Page 167 of Sins & Secrets

A warmth settles through me. I wish it were that easy. I’d buy every flower I could if that were the case.

“Whatever you do,” Pops says, distracting me from the vision of Kat forgiving me,“just don’t give up.”

“I won’t,” I tell him and I damn well mean it.

KAT

My fingers relentlessly tap on my phone and my gaze drifts to the door. He’s coming. Soon.

Evan needs to get his things and get out. Mistake after mistake after mistake. That’s what this relationship has been. There’s undeniable love between us. I won’t argue with that. But some people aren’t meant to be together and at this point in my life, I should be concerned with having children and not the possibility of having to bail my husband out of jail.

There’s a bit of anger that’s carried me through the last two days. It’s what I focus on. It’s what gives me the strength to tell him I don’t want to be with him anymore. To tell him it doesn’t matter when he says he loves me.

I know it matters, and I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit that I’ll always want him and have love for him. I’ll always want to feel loved like I did when we first got together.

But there’s only one way for the story of the two of us to end and that’s with him packing his things and getting out. Loving each other simply isn’t enough when we’re so far apart in other ways.

As if he heard my thought, the front doorknob jiggles and the sound of keys clinking creeps into the room.

Fate hates me. No, that’s not strong enough of a word. It mustloatheme because the sight of my husband standing in our doorway shatters my heart.

I attempt to keep my expression cold, but my body goes numb and the same coldness that swept over my body only weeks ago when I felt my marriage falling apart drifts over my skin now. His eyes are bloodshot. He can’t force a look of anything but agony as he turns his gaze from me and walks slowly into the room, closing the door behind him. The shock to my system is crippling and I can’t look him in the eyes. He doesn’t try to hide the desperation. His disheveled hair and all-around rough appearance make my body itch to touch him. To comfort him. To make the obvious pain go away.

I think that’s why I’ll never be able to deny that I love him. The image of him in pain destroys me to my core. My soul hurts for his, and I want nothing more than to take his misery away.

I need to love myself more than I could ever love him. I’m trying to. My God, am I trying.

He nods his head as he tosses his keys down on the coffee table and stands awkwardly in front of me.

I have to swallow the tightness in my throat and ignore the heat flowing through my body begging me to give in. “Hi.” I’m the first to say anything at all and break the uneasy tension in the living room.

“How are you?” he asks and it feels so odd. Like we’re just old friends or acquaintances.

“Not the best,” I answer him. I try to find that anger, I remember everything as my eyes shift to the entrance to the dining room, but there’s not an ounce of anger that will come to my rescue.

“I miss you,” he says as the last word spills from my lips.

“I miss you too,” I admit, my voice cracking and I lick my lips.

“Things have gotten rough, but I never stopped loving you. You’re the only thing that matters.”

“What you say is everything I want to hear, Evan. But it’s what you’ve done that makes it impossible for me to stay with you.”

His boots smack on the hardwood floor as he makes his way to me. And I don’t move. I don’t object. I even lean into him slightly when he sits down next to me. At first he’s angled away from me, his elbows on his knees but then he looks at me with a hurt in his eyes that makes me inch closer to him, and he does the same.

I may be angry about what he’s done. What I’ve done as well. But no amount of anger can outweigh the pain we both feel in this moment.

The pain from knowing we’re damaged beyond repair.

“Will you ever forgive me?” he questions and then takes a chance, moving his large hand to my thigh and gently rubbing his thumb back and forth.

“I already have,” I tell him and feel slightly less strong. Weak for being okay with what’s happened. Or at least for accepting it.

“Do you just not love me anymore then?” he asks me, his eyes piercing into mine and holding me captive. His words are raw, coming from a damaged man.

My lungs still and the words hang on the tip of my tongue. They’re too afraid to leave me. I’m so weak for him, so bendable and disposable. If I admit such a flaw, he may never give me a fighting chance for something more.

What’s worse, I may be content with that.

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