Page 41 of The Gathered Fragments of Us
“I know I'm not always present. I miss things. I've checked out. But I honestly still know you in my heart. When everything happened, I sat and tried to remember all the things you like, all the things about you I should know without trying to dig in my brain.” he said simply. “Then I remembered that there is a deeper part of my heart that just knows you. I love you, Felicity. I'm a complete screw up. I know I got so lost in everything else that I forgot to show you. But I see how you take care of everyone around you. I see how you make Macy feel special when she’s here, how you give your heart. You leave small notes around forme. You give the most amazing hugs. Your heart is a beautiful thing. I failed to protect it. And I will never make that mistake again.”
Tears were flowing freely now. “Then why didn’t any of that matter when it came to remembering my birthday? How can you say these things without me now? Where was all this then?”
“Because I’m an idiot,” he said simply. “Because I got comfortable thinking you’d always be there, always be understanding, always be willing to wait for me to have time for you. Because I took your strength for granted and forgot that strong people can break too.”
“I did break,” I whispered. “That night with the purse. I broke completely.”
“I know. I saw it happen and I was too stupid to understand what I was watching—even though I was right there in the middle of it.”
“I’ve felt so alone, Caden. Alone in this marriage, alone in this house, alone in my own life. Do you have any idea what that feels like—any idea what it has been like to be me?”
“I don't. And I could never.” he said quietly. “You would never put me in that position—not like I did you. But this last week. This time without you—not knowing if you would even come home—if you would give me a chance…they have been heartbreaking. I've never felt lonelier in my life, and just the thought that my small taste of what you experienced over these last few years—I can't even pretend to imagine. I. Am. So. Fucking. Sorry.”
I looked around, needing to see anything—anything but the pure sincerity and remorse on his face. "This home of ours—you knowit's almost stopped feeling like home,” I said. “Almost like a place I was staying. One with memories, but unlikely hope of a future.”
“What can I do to make it feel like home again?”
I looked around the kitchen—at the evidence of his effort, at the flowers Macy had chosen, at the meal he’d prepared with his own hands instead of ordering takeout or asking me to cook.
“I don’t know yet,” I said honestly. “But this is a start.”
“There’s something else,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “From Macy. She emailed me tonight.”
He handed me his phone, and I read her message, my heart breaking and mending at the same time.
“She’s a good kid,” I whispered. "I wish—" I paused, handing him back the phone, and unsure of how to continue.
"What? You can tell me anything. I swear, I'm here to listen now. Now and forever."
"I don't know. I feel this weird sensation. It's hard to explain. I…I feel torn."
"Torn?"
"Yeah. Trying for so long to have a kid. Trying and failing." The tears that had finally dried started again. I knew this was one of those things—one of the issues between us that had no solution.
"Felicity." I heard his sigh. Thinking he was exasperated by the topic, I responded, "I know. I know it's done. I get it. Nevermi—"
"No!" He said sharply, then dialing his volume back he repeated, "no. I don't mean don't talk about it. I meant—I don't know. I guess I just meant that I get it. I feel the same way. Like I wish things had worked out but at the same time I'd hate if there was a little person of our own stuck in the middle of this pain."
Sighing, my shoulders slumped. "Yeah—that's exactly what I mean and how I feel." I looked down at my stomach, the one that had never carried a life to term. The one that had failed me. I laid my hand on across my abdomen, remembering the feeling of life that had been there for only a few moments, never to see the light of day. "Yeah," I whispered.
He reached for me, then pulled back. We both knew that we weren't there yet—in a place where touch was right. Not yet.
I stood up straight and looked around the kitchen again—at the flowers, the clean counters, the care he’d taken to make this space welcoming.
“You know what the hardest part of everything was?” I said suddenly. “It wasn’t the forgotten birthdays or the delegated gifts. It was being alone. It was feeling like I didn’t matter enough for you to try. Like after you poured yourself into your work, after I poured myself into mourning our loss, what we had together just wasn’t enough to hold us together on its own and I didn't matter.”
“You matter more than anything,” he said fiercely. “You matter more than work, more than anything. I lost sight of that, but I see it now.”
“This doesn’t fix us,” I said.
“I know.”
“We have a lot of work to do.”
“I know.”
“It's work we probably should have been doing already.”
