Chapter 9: Playing Husband

I went home on Saturday morning with my gym bag.

I wore a smile I had practiced in my mother's bathroom mirror.

It looked terrible.

Lydia opened the door before I got my key out.

She had been crying and had tried to hide it with powder.

"You came back," she said.

"I said I'd think."

"And?"

"I thought."

I stepped past her into the hallway and set the bag down.

"I'm not okay, Lyd. But I'm not ready to throw out five years in a weekend."

Her whole body sagged with relief.

She came across the hall in two steps and put her arms around me.

I stood there with my hands at my sides before I made myself lift them.

She smelled like lavender soap.

Five days ago I would have said it was the smell of home.

"I'll fix this," she whispered into my shirt. "I swear I will."

"I'll tell Dane it's over. I'll make him stop."

"Okay."

"You're being so good about this."

"I'm tired," I said.

That was the truest thing I said all day.

I told her I'd sleep in the guest room for a while, because I needed space.

She nodded quickly.

She made me eggs.

She sat across from me and watched me eat.

For a few minutes she looked like the woman I had married, the one who hummed over the stove and burned the toast.

I kept waiting to feel something.

All I felt was the cold stone in my stomach where my marriage used to be.

On Sunday we drove to my mother's for lunch.

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