with her fear of abandonment when it came to the men in her life.
Yet, I couldn’t allow that to cloud my judgment, because I, too, had suffered the loss of my father, and I had a fear of abandonment. But I didn’t go around stealing other women’s husbands and cheating on my own. I understood right from wrong.
The next thing I knew, Wes was crossing the room and kneeling at my feet. He took hold of my hands.
“Please, Claire. Let me come home. I’ll have the money in a few months and we can put all this behind us and start IVF right away.”
I spoke harshly. “What about Angie?”
He shook his head, as if it were a moot point. “It doesn’t matter. She’ll probably stay in Toronto because she prefers it there. But I don’t. This is my home. My home is here. With you.”
I slowly slid my hands out of his grasp. “I don’t know, Wes. You’re making me feel like the money is the thing that will fix what was wrong, and that it’s the money that made you come to your senses, but money can’t fix the fact that I don’t think I can trust you again. And I don’t know if I could ever love you like I did, not with my whole heart.”
He sat back on his heels, and a muscle twitched at his jaw. “Is it because of Scott? Are you in love with him?”
I frowned. “No! This has nothing to do with Scott. The problem is between you and me.”
“Then give me a chance to fix it,” he pleaded. “I swear I can earn back your trust, no matter how long it takes. I promise I’ll be a better husband. Just let me come home.”
Here he was, offering me everything I had wanted in those early days of our separation—my old life back. I could be a married woman again with a lovely house, a devoted husband, and possibly a baby on the way.
But what about the love? The broken trust?
My heart was still racing with anger and indignation, that he felt he could just waltz back into my life and snap his fingers and have me back. It shouldn’t be that easy for him. He didn’t deserve it.
I firmly shook my head. “You should go. I can’t do this right now.”
“Why?”
I frowned at him. “I can’t believe you would even ask me that! Surely you understand that I need time to think about this and figure out what I want. And don’t get all hopeful, thinking it’s just a matter of time before I cave, because I’m still really mad at you. Right now, all I want to do is kick you out the front door and tell you to go back to Angie in Toronto, because you made your bed there. Go lie in it.”
He rose slowly to his feet and looked down at me, where I was still seated in the chair.
“I understand,” he said. “This is a lot for you to consider, and I certainly don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I’m not going to give up, Claire. No matter how long it takes, I’m going to keep fighting for you. And I’m going to stay right here, so we can keep talking about this.”
“Stay where?” I asked, feeling a rush of panic. “You can’t just move back in here. I realize you’re still paying half the mortgage, but Bev lives with me now.”
“N-no…” he stammered. “I know that. It’s fine. I’ll stay with my parents.”
I’d had no contact with Wes’s parents since he left me in January, and I had no idea how they felt about all this. We had never shared our infertility issues with them, and I hadn’t felt that it was up to me to tell them about our separation. But they had never called the house over the past few months, not even to check on me, so I wondered how much they actually knew.
“What will you tell them?” I asked.
“The truth. They already know everything anyway. I confessed the whole thing a couple of months ago, and that’s why my mother told me about the trust fund—because she wanted me to come home to you
.”
I was surprised to hear this, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
“So again, the money is the solution to everything.” My tone was sarcastic.
“No, it’s not,” he replied, “but surely it can help us move forward to have the life we wanted. It’ll make it easier for us to have a baby.”
I looked away. “I don’t know, Wes. You’re going to have to give me some time to think about this.”
I couldn’t believe I was actually thinking about it, when I still wanted to kick him out the door. My pride was demanding it.
Wes nodded and turned to go, but he paused in the foyer. “Are you going to be calling Scott now? Are you going to tell him about this?”
I raised my chin. “Probably. He’s my friend.”
Wes stared at me for a moment, then he let out a deep breath of resignation and walked out the door.
Chapter Twenty-five
As it happened, I didn’t call Scott after Wes left. Even though I knew he would be concerned about me, I just wasn’t ready to discuss my situation.
Instead, I did chores around the house, like laundry and dishes and other things, while going over everything in my mind. Besides, I didn’t know what to tell Scott, or how he would feel about it. I was confused, and I felt disloyal to him somehow, which made no sense because we were supposed to be just friends.
I wondered if Angie had called him. Maybe they were on the phone with each other right now, patching things up. Maybe she was saying terrible things about Wes and trying to convince Scott to take her back.
Would he?
I wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t, because he was the most honorable man I knew, and she was his wife. A woman with issues. He might very well forgive her and feel a responsibility to take care of her.
But the idea of her moving back in across the street made me want to punch something.
After about an hour, my laptop chimed. I moved to the coffee table in the living room, opened it up and saw an email from Scott.
Hey there,
I saw him leave a while ago. Do you want to talk?
S.
I carried my laptop to the kitchen table where I could sit down, and typed a reply.
Thank you for checking in. I’m in a state, actually…driven to scrubbing floors and cleaning out my fridge. He said he had a big fight with Angie and he wants to come home. He also just found out that he has a trust fund he didn’t know about, which he can collect in a few months, so he wants to try to have a baby with me now. Money solves everything, right? I want to tell him to go stuff it!
C.
I pounded the key when I hit SEND, because I was still so angry about everything.
A moment later, my laptop chimed and another email came in.
Do you want me to come over?
S.
I had originally thought I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone, not even Scott, but I changed my mind in a heartbeat.
Yes, please.
Three minutes later, Scott walked through my front door and Leo greeted him with a wagging tail.
* * *
I waved Scott into the kitchen, where I was pouring two glasses of wine. He approached me and I handed him one. We gave each other a knowing look, clinked glasses, and took a few big gulps.
