Page 87 of Unfaithful

I didn't sleep a wink. After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I told Nancy I was heading out again. She gave me a concerned look but didn't say much.

I drove aimlessly through town, the streets quiet and empty, my mind racing. Every turn I took, every mile I passed, only seemed to lead me further into the same unanswerable void.

Nancy's words kept replaying in my mind: What's best for Sara.

Yet, I felt unmoored, adrift in uncertainty.

What did it mean to love someone when love demanded letting go? Was stepping back the right thing to do, or was it just another way of giving up?

The questions swirled, unanswered, as I kept driving, the night stretching on endlessly. I drove, chasing no destination, seeking answers the night had not brought.

I kept driving and driving until the sun rose and the streets came alive with cars and passersby. I passed the restaurant where we held our engagement party, remembering how happy I was at that moment. How proud I felt that someone like her loved me, that I wanted to shout it to the world. I passed the ice cream shop where we shared our first official date, the start of our relationship. She was wearing a white summer dress—so beautiful, so pure—and I remembered thinking,"I'm going to marry this girl."

Then I passed our house—her house now—where it all began, where we began.

For a moment, I lingered, parked at the sidewalk, the engine idling softly as memories flooded my mind. The quiet longing pressed against my chest, unrelenting, as I stared at the house that once held so much of my life, my love, my happiness.

But I didn't stop long.

With a deep breath, I shifted the car into gear and drove away again.

Along the way, I passed the flower shop where I used to buy bouquets for Sara, back when I remembered, when I appreciated, how lucky I was to have her. I hadn't done that in a long time. This time, I stopped and bought a bouquet of red and pink roses. The lady who sold them to me said they could beautifully convey both love and forgiveness.

It was perfect. The red roses spoke of the love that still burned fiercely in my heart, while the soft pink ones carried the desperate hope of forgiveness.

Then I drove to her house, my heartbeat pounding loud in my ears the entire way. I parked across the street, right behind Archie's car. He was still there.

I sat for a moment, clutching the bouquet of red and pink roses, their fragrance a quiet reminder of why I'd come. My hands trembled as I stepped out of the car, each step toward her door feeling heavier than the last.

I pressed the bell, the sound echoing in the stillness. It felt like an eternity before the door finally opened, and there she was—Sara. The love of my life. The woman who had been my everything, the one I had taken for granted.

Her eyes met mine, and in that moment, everything I had rehearsed in my mind vanished. All that remained was the truth: she was the one I couldn't live without, the one I had hurt, the one I was desperate to make things right with.

The roses in my hands felt like both an offering and an apology, but words still caught in my throat. All I could do was stand there, hoping she could see in my eyes what I couldn't say yet.

And then Nancy's words echoed back in my head."It's about doing what's right for her."

"Hi," I croaked, trying to give her a smile. I handed the flowers to her. "This is for you."

"Thank you," she said softly, her eyes lingering on the bouquet, a faint smile touching her lips as if she couldn't help but love it. "Let me get my coat. We can walk and talk."

Sara turned and went inside, disappearing up the stairs. I stepped into the foyer, my eyes wandering around the house we once shared. I missed this place. Every corner held memories—laughter in the kitchen, quiet evenings on the couch, the way the sunlight used to spill through the windows in the morning. This was our home, a life we'd built together.

She appeared again, already wearing her coat, but then she paused and turned to the side. That's when I saw Archie. They spoke in low voices, their words too soft for me to hear, but the intimacy of the moment was unmistakable. My heart pinched painfully, knowing that she saw him as someone safe, someone she could rely on. He became her pillar, her strength. And now, she had to reassure him she would be safe with me.

I watched as she pressed her right hand gently against his chest, a gesture that seemed to say,It's okay. I'll be okay. He nodded at her, his expression softening, but then his eyes shifted to me.

Our gazes locked, and for a moment, the air between us was heavy with unspoken words. He gave me a single nod—a silent plea, a quiet demand. Keep her safe. Her body, her mind, and especially her heart.

I nodded back, my own silent promise.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Cole

We walked side by side, and my hands ached, desperate to touch hers. My gaze fell to her hand, delicate and familiar, and I remembered how it felt in mine—soft, fragile, as if it might dissolve if I held it too tightly. I recalled the way it stirred something deep within me, how the world seemed to fall into place when our fingers intertwined. How had I forgotten that feeling? How had I let it slip away, unnoticed and unappreciated?

Sara noticed me staring. She looked up, her lips curving into a small, hesitant smile, as though smiling at me felt wrong, yet she couldn't help herself. That smile was enough for me. It was a thousand times better than anger, better than indifference. At that moment, I knew there was still a small space inside her heart reserved just for me.

---