Page 95 of Choosing Hope
Her voice wasn’t sharp. It was tired, careful.
“You won’t,” I said, my voice firm. “I’m not asking you to pretend it didn’t happen. I screwed up and buried things. I—” I glance at Carlo. “—buriedusuntil I couldn’t breathe.”
Carlo shifted, his jaw tight. “You think saying it out loud in pretty words, fixes it?”
“No,” I said. “But it’s a start. And I’m not running from it anymore. Not from you or from Sophie.”
“About time,” Carlo mumbled, under his breath.
Sophie’s eyes flicked between us, like she was looking for the catch.
I nod. “Mostly, I just want to be honest about the way I feel.” Sophie smiles, encouraging me, but Carlo runs his tongue along the outside of his teeth, assessing me.
“Dr. Klein has helped me to understand that loving both of you isn’t a choice. I can’t keep fighting my attraction to you, Carlo. This process has helped me understand that I’ve got to learn to accept and enjoy it.” My gaze flitted to my wife. “But I owe Sophie and Lily more of me.”
Sophie’s focus shifted to Carlo. I followed her eyeline. His hands are pressed into the counter firmly, as if he’d fall if he let go.
Perhaps sensing we were waiting for his comment, he slowly lifted his head.
“Fuck, Spence, I’m not asking to come between you and Soph.”
Sophie and I sat frozen, waiting for his next pearl of wisdom.
He sighed and hid his face again.
“After what’s happened over the last few years, I think Sophie and I both deserve some time with you, alone,” he says, speaking to the worktop. “We need to learn to trust you again.” His voice cracked, and I felt Sophie's stare boring into the side of my face as if she were trying to convey a message.
“Sophie is more forgiving than me. It’s going to take time for me to forgive you for the way you’ve treated her.”
My shame engulfed me, preventing me from speaking or moving. My lack of response generated a heavy silence in the room.
The air pressure was changing again, becoming unbearable.
I wanted to go to him.
To hold him.
But I didn’t.
It was Sophie who eventually stood. With her usual perfect grace, she rested her hand on the back of Carlo’s, his palm still pressed into the counter.
She didn’t speak, just offered him love, reaffirmed their friendship, and most of all shared his grief.
“I don’t know how else to say I’m sorry.” I said, the words falling from my lips, unchecked.
I half expected Carlo to walk out, refusing to continue this drama. Instead, he lifted his chin.
“We know you’re sorry, Compagno,” His tone was soft but I could detect a slight note of despair. “We don't want you to keep apologizing. We just don’t want any more reason to hear your remorse.”
We didn’t solve everything in that kitchen. We didn’t map the future with our conversation. But when Sophie reached for my hand, drawing me toward them, and Carlo didn’t turn away, I felt it—the quiet click of a door unlocking.
By the end of the evening, we were all more relaxed. Sophie had been transparent with both of us; explaining she supported our relationship wholeheartedly.
It was a relief that I no longer needed to hide anything from my two favorite people. Having all my secrets out in the open helped massively but when I’m lying in bed later, with Sophie beside me, my mind is whirling. I’m certain I won’t relax enough to fall asleep.
My wife’s soft breaths are even, telling me she’s fast asleep. I glance at the clock beside me and see we’ve been in bed for two hours, so presumably Carlo is asleep too.
I flick the covers off, deciding to get up to make a warm drink.
