Page 8 of Absolution (Infidelty #3)

Kyle August 2020

COVID-19. What a joke. What started as a couple of days off, some extra time t.

“flatten the curve”

has now stretched into months of lockdown, isolation, and staring at the same four walls that used to feel like a home. Now, they feel more like a containment unit.

The courts are shut down. Most litigation has stalled. We’ve bee.

“encouraged to settle”

outside of court, especially if things are civil, which they are, so we’re shoved to the bottom of the priority list. I’ve been taking depositions over Zoom, usually in a dress shirt and boxers, sipping good coffee, for a change while trying to pretend like this is normal. Some days it’s actually fun.

The rest of the time, it’s... quiet. Jackie and I have been building blanket forts in the living room, making shadow puppets by flashlight, setting up pretend camping nights in the backyard for the kids. We even roasted marshmallows on the stove one night when the power flickered out.

But we haven’t been able to see anyone. Not really.

Jackie’s family still drops off groceries once a week. They leave the bags on the porch, and we sanitize every damn item before it crosses the threshold. It’s tedious. Exhausting. But we don’t take chances. Not with Levi.

His immune system isn’t like ours. Not after the transplant. He’s on immunosuppressants that make a cold a danger, and COVID? That could be a death sentence. So, we stay inside. We clean everything. We don’t invite anyone over. Not even for a second.

I don’t let myself imagine the worst-case scenario. I won’t. Because if he gets sick now... if something happens...

That’s not a reality I’m willing to face.

So yeah, the world’s a mess. We’re stuck inside. Everything is uncertain. But we’ve already been through hell. And we’re still here.

Besides, how much worse can it really get?

January 2021

Well… it got worse.

We might be safe in our little bubble, but the rest of the world isn’t.

My dad, who doesn’t believe in isolation or masks or any of it, got sick. We haven’t spoken since that conversation. He’s never exactly been politically correct, and I’ve usually gone along with his crap to keep the peace. But when he said.

“The girls took all the nutrients in the womb and killed his grandsons,”

something inside me cracked.

He blamed my daughters. Before they were even born.

And then finding out he was sick, just a week after Jackie lost her dad, did something to me too. Robert had already been dealing with health problems: a stroke, diabetes, heart meds. It’s like this disease came hunting for the weak spots. He was gone in a week. No goodbyes. Just gone.

My dad? He’s recovering.

Jackie’s mom though, now she’s in the hospital. Admitted a few days after Robert’s funeral, which we couldn’t attend. Marianne, her eldest, is the only one allowed in to see her. She’s a doctor there. Jackie and Cory can only watch through a screen.

It’s breaking her. Not being able to hold her mom’s hand. Not being able to hug her brother. She cries quietly at night and pretends she’s okay during the day. She tells the girls stories and kisses Levi’s forehead like her heart isn’t breaking in real time.

And Cory? He’s a paramedic. Exposed daily. He hasn’t hugged his own family in months. Jackie hasn’t seen him in person since November. She won’t even let him leave groceries anymore.

We’re all doing what we can. Staying safe. Protecting Levi.

But yeah… It got worse.

I find her in the laundry room. Quiet. Too quiet.

She’s folding clothes like the world hasn’t tilted off its axis, like her mom isn’t on a ventilator fighting for her life, like we didn’t just lose her dad a month ago, like she’s not holding everything together with fraying thread.

She doesn’t look up when I enter. Just smooths out Levi’s tiny shirt and moves to the next.

“Jackie,”

I say softly. Nothing.

She keeps folding.

“I haven’t seen you stop all day.”

She shrugs.

“There’s stuff to do.”

“Everything’s done,”

I say, stepping closer.

“The kids are down. Dishes are clean. The laundry can wait. You don’t have to keep doing this.”

She doesn’t say anything.

So, I kneel beside her and take the shirt from her hands. My fingers brush her cold ones. It’s like all the warmth has been sucked out of her.

“You haven’t cried,” I say.

She blinks fast.

“Don’t have time to.”

“Jackie…”

I say it gently, but she pulls her hand away.

“I’m fine, Kyle.”

“No, you’re not. And it’s okay.”

She finally looks at me, eyes red but dry.

“If I fall apart, who’s gonna pick it up? The girls need normal. Levi needs his meds on time. There are masks to wash, groceries to wipe down. My mom is alone, my dad is gone, Cory can’t come near us, and we can’t even be with her. So no, Kyle. I’m not okay. But I don’t get to not be okay.”

Her voice cracks on the last word.

I step in close, both hands on her shoulders.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I’m not,”

she says automatically.

“No. I mean let me carry it with you. You’re not alone,”

I whisper.

“I know I let you down the last time things got hard, but I won’t make that mistake again.”

Tears gather in her eyes, spilling over in silence. I can see her trying to hold it together, the way she always does. Like breaking would somehow make her weaker, when really, I’ve never seen someone fight so hard just to stay upright.

“Let me carry you for once, Jackie. Please.”

She finally let’s go. Her shoulders cave in, her whole-body crumpling into mine. I sit down on the floor, pull her into my lap, and hold her as she sobs, not like she’s breaking, but like she’s finally safe enough to fall apart.

Her fists clutch my shirt. Tears soaking through the cotton. And I rock her gently, slowly.

“I’ve got you,”

I whisper, pressing my cheek to her hair.

“Every step. Every loss. Every breath. I’ve got you.”

We don’t move. Not for a long time. I hold her like it’s the only thing that matters.

Because maybe it is.