Chapter 5: The House We Came Home To
The flight home was quiet.
Cody slept across my lap for most of it.
Lily read her book.
Neither of them asked about Mark.
He wasn't on our flight.
I didn't know when he was coming home, and I hadn't asked.
Our neighbor Carol had watered the plants while we were gone.
She'd left a casserole in the fridge with a note that said *Welcome back — hope it was wonderful.* I stood in the kitchen reading it and felt something pull tight in my chest.
I put the kids to bed.
Came back downstairs.
Sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea I didn't drink.
Mark's key in the lock came at half past ten.
He came in quietly.
Set his bag down in the hall.
Came to the kitchen doorway and stopped when he saw me.
"You're up," he said.
"I'm up."
He came in and sat down across from me.
He looked worse than he had at the resort.
Like the drive from the airport had taken something out of him he hadn't had to spare.
"I want to explain," he said.
"Then explain."
He folded his hands on the table.
"I met Cara at the Chicago conference.
October.
It started as — we talked.
That's all it was at first.
Just talking."
"And then?"
"And then it wasn't." He looked at me.
"I'm not going to lie to you about what it was.
I owe you that much."
"You owe me a lot more than that."
"I know." He didn't flinch.
"It went on for four months.
I ended it in February.
I thought — I thought I'd managed to close it off.
And then she reached out again in April and I—" He stopped.
"I didn't end it the second time as fast as I should have."
"Were you with her this week?"
A pause.
"Yes."
The word sat on the table between us.
Small.
Devastating.
"Was this the first time you'd seen her in person?"
"No."
I wrapped both hands around my mug.
The tea had gone cold.
"How many times?"
"Sarah—"
"How many times, Mark?"
He closed his eyes.
"Four.
Including this week."
I nodded.
I didn't cry.
I'd thought I might, sitting here waiting for him, but now that the words were actually in the room I felt something closer to stillness.
Like a snow globe after the shaking stops.
"Do you love her?" I asked.
He looked at me.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." His voice was firm for the first time all evening.
"I know that doesn't fix anything.
But I need you to know that.
It was never — she was never what you are to me."
"Then what was she?"
He didn't answer right away.
He looked at the table.
At his hands.
"I don't know how to explain it without sounding like I'm making excuses."
"Try."
"I felt invisible," he said quietly.
"I know how that sounds.
I know you're the one who was doing everything.
I'm not saying it was fair or rational.
I'm saying that's what I felt.
Like I'd disappeared inside our life and no one noticed."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"Mark," I said.
"I felt that every single day.
The difference is I didn't go find someone else.
I planned a vacation."
He didn't have an answer for that.
We sat in silence for a while.
The refrigerator hummed.
Somewhere upstairs, Cody turned over in his sleep.
"What do you want to do?" Mark finally asked.
"I don't know yet," I said.
"I need time."
"Okay."
"I'm not saying it's over.
I'm not saying it isn't." I stood up and took my mug to the sink.
"I'm saying I need time to figure out if I can trust you again.
And you're going to have to be patient with that."
"I can do that."
"You're going to have to do more than say it."
He nodded.
I rinsed the mug.
Set it on the drying rack.
Turned off the kitchen light.
"I'm sleeping in the guest room," I said.
"Don't argue with me about it."
He didn't.
I was almost to the stairs when he said, "Sarah."
I stopped.
"I'm sorry.
Not just for this week.
For all of it.
For every time I made you feel like your needs didn't matter." His voice was rough.
"You deserved better.
You still do."
I stood there in the dark hallway for a moment.
Then I went upstairs.
May you like
I didn't sleep for a long time.
But when I finally did, it was the deepest sleep I'd had in months.
