Page 102 of F*ck Marriage

I expect to see hurt, but Woods looks angry.

“Come off of it, Billie. I know you better than anyone.”

I think of our last months together. Everything that led up to his recent proposal. The effort was there, Woods had been eager to show me that he was a different person. But even as we did all of the things that would have saved our marriage in the first place, a heavy weight has hung over me. I tried to tell myself that I was hung up on past hurts; Woods had done nothing to make me doubt him ... this time. But that’s just it, isn’t it? One can’t be hung up on the past when trying to move forward.

I look him in the eyes when I say my next words. “I’m even further from what I was when you cheated on me, Woods. I’m more of everything bad and less of everything good.” My throat is burning while my eyes brim with tears. I don’t want to cry. I want to evaporate: disappear.

“It’ll take time … healing,” Woods assures me. “You just need to see that I’m here to stay. Things will be different.”

“No.” I shake my head. “I think what’s different is me. I spent years wanting to rewind time and fix things between us. I was so fixated on that that I missed something important. That—I’m not that girl anymore. The one who wanted to be with you. I’ve wanted to be her again because I liked her better than who I am now.”

He laughs. It’s a bitter sound in this peaceful place. I can’t blame him really. I got us into this mess by coming back to New York with him. By saying yes when he asked me to marry him for the second time. By ignoring the voice in my own mind that has never ever steered me wrong.

“And who do you want to be with, Billie? Satcher? Does he fit who you are now?” There’s so much anger in his words I look away.

“I’m so sorry, Woods,” I say, the tears moving sluggishly down my cheeks. I reach up to wipe them away.

“You’re kidding me.” He takes a step away from me, looking out the window.

I flinch at his tone. I think of Satcher then and I have to use all of my restraint not to break down and sob. I’m not okay without Satcher. The thought of never seeing him again, never being able to hear his voice, or see the dimples appear in his cheeks makes me want to double over in pain.

“He doesn’t love you. Satcher only loves himself.”

“You should go,” I say.

I don’t have to ask him twice. Woods storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“You’re going to be okay,” I tell myself.

I’m still sitting in the chair, trapped by my dress, when there’s a knock on the door. She doesn’t wait for me to invite her in this time; my mother walks directly over to where I’m sitting and helps me to my feet.

“There’s a cab waiting downstairs for you,” she says. “You can leave out the back.”

“What about everyone who came? I owe them—”

“Nothing,” she interrupts. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation about your choices.”

“Wow, Mom.”

She looks flustered. “I care too much.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but her words come out so forcefully I startle. “And just because I torture myself by caring too much doesn’t mean you should too.”

I grab her then and hug her so tight it’s her turn to be startled. After a few seconds of shock, I feel her hands lift to my back in our first reciprocated hug in a decade.

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I love you.”

“I love you too. You better go.”

I nod, letting her go and grabbing the last of my things.

“I’ll call you,” I say. “To let you know where I am.”

“Are you going to find Satcher?”

My hands still on the zipper of my bag. “Yeah. I don’t know if he’ll…” I mean to sayForgive me,but I can’t get the words out.

“He will,” she says. “He has it bad.”

I smile.

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