Page 43 of Wreckage and Rain

That hurts him more than if I had said I didn’t believe him.

And the worst part is, I mean it.

“I know you love me, Colt.”

My eyes burn. I refuse to look away.

“You love me, and you are still doing this.”

He looks like I struck him.

“That’s what I can’t get past. Love should have made you notice I wasn’t at home last night. Love should have made you remember my birthday before a calendar did. Love should have made you look down that table and realize your wife was sitting alone while another woman had her hand in yours.”

“Summer.”

“But it didn’t.”

My voice drops.

“So love is not enough to protect me from you.”

His face breaks.

I feel mine trying to do the same and hold it together with everything I have.

“I have been protecting this marriage by myself. Making excuses for you. Swallowing things because I didn’t want to sound needy. Convincing myself I was imagining what was happening right in front of me.”

I wipe beneath one eye, angry to find it wet.

“That should never have been my job.”

He looks down.

“What do you want me to do?”

There’s panic under the question. He wants instructions. A list. Something measurable he can complete and hand back to me.

I don’t have one.

“I want you to fix it.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means look at your life.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re looking at me and waiting for me to tell you how to make me stop being upset.”

He goes still.

“I need space from you. From this house. From whatever is happening between you and Cheyenne that you refuse to name because you haven’t slept with her.”

“I’m not sleeping with her.”

“I know.”

He looks confused by the answer.