But I couldn’t just throw them away either.”
“You could’ve told me the truth.”
“And lose everything? You? Our kids?”
“You already lost everything, Jordan.
You just don’t know it yet.”
We drove home in separate cars.
I couldn’t bear to be in the same space with him.
My hands shook on the steering wheel the entire way. I kept seeing those photographs.
Jordan’s face was full of love for another woman.
At home, I sat on our front porch steps.
Jordan paced the driveway like a caged animal.
“What happens now?” he finally asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you leaving me?”
I looked up at him. My husband of 21 years.
The father of my children. The man who brought me coffee in bed every Sunday morning.
“I still love you, Alice. More than anything.
I know I don’t deserve forgiveness.”
“You’re right. You don’t.”
“But I need you.
I can’t lose you too.
Not after losing them.”
His words made my stomach turn. Like I was some consolation prize after his “other” family died.
“Don’t talk about them right now.”
“I have to grieve them. They were a part of my life for nine years.”
“Then what about me, Jordan?
What about our kids?
Where do we stand in your life now?”
He sat down on the step below me, close enough to touch but I pulled away.
“How do I fix this?”
“I don’t think you can.”
“There has to be a way. We’ve built too much together to throw it all away.”
I thought about our children.
They would be devastated. Their father wasn’t who they thought he was.
I thought about splitting holidays. Dividing possessions. Explaining to friends why we were getting divorced after two decades.
“I need time,” I said finally.
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. Maybe forever.
Maybe until I can look at you without recalling those pictures.”
Jordan nodded slowly. “I’ll sleep in the guest room.
Give you space to think.”
“Good.”
He stood up and walked toward the house.
At the door, he turned back.
“Alice? I know sorry isn’t enough.
But I’m sorry.
I’m guilty… more than you’ll ever know.”
I watched him disappear inside. Our house suddenly felt like a stranger’s home.
The truth is, I haven’t decided anything yet.
Some days I want to forgive him.
Other days I want to burn down everything we built together.
Maybe love can survive this kind of betrayal. Maybe it can’t.
Right now, I’m still trying to figure out which woman I want to be.
The one who stays and tries to rebuild from ashes.
Or the one who finally puts herself first after 21 years of being someone’s second choice.
I suppose we’ll both find out together… when the right time comes.
