Page 82 of One More Chance
She stopped. Her hand stilled on the doorknob, eyes lifting to meet mine, wide and stunned. “Levi…” she breathed, her voice somewhere between a warning and a wound.
I didn’t look away. I couldn’t. I held her gaze as I said, “I know I’m the last person you should believe right now. But I mean it. I’ve meant it every day since I realized what I stood to lose.”
Sloane swallowed hard, blinking fast. “You can’t just say things like that out of nowhere. You said we could take small steps. And I haven't forgiven you.” I heard how torn she was, trying to stay quiet and firm.
Trust, yes… but not forgive. She's still hurting.
“It isn't out of nowhere,” I said as I brushed my fingers against her cheek. “It’s been building for weeks. We've been trusting each othermore and more... and I miss you. I miss us. The real us. Even the messy parts.”
She looked away then, back down the hallway like she was searching for an escape.
God, I wanted to grip her waist, pull her close, kiss her hard enough to erase everything but that one moment. A bruising kiss, one that saiddon’t go looking for someone else when I’m right here, Sloane. Still yours. Always yours.
The game room buzzed faintly beyond the door, our kids laughing inside. The normalcy of it made everything else feel all the more fragile and alien.
“I know we said we would do what we'd been doing. The sex-" I paused, realized I was stumbling. "Sorry… I’m trying, Sloane. And I’m here for this new chapter of our life. I want to be with you. I want to be with the kids. I want to earn my place back.”
Sloane looked away, blinking hard. “Levi. This is neither the time nor the place for this. Let’s… please, let's take care of Rufus first. Then we can take 'us' one day at a time.”
I nodded, swallowing the disappointment even though I knew she was right. "Of course. Right now, Rufus comes first."
It was the right answer. The only answer. Focus on what mattered now which was her healing, our children, and the dog. Those things had become the glue holding this fractured version of us together.
But Charlie... he lingered like a ghost in the corner. A shadow I couldn’t shake. A reminder of all the things I had never been for my wife before.
Sloane is mine. I will not lose her again.
Chapter 27
That night, the house was quiet and still. We'd dropped the kids off at Dawn's. It may have been irrational, but we felt uneasy having them sleep at home when there was a boarded up hole where the glass backdoor should be.
I'll replace the door first thing tomorrow morning.
Sloane hadn’t spoken much since we got back from the clinic. She was in her room, her door cracked just enough for me to hear her moving around; slow and mechanical, like a clock ticking down the moments she had left. There was no warmth in her steps, no rush to anything. She was simply existing.
I was a nervous wreck from the evening. Considerate Charlie had given her the night off, telling her to text him if she needed an extra day. Apparently, they had each other's numbers already. Which, I tried to remind myself, was fine. They worked together. Her having his number, him having hers? That was fine.
I stood at the kitchen sink, washing a dish that was already clean. The water scalded my hands, but I didn’t care.
Charlie kept invading my thoughts.
The man was steady. Calm. Uncomplicated. Everything I wasn’t. Everything I hadn’t been when Sloane needed me the most.
I thought about my previous life, the one where I had failed her completely. I remembered the soft, tender grief in her eyes when she told me she was moving on. That she couldn’t wait for a man who kept choosing the wrong things. I saw the way her shoulders finally relaxed when someone else treated her like a woman instead of a burden.
I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, my muscles straining, as if I could uproot the damned thing from the floor.
“Not this time,” I vowed with resolve. I forced the words past the lump in my throat, but doubt didn’t heed vows. Doubt didn’t care about second chances. Doubt was a poison, creeping slow, and I felt it crawling through my veins.
I dried my hands, walked down the hallway, and entered the guest room. I pulled my journal out from its hiding place, and flipped through the pages littered with messy handwriting. I had spilled my mind out into that book; every ounce of guilt, regret, and truth I didn't dare speak, along with Angie's menacing behaviour.
I sat down, picked up the pen, and wrote:
Charlie would take care of her. I know that. And she would have let him, if I hadn’t been given this chance. That’s what this is. A second chance. Not a reset. A test. And I’m still not sure if I’m passing.
There’s a version of me that she doesn’t love anymore; that our kids tiptoe around; that invited Angie into our lives, even when the tiny, quiet, good parts of me screamed not to. And that version? He’s still in here. Lurking.
I’m terrified he’s stronger than I am.
