Page 54 of Finding Amanda

His jaw dropped. "You can't be serious."

"What are you talking about?"

"Amanda, you yanked the rug out from under them when you kicked me out. You don't understand what that's like."

"Neither do you. You were almost thirty when your parents divorced."

"Yeah, and I felt like my world crumbled." He glanced at Sophie's sleeping form. His words were calm, but the vein on his temple throbbed. "I'm sure this is much, much worse for them."

Amanda's constant, niggling guilt bubbled up like sauce around the edges of lasagna. "They don't understand what's going on."

His free hand covered his face. "You're the one who doesn't understand. We talked about it tonight, talked about why I don't live with them anymore."

"Why would you bring it up?"

He lowered his hand and rubbed Sophie's back. "I didn't. They asked me why I moved out. Sophie said her friend's father moved out because he found, in her words, 'a younger, prettier wife.' She wanted to know if that's why I moved out."

Turning away from him, Amanda slumped against the chair. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her that her mother was the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Why would I want anyone else?"

Amanda's heart fluttered at his words as if he were uttering them on their honeymoon, not after almost a decade of marriage. She stole a peek at his face to find him staring at Madi. Avoiding her eyes. She didn't know what to say.

He continued, voice matter-of-fact. "I think stress triggered tonight's attack."

"So this is my fault?"

"It'sourfault. Together we made a mess of our marriage. I don't blame you."

She sat back and folded her arms. "Yes, you do."

"If I was such a bad husband that you'd rather . . ." His voicecaught. He cleared his throat. "If you'd rather put our family through this than try to work it out, well, I have to own that."

A few minutes of silence passed. A door slammed far away, a phone rang outside the door. Finally, in a whisper, Amanda said, "I don't think there's anything left to work on."

Rolling over, Madi turned her tiny back to them and curled into a ball.

"We have them," Mark said. "Couldn't we start there?"

With a sigh, Amanda watched their baby girl sleep. "It's just . . . there are things I need that you can't give me."

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Mark nod. "That's true," he said slowly. "There are things I need that you can't give me."

"Right," she said through gritted teeth, "like my innocence."

He turned to face her. "What are you . . . ? I just meant I've always felt kind of . . . unfulfilled. And even though I love you and, well, I thought you loved me, there was always this sort of . . . emptiness. But when I started going to church?—"

"Oh, Jesus." She didn't need his preaching tonight.

"Yes, Amanda. Jesus. He filled my empty places."

"Great. See, you didn't need me after all." Mark didn't need her and hersin. He had Jesus. Irrational, cold jealousy assaulted her, and she crossed her arms to protect herself.

"You know what, Amanda, I don't need you. Not the way you think. I hate living alone, but I can do it. I can cook for myself, I can clean up after myself, I can do my own laundry, okay? I can raise my girls, thank you very much, without your help. I don't need you."

Like bubbles rising from the bottom of thick soup, her anger reached its boiling point. If he didn't miss those things, then why did he want to get back with her? "Congratulations. I'm happy for you."

He adjusted Sophie in his lap. "And I'm assuming you can manage just fine without me, too."

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