She told herself it was the heartache of saying good-bye to a place that had become home. But when she dug down to the bottom of the barrel, her thoughts weren’t of home. They were of Ryan. She still hadn’t heard from him, and while she knew it was for the best, the feeling of loss had opened a hollow spot inside.
And that feeling led to other feelings, other thoughts. She lay in bed most nights, trying to forget their time together on the road. But the memories burst to the surface like buoys, every touch, every kiss.
Eventually the good memories led to the bad ones, and their arguments in the car played on repeat. Especially when Ryan suggested he’d done nothing to make her feel resented after she’d lost the baby. How could that even be true when she’d felt it so strongly?
She couldn’t have imagined all that. She thought back to the arguments in their last year together. She knew she hadn’t imagined those. Their marriage had become a battleground.
Even though she and Ryan were over, she still felt the need to figure out what went wrong. She didn’t want to bring baggage into her next relationship—though at this point she didn’t even want to think about another man. Someday she’d be ready, though. She’d want a husband, a home, children. Someday.
Maybe she could get some feedback from Gillian. She didn’t want to get into her personal stuff. It was too painful. It was humiliating enough to have failed at marriage without hashing it out with someone else.
But her friend was a fount of wisdom when it came to relationships. Maybe she could give Abby a better perspective. And if she was careful, Gillian wouldn’t even know Abby was talking about herself. She turned her back to her friend as she emptied the cabinet of pots and pans.
“There’s this couple I know that I was going to ask you about,” Abby started. “They’re going through a rough time.”
“Oh, yeah? You can give them my info if they need counseling. I have a few open spots next week.”
“Ah, yeah. I don’t know.” Abby scratched her neck. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty close to her. I’ve been trying to help figure things out. But I’m kind of at a loss.”
“Would you like some input?”
“That might be helpful. This couple—they’re both really nice, and they love each other, so they have that going for them. But I guess they argue a lot.”
“About what kinds of things?”
“Big stuff, little stuff. It doesn’t seem to matter. Everything seems to lead to a fight, according to her.”
“A lot of times the things couples argue over are really disguising deeper issues. In other words, the fight really isn’t about the fight.”
Abby reached deep into the cabinet for the Crock-Pot. “Maybe so.”
“Can you tell me anything about their history, their childhoods, without breaking confidence?”
“I’m not worried about that since I’m not using their names. I think he had a pretty healthy upbringing. Good family, lots of love, all that.”
“And her?”
Abby nestled the Crock-Pot into the box. “Not so much. She was treated badly by her father.”
“Treated badly, how?”
“Oh, you know . . . he was verbally abusive. Hit her sometimes. That kind of thing.”
Dishes clanked behind her as Gillian continued working.
“That’s tough. And her mom?”
Abby shrugged. “Her mom was fine, I guess.”
“So her mom protected her?”
That dark, achy spot opened up inside. “Oh. Well, no, not so much. I don’t think so.”
“Then trust me, her mom wasn’t fine. But back to your friend. Does her husband abuse her verbally or physically?”
“No. No, he’s a nice guy. He’d never hurt her like that.”
Abby drew in a deep breath, wishing her heart would settle to a slower pace. Her breaths were too quick, and her mouth felt stuffed with cotton. This was hard, even anonymously.
“I can’t really give solid advice with so little information. But it’s possible that your friend’s personal truth may be driving her to—”
“Back up. Personal truth?”
“What a person believes about herself at her deepest core. Like, in a healthy childhood you grow up with a personal truth that says, ‘I’m worthy of love.’ It sounds pretty basic, but if your fundamental needs aren’t met as a child, you can develop an unhealthy personal truth. Bottom line, I think your friend might be provoking her husband—in essence, causing the arguments.”
Abby whipped around. “I—no. She wouldn’t do that.”
“Well, like I said, I don’t have much to go on. But a formerly abused woman who purposely pushes her husband’s buttons—it’s not a conscious decision. She might believe deep down that she deserves to be hit. That’s why, many times, she’ll marry an abusive man. If she happens to find a nice guy who treats her well, she might provoke him, especially when things are unsettled between them. When she’s feeling vulnerable. Then he might hit her, giving her what she feels she deserves.”
The air left Abby’s lungs. Her heart thrashed against her ribs. “That’s crazy.”
Abby turned around before Gillian could read every emotion on her face. She blindly reached for another skillet. Surely that wasn’t her. Surely she hadn’t caused their fights. Surely she hadn’t wanted him to hit her.
“Our parents teach us what we deserve by how they treat us. When we’re treated with love and respect, we grow up believing we deserve that. But when we’re treated with contempt, we grow up thinking we deserve that. We subconsciously seek out people who’ll treat us the way we think we deserve. Your friend is lucky she found a nice guy. I hope they can make it work.”
Abby closed her eyes and tried to slow her breaths. It sounded nuts. Who would want to be hit? But as crazy as it all sounded, it also made a sick kind of sense. Even worse, it resonated deep within her, at her very core.
Is that who I am? Is that what I’ve done?
