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She kissed his cheek. “My mom is with her, and probably wants to chat about the trip. I don’t want to get in the way of our three generational female bonding time.”
He chuckled. “All right. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
He leaned in, and kissed her on the lips. She disengaged first from him, and if his car wasn’t running, he’d be tempted to park it and deepen the kiss. But Brit read his mind obviously, because she nudged his elbow and reached for the door handle.
“I’ll text later,” she said, smiling.
He waved at her, and got on with his route. Within a couple days, he’d tell Amanda about his relationship with Brit. He’d ensure Brit wouldn’t step in to take her mother’s place by any means, but she was special to him and to their family.
Everything would be okay. He’d never been more sure in his life. Even if that meant parting with the idea from that old-fashioned, ideal family he fantasized before. Why not? And investing in his happiness didn’t mean he’d let go of his children’s welfare. Their happiness would always mean the world to him.
When he parked in the driveway, he slid out of the car and shut the door, opening his garage quickly. Excitement to see his little ones pumped in his bloodstream. He opened the door leading to the mud room, then marched through the hallway and the kitchen. His mother certainly did a great job keeping his kids under control.
When he stalked into the living room, he heard Amanda’s squeals, and she ran up to him, as if she hadn’t seen him for way longer than twenty-four hours. “Hey, love. Did you behave for Grandma?” he asked, and kneeled to give her a hug.
She wrapped her arms around him, elated. “Daddy, Daddy, guess what?”
“What?” he asked, skimming around the living area, searching for his mother and Trevor in the alcove leading to the playroom, where most of Trevor’s educational toys were scattered.
“Mommy’s back!” Amanda shouted, about the same time his gaze lasered at the rocking chair where he’d expected to find his mother and Trevor. His blood turned into a block of ice, and his heart skipped several beats. There he found his estranged wife, Violet, holding Trevor in her arms like she’d never left.
He curled his fingers into a fist, his nails biting into his palm. His mother, Amelia, appeared from the bathroom, with a tense look in her eyes. “Violet?” he said as if to make sure this really happened and wasn’t some sort of dream—or nightmare.
Violet held Trevor in her arms and stood. She walked up to him, with an apologetic, nervous smile on her pretty face. Her blonde hair, usually curling at the tips, was smooth and straight, and her body, a tad slimmer than when he’d last seen her—and she’d already been slim enough. She wore jeans and a blue V-neck shirt, much different than the tailored suits and dresses she favored when she’d been his wife.
“Damian, I’m home,” Violet said. “I know it’s a lot to unpack, but I decided showing up was better than warning you first.”
Better for who? He took a step back, spine locking into place. He’d envisioned their meeting before, after she’d left, but not like this. He’d prefer the privacy of no children around to shout at her, but as he glanced at his mother and Amanda, he realized maybe this was for the best.
“She’s staying, Daddy. Mommy promised she’s never leaving us again,” Amanda said, enthusiasm lacing her every word.
Amelia bridged the gap between them, whispering to him. “Sorry, honey. She showed up an hour ago and I’ve been in shock too. I meant to call you, but—”
“It’s okay,” he said to his mother. “I’m glad you’re safe and sound, Violet,” he said, staring into the blue eyes he once found sparkling and gorgeous. As a surgeon, he often had people asking him if he’d done any work on his wife, and he promptly denied it. Violet had always been a stunning looking woman. Yet now, a few feet from her, he felt nothing but frustration and contempt. He managed to keep a neutral expression on his face, the same he used when he had to deliver unsavory news to patients. “Are you hungry? I thought we’d order pizza tonight.”
“I’ll order it. I have the number on my phone,” his mother said, smart in finding a reason to go retrieve her phone from her bag from another room and leaving them. “Can you come with me, Amanda? Tell me your favorite toppings?” she asked her granddaughter.
Amanda glanced at her mother again, as if scared to leave her, and hesitated.
“I’ll be here,” Violet said, tears forming in her eyes.
Amanda nodded and followed her grandmother to the guest room where his mother usually left her stuff when she visited. Then, Violet put Trevor on the floor, where he sat and reached for some teething toys.
“I can’t believe how big he’s gotten,” Violet said, breaking the silence between them.
“You’ve been gone for almost a year,” he said, unable to hide the accusation from his voice.
“Nine months,” she corrected him. A tear fell from the corner of her eye, and she wiped it with her index finger. “I’m sorry, Damian. I know I can’t take back what I’ve done, and I don’t expect for you to understand.”
“Understand? You walked out on us, left a note, and besides a few cryptic calls here and there, never gave a crap,” he said, anger welling up inside him. He jammed his fingers in his front pockets, upset he still couldn’t yell.
“After I had Trevor, I fell under a really bad depression. Postpartum psychosis is the medical term. It took me to a really dark place, and triggered dark memories from my childhood.” She threaded her fingers together, her face growing paler. The subject still made her nervous. “I needed treatment, but I also needed space. Leaving was the best way I could help the children. I’d hurt myself before ever hurting them.”
“What childhood memories?” he said. He’d gathered she always had an estranged relationship with her overbearing mother and cynical stepfather, but he’d chalked that up to them being from old money and never approving of her move to the West Coast.
“I was abused for years and managed to shut that from my mind. I stored the pain away and thought if I didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t come back. But emotions aren’t that simple,” she said, her voice wavering.
Abused? He rubbed his neck, uncomfortable with the conversation. A part of him wanted to offer her a hug, or a squeeze on her shoulder. But he held himself back, and willed the sentiment away. “Why didn’t you ever tell me any of this?” In over seven years together, he’d think she’d trust him with such deeply personal information.
