Circumstances took my feelings into their hands and crushed them.
It takes me twenty minutes to get home, and when I do, the tears are already welling beneath my eyelids. I hate what I’m about to do, but I have to be honest with him. I have to let him go. Maybe, when all this is over, it’ll be different but for right now, Gerard no longer has all of my heart, and he deserves so much more, something better.
I get out of the car and walk inside. Gerard stands by the kitchen counter, his hands resting against it, his back to me.
“I saw your email.” Gerard’s voice hits me, cold, broken, and empty. He’s given up, too. I can’t blame him for that.
“Gerard,” I whisper, walking towards the kitchen.
“Why did you send it? Why did you do that when you know it makes me uncomfortable?”
“Because I needed to find him. I sent it back when I got out of hospital . . .” I say to my hands.
He spins around, and his eyes drop to my shirt. “Whose shirt is that?”
“I went to the baseball stadium last night, and he was there.”
His face contorts in irritation. “So you slept with him?”
“No,” I cry, jerking backwards. “No, of course not. Jesus, Gerard. I was a mess, soaked from the rain. He told me he can’t see me and he drugged me. I woke up this morning in the car, alone.”
His face twists. “He drugged you?”
“Yes.”
He shakes his head sadly. “Where did you really get that shirt, Lucy?”
My mouth drops open. “I just told you.”
“You’re not telling me the truth.”
“I am,” I snap. “That’s exactly what happened.”
“So this mystery stranger found you soaking wet, drugged you, changed you, and disappeared?”
“Yes!”
He shakes his head and furrows his brows, looking horrified. “Are you hearing yourself? You need help. You’re creating stories that are completely unrealistic.”
My heart pounds so hard I can barely hear. “I’m not lying, Gerard.”
“To get to the point you actually got another man’s shirt and made up a story like this to get me to believe you . . . honestly . . .”
“I’m telling the truth. He was there!”
“He doesn’t exist,” he screams so loudly I flinch. Gerard very rarely yells at me. “He doesn’t fucking exist, Lucy. You need help. God dammit, you need help.”
I spin around. “I don’t!” I cry. “I don’t need help. I just need you to believe me.”
He shifts, his entire body stiff. “So you can chase another man?”
I shake my head. “This is not about you and your jealousy.”
“Jealousy?” he roars. “Of course I’m jealous. You’re home, but you’re not really here. Your mind is on him all the time, I can see it. Your focus is on him. It’s all you think about. What about me? What about what I’m feeling?”
“I care about how you’re feeling,” I yell. “I do, Gerard. I wish I could take your pain away, but it’s very hard when you refuse to have my back.”
“You want me to support your need to chase a non-existent man?”
I shake my head. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”
His eyes flash. “Neither can I, Lucy. You’re my wife, I want to help you, but I can’t do that until you let this go. Are you willing to do that so we can go back to the way we were?”
I study him.
Really study him.
He’s asking me to let it go, completely. He’s asking me to agree that Heath doesn’t exist and just move on.
To pretend.
That would be lying to myself and him, and that isn’t fair.
I can’t give my husband what he’s asking. “No, Gerard. I’m not willing to let it go, and you deserve better than to have to put up with it.”
He looks at me sadly, then shakes his head. “I can’t be here anymore.”
My heart pounds, reality washing over me. “No, I don’t think you can.”
His face twists. “You’re not the same person I married, and until you get the help you need, I can’t do anything else.”
“So much for better or for worse, right?” I mutter, trying to fight back my tears.
He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re asking me to be okay with this, and I’m not. I’ve pushed for you to get help, but you refuse. I’ve tried to be there for you, but you won’t let me in. I can’t help you if you don’t want to be helped, and I also can’t sit around and watch you chase another man.”
I shake my head, so hurt I can barely breathe. I know this is for the best, but to hear us both giving up so easily surprises me, and hurts me, and makes me realize I’m doing the right thing. We had a perfect marriage, but it was all on the surface. When it came down to the hard stuff, neither of us was willing to put in the good fight.
This is for the best.
“This is for the best,” I tell him. “For both of us.”
“Promise me you’ll get help. I’m scared to leave you alone believing there is a man out there that isn’t real.”
“He is real,” I pathetically argue.