Chapter 6 - “Please Tell Me You Didn’t”
Mark called twelve more times.
Eventually, I answered.
“What?”
“Did Jason talk to you?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“What did he say?”
“You tell me.”
“Sarah.”
“You tell me what happened.”
“Nothing happened.”
“With Brittany?”
His silence answered more than his words.
“I didn't sleep with her.”
I closed my eyes.
That wasn't the question.
“What did happen?”
“We talked.”
“You messaged her before the trip.”
“She found me on Instagram.”
“How long?”
“Maybe two months.”
Two months.
During the same period I'd been planning our vacation.
“What were the messages?”
“Just catching up.”
“Did you tell her you were married?”
“Obviously.”
“Did you tell her your marriage was basically over?”
Silence.
“Mark.”
“Yes.”
The word hurt less than I expected.
Maybe because some part of me had already left.
“Why?”
“I was frustrated.”
“With what?”
He laughed bitterly.
“I don't know, Sarah. Everything.”
“Try.”
“I felt like our whole life was kids and schedules.”
“That tends to happen when you have three children.”
“I know.”
“No, Mark. You resented the life you helped create.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn't have to.”
He began crying again.
“I didn't cheat.”
“Did you kiss her?”
Another silence.
My stomach dropped.
“Mark.”
“It was once.”
There it was.
Not intercourse.
Not an affair.
Just one kiss.
The type of betrayal people could debate.
Some would say forgivable.
Some would say meaningless.
Some would say I was throwing away a marriage over nothing.
But it wasn't nothing.
It was simply the final receipt for a purchase made over six years.
“Where?”
“Outside the house.”
“When?”
“Tuesday night.”
The first night after leaving us.
I looked at the water.
“Did you stop it?”
“Yes.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew it was wrong.”
“You already knew.”
“I know.”
“You knew before you messaged her.”
“Yes.”
“You knew before telling her our marriage was basically over.”
“Yes.”
“You knew before leaving Florida.”
“Yes.”
“So stop telling me you made a mistake.”
He started sobbing again.
“Please.”
“You made choices.”
“I love you.”
“Maybe.”
“I do.”
“But you love your comfort more.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It is.”
“Please come home.”
“No.”
“I'll do therapy.”
“You should.”
“I’ll quit golf.”
“I never asked you to quit golf.”
“I'll stop seeing Jason.”
“Jason told me the truth.”
“Then Tyler.”
“Mark, listen to yourself.”
He fell quiet.
“You think fixing this means removing the people who witnessed your choices.”
“What do you want from me?”
For years, that question would have thrilled me.
I had wanted effort.
Attention.
Partnership.
Now I no longer wanted anything from him except responsibility.
“I want you to become a better father.”
“I can.”
“For the children.”
“And you?”
“No.”
He inhaled sharply.
“No?”
“No.”
The word felt terrifying.
And freeing.
“We’ll discuss custody when I get home.”
“Custody?”
“You're their father.”
“I don't want custody! I want my family!”
I stared at the phone.
That sentence said everything.
Mark wanted family as a unit.
A structure.
A place waiting for him.
But parenting meant mornings.
Laundry.
Homework.
Doctor visits.
Making dinner when tired.
Bath time.
Nightmares.
Routine.
He wanted the title.
I wanted him to accept the job.
“We'll talk when I get back.”
“When?”
“Sunday.”
“Can I see you?”
“No.”
“The kids?”
“Yes. When we arrange it.”
“Sarah.”
“What?”
His voice became small.
“Please tell me you didn't call a lawyer.”
I hadn't.
Not yet.
But hearing the fear in his voice made something clear.
That needed to be my next call.
After we hung up, I searched family attorneys in Chicago.
By sunset, I had scheduled a consultation for Monday morning.
Mark thought the worst thing that could happen was losing his wife.
May you like
He had no idea that for the first time in our marriage, he was about to learn exactly how much work being a father required.
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