Page 71 of Best Kept Vows

I wanted to hold Lia because she looked so fragile—and I’d brought this upon myself by being a selfish motherfucker.

“Lia, can you tell Sebastian how his behavior and actions made…makeyoufeel?”

I noticed how Dr. Ryan brought in the past, but I also wanted to confirm if what we were saying was true in the present.

Lia breathed out softly. “Like I was last on his list of priorities.”

She didn’t raise her voice.

She didn’t cry.

She said those words quietly, resignedly, and they hit harder than her screaming them to me would have.

“And now?” Dr. Ryan prompted.

“I…”—Lia looked at me and I saw fear and confusion in her eyes—“don’t know. He seems to be taking my side, but I feel like it’s only because I left. If I’d stayed, nothing would’ve changed.”

Dr. Ryan gave Lia an appraising glance. “So, what?”

Lia frowned.

Dr. Ryan shifted slightly in her seat, her face impassive. “Let me ask you this—if Sebastian is changing because you left, isn’t that the point? Didn’t you step away to give yourself space to think but also to give him the opportunity to reflect and make different choices?”

Lia’s head moved in a slow, solemn nod. “Then why do I feel like he should've fixed things before I left?”

“How could he when you never told him how upset you were?” Dr. Ryan pointed out.

“I knew,” I interjected. “I just…chose to keep the peace with my mother over her.”

I felt Lia flinch at those words. I couldn’t help it because the truth was just that. I had chosen my family over her. I had chosenmyselfover her.

“You know, every time Lia blames you for something, you tend to defend yourself. Now, when I’m placing somemodicum of responsibility on Lia, you’re defending her,” Dr. Ryan mused. “Why is that?”

I shrugged. “It’s not her fault. I am at fault…for everything.”

Lia put a hand on mine, which was resting on my thigh. “Honey, there are two people in a marriage—like they say, you need two hands to clap.”

“But I fucked up big time. I hate that I’ve been a shitty husband.”

“You have to stop with such polarizing statements,” Dr. Ryan urged. “You were not a horrible husband for every minute of every day for twenty-two years. And Lia wasn’t quiet about her needs all the time.”

“I took her for granted.” I was having trouble getting the words out. I had made my wife feel unloved. My Lia. Beautiful, fantastic Lia who gave so openly. I’d squandered it on bullshit pride and family peace.

“Before our next session, I want each of you to think of two times when you felt lucky to be married to one another—and two times when you felt the opposite,” Dr. Ryan instructed.

I could list a hundred reasons why I was lucky to be married to Lia without even breaking a sweat, I thought as I stepped into the dimly lit bar tucked into the corner of Broughton Street. If I was going to spend the evening drowning in self-reflection, I needed a damn drink first.

The bar was called The Wayward. I’d never been here before. It was classic Savannah, with exposed brick walls, candlelit tables, and a long wooden bar stocked with high-end bourbon. It was intimate, the kind of setting where youcould imagine people whispering secrets over whiskey, with slow jazz playing in the background.

The bar was also a little whimsical, with a classic motorcycle suspended from the ceiling, which definitely added to its distinctive charm.

I slid onto a stool, nodding to the bartender.

“I’ll have a Michter’s 10-year,” I ordered because I’d seen the bottle on the shelf behind him.

He poured the amber liquid into a heavy glass, the scent rich and familiar. I took a slow sip, the warmth spreading through me, but it did nothing to quiet the aching hollow in me.

“Open tab?” the bartender asked.

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