WHEN MY FAIRYTALE turned into a nightmare, I thought it was my job to fix it. I thought the world would surely make room for me, would make things better, if I bled a little more. Tried a little harder. Sacrificed more than the other wives with cheating husbands.
But Doc told me there was nothing I could do if he didn’t want to change. And he ripped the fantasy of control right out of my hands. Suddenly, I was floating in an endless sea with no lifeboat, tugged around by my husband’s whims.
A diamond ring.
A marriage certificate.
A noose around my neck.
Had I caught Jerrison cheating on me when we were dating, I would have kicked him to the curb so fast his head spun. Had I seen him with some girl in our apartment before we were engaged, he would have been old news. A new beau. A new life. I would have found someone else.
But I love him. I married him.
And that complicated everything. I had too much time invested. Love kept tugging me in his direction.
So I learned to settle.
I stopped imagining what it would feel like to get an apology. To hear him own up to his wrongs and mean it. I thought the sky would fall before that ever happened.
But tonight…
Tonight, my husband knelt and acknowledged. Apologized. Took ownership of the havoc he wreaked on my life.
And it isn’t enough. Words? A shaky voice? A down-turned gaze? He gave me agony. Clouds that followed me wherever I went. He pushed my head in filth and made me accept his dirty hands like they were pristine. He called me crazy when I suspected him and so I did things worthy of that label.
All those suspicions, those gut feelings, those tiny implosions of truth- he was lying. And I was right. Right in the mind. Right on the money. Even when I caught him with that girl in our house, he still denied. Never apologized or tried to make an excuse.
But tonight…
I cry because it hurts.
I cry because I needed those words, even if the actions mean more. It’s true that evidence holds more weight than a testimony. And consistent actions are the only thing that can show change. Yet words are powerful too. He called me his wife and I followed him blindly. He called me ungrateful and ignorant. I took on those mantles too. I wrote them on my skin like tattoos and dove deep into the bitterness until I couldn’t separate it from me.
Now there are apologies. Now there are gaping wounds that got a little salve. Just a tiny bit. Not enough to erase them but enough to make the pain have purpose. You’re seen. You’re heard.
I cry that night, but it’s a better cry than all the others. When I’m done, I debate calling Jerrison and asking more questions. Now that he’s owning up to the truth, I want details. I want to know exactly how many women. What he did with them. Where he did it. How many of my suspicions were right? When were they wrong? Which business trips were really vacations with his lovers?
But I stop myself from picking up the phone.
Morbid curiosity isn’t good for the soul and I’m certain I won’t like his answers. Knowing the details won’t change the past. It’ll only give me more information to obsess over. I choose to keep my peace.
The next day, I roll out of bed with my eyes puffy and my eyelids so caked together that I can barely peel them apart. I plod to the bathroom and wash my face, noticing how splotchy my skin looks.
There’s a knock on my door.
Surprised, I move toward it.
The hallway is empty, but there’s a package on the ground. A sticky note at the top reads ‘from now on, I’ll only make you smile.’ My lips curl up. I open the box and find a rose with a smooth stem. He must have bought it this morning because it’s still fresh. There’s also a smiley face pajama set, lotion, and face masks.
The next day, another box arrives. It has another rose and a handwritten note that reads ‘I don’t deserve an amazing woman like you.’
I laugh and take the gifts inside.
After a week of getting the packages, I become curious to see if Jerrison is hiring someone to do all this or if he’s dropping them off himself.
Driven by my need for answers, I wake early the next morning and wait to hear footsteps by my door. Not ten minutes after I start spying, I pick up movement outside. Throwing the door open, I jump into the hallway and find Jerrison with a familiar box.
“Harriet,” he croaks, his eyes widening. I laugh. “What are you doing?”
“Uh…” He glances down. “Making a delivery.”
I grab his arm instead of the box. “Have you had breakfast?” “No.” His blue eyes pierce me and make me warm all over. My smile grows. “Scrambled eggs?”
“That sounds,” his eyes soften, “it sounds really great.”
We head inside and I set the box on the table without bothering to look at it. Turning to face Jerrison, I wrap my hands over my stomach. “Let’s talk.”
“I’m listening.” He leans forward and I can tell that every part of him is focused on me.
“I don’t think I can forgive you that easily,” I admit.
His gaze slides away from mine. “I don’t think I deserve to ask for your forgiveness.”
“Jerrison, I…” My mind goes blank as I search for the words, “I’m afraid to trust you with my heart again.” Licking my lips, I confess softly. “But I do kind of miss our mornings at the gym.”
His eyes shoot up and a smile flirts with his lips. “How about we start that again? Take it slow?”
“Can you do slow?” I tease. “I can try.”
My laughter meets his and it feels right. “I’d like that.”