She felt Gillian’s hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Abby,” she said gently. “We both know there’s no ‘friend.’ ”
Her heart beat up into her throat, and the knot in her stomach tightened. Her face heated with shame. She hated that Gillian knew. Wanted to deny it. But there was no sense in that. Gillian was too smart, too persistent, to let Abby get away with denial. And besides, maybe it was finally time she dealt with this.
“What gave it away?” Abby asked.
Gillian gave her shoulder a squeeze before she let go. “You never told me about your father.”
Abby gave a hollow laugh. “Not exactly something I’m proud of.”
“His abuse isn’t something for you to be proud of—or ashamed of. It’s his to own. Not yours.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think he’ll be claiming it anytime soon.”
“Have you ever been to a counselor?”
“I guess you’re going to tell me I should, since I’m a nutcase and all.” She didn’t mean to sound so snippy. She shoved the full box aside and grabbed an empty one.
“You’re not a ‘nutcase,’ hon. And neither are my clients. They’re people honest enough to recognize they need professional help.”
Her gaze flickered off Gillian. There was nothing but kindness in her friend’s eyes. “Sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
Gillian gave her a sympathetic smile that her clients probably saw often. “You’re feeling vulnerable and defensive. I get that. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. But I think it would be helpful if you talked to someone.”
Abby went back to loading. Something to keep her hands busy. Did she want to dig all this up? If the way she felt now was an indicator of how painful it would be, she was leaning toward no.
But then she thought of her broken marriage and all the pain it had caused. Could it have been avoided? If Abby hadn’t had so much baggage from childhood, would she and Ryan still be together? If she didn’t deal with it, was she doomed to repeat the scenario in future relati
onships?
“Do you—do you think the divorce was my fault?”
“Marriage, or divorce, is never as simple as that, honey. The important thing is that you look at the factors that may have contributed to it—the ones you can control. Few people get to our age without some kind of damage. But if we take the time to get ourselves healthy, the payoff is huge.”
Abby thought of all their arguments. They fluttered through her mind like a flip-book, telling a story that was both familiar and fresh. The times she’d thrown Cassidy in Ryan’s face. The times she’d spent money just to push his buttons, the time she cut off her hair just to spite him. She hadn’t wanted a new hairstyle; she’d wanted to make Ryan angry.
When they’d disagreed, instead of trying to resolve the conflict, she’d pushed and pushed until Ryan walked away. It had always left her feeling frustrated. She hadn’t even known why she was doing it, but what Gillian said was true, she realized now. She’d wanted him to hit her.
She’d wanted her husband to hit her.
Abby’s breath left her body. “What kind of person am I?”
Gillian squeezed her hand. “A wounded one.”
Her eyes stung and prickled, burning hot. Gillian went blurry. Abby’s lungs worked to keep up. “I wanted him to hit me. I provoked him until he was so angry. Who does that?”
“A woman who was abused,” her friend said gently.
Abby covered her heated face. “I’m so messed up.”
“We’re all a little messed up, sweetie. But you’re talking about it. That’s good. That’s very good.”
Abby pulled her hands away, surprised to find them wet. She licked her lips and found them salty. Her own anger bubbled up from some deep well she’d never acknowledged. “Why did this happen to me? Why did God give me a father who hated me? Why did He let me lose the baby? Why didn’t He save our marriage?”
“I don’t know, honey. As far as your dad goes, it’s never God’s will for a child to be hurt. But people make bad choices—often out of their own unhealthiness. And losing the baby was one of those things. Sometimes bad things happen. I don’t believe God makes them happen, but He allows it. I don’t always understand why.”
“What a mess.”
“It can be cleaned up. It’s possible.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You can with God’s help.”
A sudden thought convicted her, jabbing hard. She’d left God behind long ago. Sometime after she’d lost the baby. She’d been angry and bitter, and she’d just stopped talking to Him, stopped going to church. Remorse swept through her, as strong as an ocean wave, nearly knocking her over.
God, I’m sorry. I was angry at You, and I let myself get caught up in bitterness.
She’d made so many wrong turns after that. “Just when I needed Him most, I broke all ties with Him. What a stupid thing to do.”
“We’re human. We make mistakes. The smart ones learn from them. And Abby—you’re one of the smart ones.”
She looked into Gillian’s comforting eyes. “Think so?”
“I know so. It won’t be easy, but you can turn things around. It’ll be so much better than letting it fester. And when you’re healthy again, He’ll use you in ways you never dreamed He could. He doesn’t waste a hurt.”
Abby thought of what Ryan had said about resentment. She told Gillian the story of how her mom conceived her and how her dad had treated her. They talked for over an hour on the kitchen floor, boxes scattered around them.
“I thought Ryan resented me—that he felt stuck with me after I lost our baby. Is it possible I imagined all that? That was the start of it all. When things started going downhill.”
“If your father resented you, and it sounds like he did, it would make sense that you’d feel resented by others. Especially someone you loved and had become emotionally dependent on.”
A weight the size of Texas settled on her shoulders. “Ryan was right.”
Gillian could say whatever she liked. Abby’d had a front-row seat to the collapse of her marriage. And now that she had a new perspective, she hated what she saw. Ryan hadn’t been perfect, but she was the one who’d escalated their fights. She was the one who’d left. Guilt seeped into every cell of her body.