“Have you heard from Angie?” I asked, leaning my hip against the counter.
Scott shook his head. “Not a word. So tell me what happened. What did he say? And what did you say?”
I repeated most of it, while Scott listened with sympathy and disbelief. I explained that I was angry more than anything, and couldn’t believe that Wes thought he could just walk in here, unannounced, and pick up where we’d left off.
Scott and I talked for over an hour while I ranted about all the reasons why Wes didn’t deserve my forgiveness, and why I didn’t need him in my life. We never sat down. Scott stood against the counter while I paced around the kitchen.
By the end of it, I was emotionally drained, but I felt better for having let off all my emotional steam. I exhaled a deep breath and turned to Scott.
“I’m sorry for going on and on. You probably regret coming over here now.”
“Not at all. You needed to vent. I get it. I’d be pissed, too.”
I gave him a small, grateful, heartfelt smile. “Thank you for coming over.”
He continued to gaze at me in the brightness of the overhead light, and I found myself feeling a little lost.
There I stood in the house I owned with my estranged husband, with another man I trusted completely—a man I found very attractive. There was no point denying that fact, even though I’d been denying it for a long time.
But we had both been through the wringer with our marriages, and I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. In this moment, I liked Scott much more than I liked Wes. I had more respect for him, and there was no anger or resentment between us, because he had never done anything to hurt me.
Yet, my husband had just come home to beg me for a second chance.
“What are you going to do?” Scott asked, his eyes steady on mine.
Suddenly, without warning, my emotions overflowed like some kind of ocean storm surge. I put a hand over my mouth to stop the tidal wave from crashing onto the shore, but it was difficult to hold it in.
Scott strode forward and pulled me into his arms. He held me close while I squeezed handfuls of his denim shirt in my hands and pressed my cheek to his chest. He stroked my hair at the back of my head and whispered, “It’s going to be okay, Claire. Everything’s going to be okay.”
He kissed the top of my head and rubbed my back, and I didn’t want to let go of him. I wanted to stay right there, feeling safe and protected in his arms.
“I wish he had never come back,” I said. “I was doing perfectly fine without him.”
“I know.”
With my cheek still pressed tightly to Scott’s chest, I breathed in the clean scent of his shirt and closed my eyes, taking deep breaths in an effort to gather my composure.
“I’ve been feeling so much anger for so long,” I explained, “wanting to get back at him for what he did. I wanted him to suffer forever with regret, but at the same time, I don’t want to make decisions based on pride or a desire for revenge. He’s my husband, and he made a mistake, but now he’s begging for my forgiveness and a second chance. We made a commitment to each other, for better or worse. We spoke vows in church, till death do us part.”
While I continued to cling to him, Scott simply nodded. He didn’t speak. And though I loved how it felt to be held by him, I needed to look him in the eye.
Slowly, I took a step back and wiped the tears from my cheeks. I stared up at Scott and felt his empathy and compassion.
“You have to do what’s right for you,” he said. “And you don’t have to make any decisions right now. Take time to think about it. You’ll know what’s right when the time comes.”
“When do you think that will be?”
Scott smiled gently and laid his hand on my cheek. “I wish I knew.”
I reached up to squeeze his hand in mine, and kissed his palm.
Suddenly, my blood was racing through my veins.
“What if Angie had been the one to come back tonight?” I asked him. “Would you have listened to her? Would you be able to forgive her?”
“I don’t know that either,” Scott replied. “I guess it would depend.”
“On what?”
He said nothing for a few seconds. Then he shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. All sorts of things. But she hasn’t come back, at least not yet, so I’m just going to keep doing what I’ve been doing—keeping on with the starting-over part.”
I felt myself beginning to relax.
“I thought I was doing so well with that,” I replied. “Now it feels like someone kicked me off the road, into the ditch and I can’t get up.”
He pulled me into his arms again, forcefully, and hugged me tight. We stood for a long while, e
mbracing.
“I should go, Claire,” he said after a time, but I didn’t want to hear those words.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s late, and tomorrow’s a school day. You should get some sleep. Think about everything.”
I nodded, but I felt bereft when he took a step back and let go of me.
He was such a good man and I cared for him deeply. He was handsome, loyal, and wonderful. All I could think about was how I didn’t want Angie to do what Wes had done tonight—to come home and beg Scott to take her back, because I knew how honorable he was, how forgiving, and how he was sympathetic to her plight. She was his wife, and he had also spoken vows before God and promised to love her forever.
But I wanted her to stay away, so that nothing would have to change between Scott and me.
What did that mean for my own marriage, and the future I truly desired? I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t make any of this easy.
Chapter Twenty-six
The following morning brought the first day of June—a brand new month with summer vacation just over the horizon, yet I walked home from school with no better clarity than I’d had the night before.
I was still angry with Wes. Part of me hated him for what he had done to our marriage, but I couldn’t let go of a sense of obligation to at least consider a reconciliation, because we were still married, and I didn’t take that commitment lightly.
Although he certainly had.
As I rounded the corner of my street and started walking a little faster, I noticed an unfamiliar vehicle parked in the driveway. It was a black SUV, but as I drew nearer, I recognized it. It was a Range Rover and it belonged to the Radcliffes.
I paused on the sidewalk, wishing that Wes had given me more time, because I didn’t have an answer for him yet, nor did I want to be rushed into anything.
The front door of the vehicle opened, but it was not Wes who got out. It was his mother, Barbara.
A swell of nervous butterflies invaded my belly, for I hadn’t talked to her since Wes left, and I had no idea why she was here or what she wanted.
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