Seven weeks. Seven weeks of me doubting my marriage.
I nodded slowly. “Here is what happens now. Tomorrow we start counseling, because you don’t get to decide what I can handle by lying to me.”
Daniel’s eyes filled. “Okay,” he said. “Yes.”
I looked back at my mother. “I heard you. I don’t know what I’ll feel tomorrow, and I won’t promise you anything tonight.”
“That’s fair,” she whispered.
Daniel stepped closer. “Mel, I’m sorry.”
“I know you’re sorry,” I said. “But sorry doesn’t erase what I had to become to find the truth.”
I walked out without offering comfort I couldn’t honestly give.
Later, Daniel found me on the couch.
“I won’t stop you from seeing her,” I said. “That’s your choice. But I am not joining you right now. I am not pretending this is normal. I am not pretending this is normal or forcing forgiveness because someone is dying.”
“I understand.”
I went to our bedroom, closed the door behind me, and exhaled—the kind of breath you only take when you’ve stopped waiting for someone else to fix the story.
Source: amomama.com
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only.