“You’re doing a great job, Abby. It’s never too late to work on your emotional health.”
“But it’s too late to save my marriage.” She would go to her grave regretting that. She felt like she was grieving the loss all over again.
“Maybe. But you can focus on the future. You’re young. You have a lot of life ahead of you and a dream job waiting in St. Paul. You’ll get to the bottom of this and be so much better for it. If you want to keep talking to me, that’s fine, but sometimes it’s easier talking to a stranger.”
“None of it sounds easy.”
“It won’t be. But I promise it’ll be worth it. You’re worth it, Abby.”
Abby checked her watch. “I feel like I should pay you for the last two hours, but I don’t know if I can afford your rates.”
Gillian gave a wry grin. “Please. Friends share stuff with friends.” Her grin turned smug. “I just give better advice than most.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
GILLIAN PLACED THE LAST SUITCASE INTO ABBY’S CAR. “I can’t believe this is it.”
“I know.” Abby set Boo in the passenger seat and shut the door, taking one last look at her apartment. The moving truck would be here tomorrow, and Gillian had offered to supervise the event.
Meanwhile Abby could settle into her new apartment before getting a start at work on Monday. Frank wanted to open within two weeks, and that would be a challenge.
Her new life was about to begin. The weight that had taken up residence inside her settled even more heavily.
“You have your new keys? Your driver’s license? Dog food? Where’s the dog food?”
Abby gave Gillian a wry smile. “It’s in the back, Mom.”
Gillian embraced Abby, wrapping her up tight. “I’m going to miss you.”
Abby was surprised to feel the sting of tears. Although it shouldn’t be much of a surprise. Ever since she’d spilled her guts five weeks ago, she’d often found herself on the verge of tears.
Gillian had made a lot of time for her in those weeks. They talked for hours some nights. Her friend was gentle with Abby’s tender wounds and had a gift for saying the right words at the just the right time.
Along with everything else she’d learned, Abby had come to realize she needed to forgive her parents. It was a task that seemed insurmountable at times. One step at a time, she reminded herself. She was definitely a work in progress.
Her friend had been right. It wasn’t easy. Digging through the pain was like picking a wound wide open. But it was healing too. The thought of starting therapy with someone new and unfamiliar in St. Paul pushed at the weight inside.
She’d started attending Gillian’s church several weeks ago. She’d let anger and bitterness come between her and God, but she was done with that. It was time to accept responsibility for her own mistakes and trust God with the rest.
“Are you sure you’re okay with all this?” Gillian asked. “You’ve been so despondent lately.”
“Just have a lot on my mind.” That was a lot of it. But something else had been building. The more time that passed, the more she missed Ryan. Wasn’t it supposed to get easier with time? Why did it only seem harder?
Gillian released her. “You’ve got the name of that therapist, right?”
“It’s on my cell phone.”
“If you need anything, just call. What if your car breaks down?”
“Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.” Abby got in her Fiat and started the engine. She would be fine. If she told herself that enough, maybe she’d start believing it.
“I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll handle everything.”
“I know you will. And thanks.”
Gillian shut her d
oor. Her friend’s blue eyes turned glassy, and she blinked against the tears. “You’d better not just fade into the sunset. I’m expecting more than Christmas cards and biannual phone calls.”
“I’ll bug you so much you’ll get sick of me.”
“Not a chance. I know it’ll be late when you get in, but text me and let me know you arrived safely.”
“I will.”
Gillian stepped away from the car. “Bye, Boo-Boo. Be good for Mommy.”
The dog’s ears perked up, and her tail thumped twice.
“Chat soon,” Abby said as she put the car in drive.
“Be safe.”
“I will.”
She pulled away from the apartment and turned onto the street, merging into traffic. Her heart pounded. Excitement, she told herself. She was starting a new life in a new city—a new state. She’d gotten everything she’d been working so hard for.
Boo curled up in the seat and heaved a soft sigh.
Awhile later Abby eased onto 74 West. It occurred to her she was going the opposite direction of Chapel Springs. Every mile took her farther from Ryan.
“And that’s exactly what you need.”
The words rang hollow in the emptiness of the car. The past several weeks had clearly shown her the effects her upbringing had on her. She’d only begun to scratch the surface. But now, looking back at her marriage, she knew something she never would’ve admitted before.
Ryan had loved her tenaciously. He’d put up with a lot. Maybe he’d worked too much, maybe he’d let her go too easily, but she’d done nothing but push him away that last year. He must’ve thought it was what she’d wanted.
She rubbed her chest, at the endless ache where her broken heart resided. She had to stop this. Stop thinking about Ryan. Stop dwelling on the past. Why was it so hard?
Because you love him.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter. God help her, she did. She still did. After all these years. After all the pain and all the time apart, there was nothing on this earth she wanted more.
Too bad he couldn’t possibly want her anymore. She hadn’t heard from him the past several weeks—not since the day she’d spotted his car outside her apartment complex. Clearly he’d given up on her. Could she blame him? During their marriage she’d pushed him away, and on the trip she’d changed directions faster than a yo-yo.
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