Page 43 of What He Doesn't Know

My old shelves, ones that were simple white wood, were completely gone. Instead, three new ones were built, two more still in boxes, and they were modern glass with stainless steel legs that gave off the appearance that the shelves curved up the wall and hung slightly over at the top. Some of my books had been replaced on the new shelves, the rest of them laid carefully in the corner of the room in boxes.

There was a step ladder and Cameron’s tool box, our little portable speaker playing Angus and Julia Stone, and a large gallon of water that was half empty. The photos that had once hung on the walls were laying in the corner, and my eyes scanned the beautiful paintings leaning against them — the ones I assumed were new.

I clapped a hand over my mouth, tears flooding my eyes. “Oh, my God.”

There was a loud sigh behind me, but Cameron’s arms wrapped around me, anyway. His hands pulled me into him, his chin resting on my shoulder, body bending low to meet mine. “I was trying to surprise you.”

“I’m such a dirtbag.”

Cameron chuckled, pressing a kiss into my neck. His body was still slick, but I didn’t mind. “You are not. I was trying to finish before you got home, but it was more work putting these shelves together than I expected.”

“You didn’t go to work today.”

I spun in his arms, looking up at him just as one tear leaked out of my left eye. Cameron thumbed it away, bending to kiss my lips softly, his smile genuine and true. “I didn’t. It’s why I’ve been working so hard lately, and such long days. I knew I would need to take an entire day off to get this built.”

“And you did all of this,” I said, sweeping my arm over the room. “For me?”

Cameron’s caramel eyes softened then, his hands folding together at the small of my back. “I know it hurts to come in here now, Charlie. You haven’t read a book in here in… years. But you used to love it in here, before…”

“You can say it,” I whispered. Part of meneededto hear him say it.

“Before we lost the boys.” His own eyes flooded then, and that only made me cry harder. “I wanted to make it a place you loved again, a place you could go to find happiness.”

I swallowed past the knot in my throat, and my eyes flicked to the closet — the one that hid thousands of dollars of baby gear.

“It’s gone,” Cameron said. “Notgonegone, but put away. This room is yours again, Charlie. Truly yours. I just… I hope you like it.” He chuckled then. “When it’s all done, of course.”

I laughed a little, too, leaning into his chest to let him hold me.

I didn’t know how to feel in that moment.

Happiness and thankfulness were the first two emotions I grasped. It was just like Cameron to do something so thoughtful, something so selfless, just to see me smile. He never missed work, and he’d planned a day off just so he could redo my library and make it a place I would love again.

I squeezed him harder.

There was another part of me, perhaps the largest part, that felt relieved. I hadn’t found another woman in our bed or in our shower. It wasn’t that I expected to, not before I walked in to the scene I had, but I realized in that moment that those scars still existed, too. The bruises were still tender.

Then, there was love and adoration. This was Cameron’s MO, it was how he always showed his love. He didn’t sit me down and tell me I was beautiful, or reminisce on times past. He used his hands to show me, he used his actions. It was so thoughtful, bringing my library back to life, so much so that I nearly collapsed in his arms at the emotions surging through me.

But underneath that happiness, underneath that appreciation, I was angry.

I would never tell him that, would never reveal that little part of me that flared red, and I hated that it was true. I wished I didn’t feel it, that stab of betrayal and disappointment, but it was just as real as the love and thankfulness.

The truth was that I wished he would have asked me, first.

I didn’t want to hide our son’s furniture and clothes away. I didn’t want to pretend like it never happened, liketheynever happened. And though the furniture had changed and the books sat on different shelves, it was still a room meant to be a nursery.

It was still a reminder of what we’d lost, what we’d never spoken of again.

I stamped that anger and sadness down with a firm foot, reminding myself that this was Cameron showing me his love. It was him coming back to me, slowly but surely.Thatwas what mattered. I would sit right on top of that anger and sadness as I read my books in that hammock every weekend, just to show Cameron how much I appreciated the gesture — how much I appreciated him.

“Thank you,” I whispered finally as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. I looked up at him then, my husband, the man I would spend forever with. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

He paused, his eyes searching mine. And I knew he wanted to ask me if I was okay, that he wanted to know why my brain went where it did when I opened our front door just minutes before. Why had I assumed there was someone here who shouldn’t be? But we both knew the answer.

I saw apologies right beside those questions in his eyes, and I only smiled to answer them, leaning my head against his chest again.