“Please forgive me. I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. Please, Clara.” I couldn’t stop apologizing. We struggled together, her pushing me away, me trying to hold on. Finally, she seemed to give in, to succumb to my lips on her skin. She let her head lull back for a moment before remembering her anger and fought me again. “Shh,” I whispered. “Just let me hold you. Let me make it up to you.”
Her body seemed to sag with my words as tears streamed down her face. I picked her up and carried her upstairs to her bed. I spent the next three hours telling her how sorry I was without words. I worshipped her. I rubbed her body from head to toe. I kissed every inch of her soft skin. I made love to her.
And when we were done, she closed her eyes, her mind and body sated. I watched her sleep for a while before climbing out of bed and dressing. I was restless, my mind moving a thousand miles a minute. Quietly, I made my way down her ancient, creaky stairs and went to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I stared at the emptiness and snorted. She didn’t have shit in it. Maybe I would go pick up a few things and cook her something nice for dinner. I needed to make a list. I began opening drawers, searching for a notepad when I found a piece of paper that looked like a journal entry made by Clara. I recognized her handwriting from the many papers we’d completed together in the office. I stared at the paper again. I shouldn’t have read it. It wasn’t my place to . . . not without her permission. But I took it from the drawer and let my eyes scan it line by line.
Today has been a bad day.
Today, my parents died twenty-five years ago.
Today, Marcus acted like a gigantic dick face.
Today, Kurt took another step away from me, from our life together.
I think I miss him.
I shouldn’t.
Maybe I just miss us—who I thought we were.
He’s a bad person. I know this. Maybe not entirely bad, but mostly bad. He tossed me aside. Don’t I deserve better? Did I not love hard enough? Did I not give enough? I think I did. I really do.
I’ve made peace with my parents passing. Being that I was so young makes it a little easier to bear.
But Kurt is a fresh wound.
I need to let him go. But hearts don’t work like light switches; they don’t just flick on and off. They swell rapidly with love and bleed out slowly with pain.
I should be stronger. I should be able to shut myself down to his memory. But I’m not strong enough yet.
They say the opposite of love isn’t hate, but indifference. I hate him. I hate him so much I feel it seeping out of my pores, toxifying everything around me.
I don’t want him back. I don’t. Not who he is now. I want my life back. I want the safety I felt in my marriage back. I want the days where we held hands and dreamed a millions dreams together back when I believed him when he said I was his forever. When he told me no one could take my place. I want that man back. I want that type of love in my life.
But he’s gone.
And now, given his cruelty and seemingly unfeeling actions, I have to wonder . . . was he ever really there? Was it all a fa?ade? Was I a fool the whole time seeing only what I wanted to see?
I want to be happy.
I want forever.
I want . . .
I want a baby.
I dropped the paper on the counter and backed away from it.
Forever.
Baby.
They were two words that defied everything I wanted. They were two potent words that I wasn’t sure, no matter how much I loved Clara, I could give her. I needed freedom and adventure. Thoughts of not having either was suffocating. I needed to be able to hop a plane on a whim and not owe any explanations. I couldn’t have that and her. And I couldn’t promise her something I couldn’t give. I wasn’t built that way. I just wasn’t. Maybe with her, the idea was easier to swallow, but I wasn’t ready for even the idea of it. But the most hurtful confirmation was she didn’t love me. I wasn’t even in her thought process when she poured her heart out. She wanted him. She still loved the memory of him. She missed her husband. She wanted the house with a white picket fence and a baby with him.
I was such a chump. To think, I was ready to tell her I loved her. Clearly, that was a mistake. I was a fucking fill-in. I had to get out of there. All I could think was to flee.
I snuck out quietly as to not wake her and drove off. It was still dark, only four in the morning. I had to end it with her. I had to. But if I did, I couldn’t stay. Even if I traveled in and out, she’d hate me. I wasn’t strong enough to fix what Kurt had done wrong. Our work relationship would be awful. If I left . . . I had to go for good. There would be no looking back.
I went home and packed a suitcase. At eight in the morning, I made my way downtown to Richard Mateo’s office. He wasn’t happy with me showing up unannounced, but he saw me. I signed over a limited power of attorney, giving him permission to represent me in regard to the business and the sale of my house. I didn’t care if Clara bought the business. I told him we could remain partners if she paid me a reduced salary, which Mateo would put into an account for me.
“Just do your best,” I told him. “I’m not trying to screw her over. I just need enough to get by.” When the papers were signed, I went straight to the airport. And I left. For good.
“You were wrong. You do know that now, right?” Ashley states.