Page 86 of Bad Husband

I glare at him. “I told you that in confidence,” I seethe.

“No, you didn’t. Nathalie told me.”

“Ugh!” I groan again.

My dad groans too. “Get off your ass, you pussy. I’m hungry.”

I END UP going out to dinner with my dad and Brantley and wedon’tgo to the strip club. Well, they doafterdinner, but I don’t go with them. I stay at the house where they drop me off and FaceTime Callan and Noah while trying to read Madison’s every expression as the boys sit on her lap. This, her, them, it’s all a reminder as to why I have no business being at a strip club. I’m still in love with my wife.

The day Brantley and I leave, my dad offers me some advice I take to heart.

“Are you willing to be there for your boys no matter what comes their way?”

I nod. “Yes.”

Why do I feel like I’m on trial here?

“Are you willing to raise them to be young men and not pussies?”

Is he referring to me? What a dick. He probably is. But I answer with, “Yes.”

“Are you willing to push them to become men and treat women with respect?”

Again, is he fucking talking about me here? He certainly isn’t talking about himself. This man doesn’t know respect around women.

When I nod, he shoves my shoulder, once and pushes me into the side of my truck. “Then don’t give up on them. Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

I’m not at all sure how to process his words of wisdom or bullshit, but it makes me think on the drive home. I will never be like Mike Cooper.

That’s sad to say, but my mom once told me my father may not be an example of what to be like, but at least he was an example of what not to be.

So as I head home, my intention is to never make my boys feel like any of this is their fault and set a good example for them. Not a sixty-two-year-old bachelor who’s been married four times and shoots pigs for fun.

It’s been fifty-two days since Madison filed the paperwork and every day closer to that sixty-day deadline is about as painful as stabbing myself in the heart repeatedly.

I wake up every morning and think to myself, this can’t be real, can it? It’s a joke, right?

I wish it was.

I don’t know why I go by the new house when I make it back to town Friday morning. Maybe because I built the place and I want to see it one last time. I’m not sure.

When I started building this house, Madison, Callan—Noah didn’t really give a shit—and I were so excited to have something of our own that I built and I took pride in that. I took pride in the fact I was creating our home we’d share for years to come, and my craftsmanship would welcome them. Everywhere they’d look, they’d see me in this house, even when I wasn’t there to be with them.

I wondered even now with me not living here if Madison wouldn’t think of me when she was here. Would Callan proudly tell his friends, “My dad built this house himself.”

How did it fall apart right before my eyes? Part of me knows I only have myself to blame for all this. If I would have paid attention, saw what was happening, maybe I could have changed before it all went to shit.

As I stand there staring out the house from the backyard, I get the feeling I’m not alone. You know when someone’s standing behind you. I also don’t need to turn around to know who it is because whenever she’s around me, Ifeelit. Ifeelher. “I see you got the key so you must have the signed divorce papers I left for you too. I just want you to know I’m willing to walk away, give you what you want, but I’m not giving up custody of the boys. You will let me see my sons whenever I want. Joint custody is the only option, so don’t even think about trying for anything less.”

When I do face her, she’s crying, and though I’m not surprised she’s in tears because she has been the last three times I’ve seen her, there’s something different about her I can’t place.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t the house what you thought it would be? If there is something you don’t like, just tell me and we’ll change it. I want you and the boys to be happy here.” What the fuck am I saying? I want her to be happy? Is that even true?

Of course it is. She’s the mother of my sons. I absolutely want her to be happy because right now I see my mother standing there, crying, asking my father why we weren’t good enough for him. I don’t remember that many of their fights, but I remember that one.

I’ve never been one to comfort people. I always feel awkward doing it so I just stand there with my hands in my pockets wondering what I should do. She wanted a divorce, yet she’s constantly in tears. Isn’t that the opposite reaction if it’s something you want?

“The house is perfect. I haven’t seen the inside yet, but it’s just like we dreamed.”

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