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Swallowing back the urge to get down on my knees and beg her to try again, I shoved my hands into my pockets. “I’ll go.” With that, I headed for the door.
Behind me, Marigold sniffled. I turned and took her in. She looked as wrecked as I felt. Teary-eyed, blotchy skin, a little dried paint stuck in her curtain bangs from who knew when, swollen lips, complete with an indentation from the way she’d been biting on them.
She was so beautiful. I needed one last look at her, to memorize her. To trace every line, every freckle, the tiny birthmark just above her lip. Just in case.
She met my eyes and sucked in a breath as I backed toward the door.
Her voice was so soft I almost missed her words. “What makes you so sure you could fall in love with me again?”
My heart panged in my chest. With a small smile, I dipped my chin, then lifted it again and locked eyes with her, refusing to hold back. “What makes you so sure I ever stopped?”
Seven years ago
Six.
Six sounds blaring through this house right now, and none of them were exactly pleasant.
Sesame Street playing on the living room TV.
The news station blaring from our room as Liam got ready for work.
The coffee pot working its magic.
The scraping of the whisk as I scrambled eggs, creating that cringe-inducing sound when it touched the pan just right.
And two sweet, albeit very messy, toddlers speaking their own little language in their highchairs.
I felt like a kettle of tea, boiling and practically screaming for help. I’d gotten two hours of sleep the night before—both boys were going through rough patches, so when one was out, the other was up—I hadn’t had a real shower in days, and my already frayed patience was wearing thin.
“Miles, don’t throw that at your brother.” I pointed the spatula at him.
He paused mid-toss, and his pancake fell to the ground with a splat.
They broke out in a round of giggles, smiling at each other.
“Mama, mess!” Dallas babbled.
Miles laughed harder.
Mess was right. But they were happy, and that was what mattered. I dug deep and gave them the best smile I could muster, considering I was beyond my breaking point.
I scraped the finished eggs onto a plate and set it next to the other plates of food. It didn’t matter how much I fed them or how often, all three boys in this house ate as if they’d been starved at each meal.
After I’d given each of the twins a scoop of eggs, I dropped kisses to their heads.
No matter how hard it got, no matter how badly I felt like I was failing, they were a constant reminder that I could do one thing right. I may not be the best wife, maybe not even the best mom, but I was going to give these boys my all, even if it killed me. I refused to let them see me suffer.
When the boys were finished, I cleaned up the mess. I was doing the dishes when Liam appeared.
It was almost a shame how handsome he was. Navy suit, this beige-brown tie I’d bought him years ago, all perfect smiles and washed hair. It was ridiculous to feel jealous of him. Absolutely ridiculous that I resented my husband, I knew that, but it didn’t stop the emotion from burbling up in me and threatening to spew.
He came in without a hello. It shouldn’t have surprised me. We didn’t talk unless we had to anymore. Bills, the boys’ doctor appointments, stuff like that. Those were the only reasons we communicated.
He took a plate of food and sat between the boys. While he ate, he made talked to them sweetly and made funny noises while he tickled them.
I continued loading the dishwasher, willing myself to stay focused on the task rather than the rising anger in my throat. It was a cycle: pretend it’s fine, blow up when I get a minute alone, see the boys, pull myself back together. I was tired of this cycle. I wanted a break.
“Shoot. I’m late,” Liam announced, his first words other than to the boys. Though I supposed he wasn’t really talking to me. He tossed his dirty plate onto the counter, then went back to kiss each of our sons on the forehead. Without another word, he headed to the door and grabbed his keys.
