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Twisting around, I want to tell her how much it hurts to be in this house and have this reaction from her. I almost want her to hate the house, as crazy as that sounds. It hurts because inside, it feels like nothing is ever going to be the same again. I don’t say anything as her eyes roam around the house from the exotic hardwood floors we ordered from South Africa, the ones with my DNA on them from where they ripped my thumbnail off, to the kitchen with her commercial appliances she asked for to the French doors leading out to the outdoor kitchen.
Bowing her head, her hands rise to cover her face.
Bringing in a breath, I let it out with a whoosh. “Looks like the rain’s letting up. I’m going to go now.”
“Please don’t leave.” She steps toward me, her hand on my forearm. “I want to talk about things.”
My eyes drop to her hand on me, and then to her eyes. “I can’t do that.” As my luck would have it, the rain picks up again.
Fuck you Mother Nature. You’re really pissing me off.
“Please stay.”
I shake my head, barely able to stand here without feeling like my body will give out. “I can’t.”
“You can’t or won’t?”
“Won’t.”
“Well…” She hangs her head, hand falling away. “That changes things then.”
I stare her down, making sure she knows exactly what I mean. “As it should, Mad.”
“I thought by doing it, you’d see what was happening to us, and you did. Our problems lay a lot deeper than either of us wanted to admit, but you have to admit by me doing it, you finally saw what I was talking about,” she says, shaking her head and throwing her arms up, as if she’s completely lost all hope. “I’m so unbelievably sorry for the way I went about it, but I’m not sorry for you finally seeing our marriage wasn’t perfect like you thought it was.”
Remember when I said Madison can’t make a decision to save her life and is constantly changing her mind? Exactly my goddamn point. She made the decision to file for divorce and then she didn’t know what to do because she wasn’t sure about it.
“I feel like I don’t even know who you are… like I never knew,” I mumble, hoping she heard me. “If I didn’t know how bad things were, I obviously didn’t know you.”
“You do know me.” Her voice comes out shattered. Her appearance isn’t any better as she pushes herself against the wall in the entryway and slides to the floor.
“No, I don’t.” Shaking my head, I repeat, “Idon’t knowyou because the Madison I knew would have come and talked to me before it got so bad to the point where she felt it was necessary to lie to me to get my attention. And then when she did have my attention, she wouldn’t have given me the cold shoulder.”
This girl at my feet, the one who filed for divorce and then lied to me about it for sixty days, I don’t know her. I don’t.
Madison stares up at me, and for a moment, she lets me see just how truly tired she is of this. How completely beat down she had become by this one secret, the one thing she knew would destroy us if she admitted the truth. The man still in love with her, he wants to help her, ease the burden, letting her know she didn’t have to deal with it alone, even though I’m the one hurting here. But the thing is, I wouldn’t be me if I let her deal with this alone because I’d be doing the same thing I hated about my own father.
Madison frowns, as if she can see I’m trying to make sense of this and I wait for her to say something, tell me this is all a sick joke, but she doesn’t.
Something flickers behind her eyes, but she blinks, and it’s gone, a thought she’ll never put words to. And then, as I let go and lean against the wall, sliding down to sit across from her, she asks, “Can you hear me out?”
In just those few words, something in her tone—something buried deep inside that makes me curious as to what she might say to me to make this all right, to make her lies warranted.
I tell myself I will listen, calmly, carefully, and consider why she did it. I tell myself I’m not going to be an asshole and get angry.
Knowing me, I probably won’t listen to myself.
There’s a strong possibility the moment she starts talking, I won’t hear anything she’s going to say. It’s also completely possible that by her telling the truth, I might just say fuck it and walk away.
But, for Callan, for Noah, for this baby she says is mine, I’m going to sit right here and attempt to listen. I’ll do that because deep down, I know this is our last chance—our final opportunity to salvage some good from the train wreck that’s been our relationship these last two months.
“I’m sorry,” is what she says first.
“Youshouldbe sorry, Mad,” is what I tell her, because fucking right she should be. So much for listening to her. “None of this is okay. I worked my ass off to make you see I cared before you threw our family away and it was all a joke?” She flinches at my harsh words. “Do you honestly realize what I went through these last two months, or last three weeks? Do you realize what we put the boys through?” And I know I’ve said this all before and I’m starting to sound like her and her apologies, but I can’t understand what the hell her thought process would have been here.
“You’re right!” she shouts back at me, her voice louder than I’ve ever heard before. Standing, she throws her hands up. “I’m so fucking sorry, Ridley. I never meant for it to go this far. I don’t know what I can say except that I was tired of living the way we were, but in these last two months, I finally saw the man I married. The one willing to do anything to save his family and remind me I was in love with him.”
At least she’s got that right, huh? But she forgot to mention the time she ripped my ball skin off. I really wished she’d at least acknowledge that part.