Chapter 5: Everything He Said and Everything He Didn't
He sat back down.
Not because he was calm.
Because his legs seemed to stop working properly.
I stayed standing.
Noah had fallen quiet against my shoulder, one small fist curled near my collarbone.
"It was a mistake," Travis said finally.
"Which part?"
He rubbed his face with both hands.
"It started in January.
After the holidays.
You were — we were both exhausted and you were focused on Noah all the time and I felt like I didn't exist in my own house anymore."
I let that sit in the air for a moment.
"So you felt neglected," I said.
"We had a seven-week-old baby.
And you felt neglected."
"I'm not saying it was your fault."
"You literally just described our newborn as the reason."
"I said I'm not blaming you."
"But you are, Travis.
That's exactly what you're doing."
He shook his head.
"I'm trying to explain."
"Explaining is not the same as taking responsibility.
Keep going."
He looked up at me.
Something moved across his face — surprise, maybe, that I wasn't crying.
That I was just standing there, steady, waiting.
"Melissa and I — it happened a few times.
It's over.
I ended it two months ago."
"Two months ago."
"Yes."
"So while you were telling me we couldn't afford a $109 high chair, you were also managing an affair."
He flinched.
"The money thing has nothing to do with—"
"It has everything to do with it." My voice didn't rise.
"You controlled what I could spend on our son while you spent money on yourself and on whatever you were doing with her.
You made me feel like a child asking permission for basic things.
And the whole time, you were lying to me."
"I wasn't—" He stopped.
"You weren't what?"
He pressed his mouth shut.
"Say it," I said.
"You weren't lying?
Every day you came home and sat in that chair and let me feed Noah on my lap and said nothing — that was lying.
Every time you flipped your phone over, that was lying.
Every time you told me we couldn't afford something and then spent money without telling me, that was lying."
Noah stirred.
I shifted him gently and he settled again.
Travis looked at his son.
Something crossed his face that might have been shame.
It was hard to tell.
I'd learned in the last hour that I hadn't been reading him as clearly as I'd thought.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"Right now?
Nothing.
I need you to not talk for a minute."
I walked to the window.
The street outside was ordinary.
Someone jogging.
A car backing out of a driveway.
I thought about Dana's voice on the phone.
*I'm so sorry, sweetheart.* I thought about February.
About waking up at 2 a.m.
and 5 a.m.
and reaching for Travis in the dark and finding his side of the bed empty because he'd gone to sleep in the recliner.
He'd said his back hurt.
I'd believed him.
I turned around.
"I want you to move into the guest room tonight."
He looked up sharply.
"Let's not do anything drastic—"
"That's not drastic.
That's the minimum." I kept my voice even.
"I need space to think.
You need to give me that.
If you can't give me that, then we have a much bigger problem than we already have."
He was quiet for a long moment.
"Okay," he said finally.
"Okay.
Guest room."
He stood and walked toward the hallway.
At the doorway he stopped.
"For what it's worth," he said, without turning around, "I do love you."
I didn't answer.
He disappeared down the hall.
I stood in the living room with Noah sleeping against my shoulder, the ruined recliner in the corner, and the silence of a house that had just changed shape.
Then my phone buzzed again.
Not Dana this time.
An unknown number.
A local area code.
I almost let it go to voicemail.
But something made me answer.
"Hello?"
A woman's voice.
Careful.
May you like
Slightly nervous.
"Is this Travis's wife?"
