“Then I suppose you’re right. A part of me does think she could be seeing someone else and I hate myself for it. When I forgave her, I made a promise to myself that I’d let it go and never throw it back in her face, and until now I haven’t.”
“Have you spoken to her about your fears?”
“No. She has no idea what I’m thinking, and I don’t want to tell her.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I’m wrong she’s going to be crushed.”
Carol nodded once. “And if you’re right you’re going to be crushed.”
“You have a knack for hitting the nail on the head.”
“I hope so,” she replied, “or I’m not doing my job right.”
“So is this the part where you tell me what to do?”
“I can’t do that. What you do with your life is entirely up to you, Jasper. I’m here to listen, help you identify the root cause of your issues and suggest ways you can address them. But I can’t do any of it for you.”
“Alright, what do you suggest?”
“Having an open conversation with your wife is a start.”
Oakley played with her fingers, and I knew she wanted to know Carol’s thoughts on what I should do about the man rotting in prison. He was locked away, so he wasn’t a concern. All I wanted was for things with Abby to go back to normal so we could be happy again.
My father was nothing. My wife was everything.
Chapter Eight
“I’m home, sweetie,” Abby shouted from the front door.
“In the kitchen.”
“Okay. I’m just going for a quick shower then I’ll be down. I’ve had a nightmare of a day, had to fill in for a double period of year ten PE. I’m sweaty and exhausted. Won’t be long.”
Her footsteps thudded up the stairs. I ran my finger around the rim of my mug.
What the fuck is going on?
She never ran straight to the shower from work. What the hell was wrong with me? She’d just explained why. Everyone wanted to shower after exercise. I would, although I would’ve said hello properly and given her a kiss before going.
Here I was all ready to take Carol’s advice and talk to Abby and hopefully get us back on track, and she was running off upstairs to shower.
Since I admitted out loud that I was worried she was cheating, it was constantly in my head.
All I could think was that she had to be cheating. And along with Oakley, Everleigh and my child’s terrified faces all I could see was my wife in the arms of someone else.
“What would you like for dinner?” she asked, kissing the top of my head as she walked by ten minutes later. I was so grateful for her coming back at that moment and stopping the mental images that plagued my mind.
“Since you’ve had a long day why don’t we order Chinese?” I replied.
“Sounds good to me. Shall I order?” she asked, ruffling up her damp, dark blonde hair.
I nodded.
She was being weird, acting as if we were practical strangers. I’d seen her be warmer towards traffic wardens. “Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, fine. Sorry, I just need to relax and forget about work. Why don’t you pour me a glass of wine, and I’ll call the take-away.”
I stood up, eyeing her suspiciously as she unlocked her mobile. She used the house phone to call landlines. Why was she keeping that so close to her? I forced myself to look away and get on with making her a drink. Second-guessing everything she did made me feel like shit.
I trusted her. Nothing was going on. Nothing could be going on because it’d crush me and end us. I wanted our marriage to work. She left the kitchen, but I heard her placing our usual order. My stomach turned. What if she was cheating?
There was no way I could forgive her again. We’d be over. The thought of her with another man was painful. Did he get her fun playfulness and leave me with the withdrawn distant woman?
“Abby,” I called as I heard her say bye.
She stepped out from the living room. “Yes?”
“What’s going on? You’re distant, and it’s more than work.”
She froze for a second and then frowned. “It’s not more. Nothing is wrong. I’m tired, Jasper, that’s all.”
Tired all the time? I didn’t believe that. It was a copout.
“No, you either treat me as if I’m in the way, or you’re indifferent. Have I done something?”
She sighed. “You’ve not done anything. I have.”
The colour drained from my face. “What?” I whispered.
“All of our plans have changed, and it’s my fault. Do you think it’s easy to see the disappointment in your eyes knowing that I’m the cause? I’m angry because I hurt you and I’m angry at you for not understanding.”
“That’s shit. How many times have I told you I understand? I do, Abby, and I’ve never tried to make you feel bad about it. I am disappointed; I can’t help it, but I’ve never tried to make you feel worse about it. If you’re feeling guilty, that’s on you.”