Jackie echoes my words, and our father’s voice is gruff.
“I love you, too. Both of you.”
Dr. Phillips disconnects the call and stares at us.
“How do you feel?”
Jackie nods slowly. “I feel better. I’m sorry, Corinne. I know you couldn’t help it. I’m just... It’s all so...”
“I know,” I interrupt. “I know.”
Dr. Phillips looks at me. “And how do you feel?”
“I feel better, too, I guess. I meant what I said. I’m going to hire an attorney and get him out of there.”
The doctor nods.
“And about Jude?”
I look away. “I don’t know. He’s grieving so much, and my heart is breaking for him. But at the same time, he hurt me. So much. He’ll never understand how much. I don’t even know if I can process it.”
“You can,” Dr. Phillips says. “And you will. Don’t retreat into your head. Don’t disassociate. Stay in the present. Face the pain, and face the past. We’ll get you through this.”
“But what about my marriage?” My voice breaks.
“We’ll figure that out.”
64
Corinne
Crying doesn’t help.
If it did, I’d be healed by now.
Seven straights days of sobbing should’ve done it. But it didn’t.
It’s been seven days of questioning everything I’ve ever known to be true.
I’ve thought and thought about All Hallows Lane, and I’ve thought and thought about Jude and Zoe. I’ve thought so much about it that it’s all starting to run together.
Was Jude attracted to Zoe because she was younger than me, prettier than me, better than me? My brain knows the answer is no, but my heart struggles.
The fact remains that I’m thirty-five, and my husband had an affair with a twenty-four-year-old woman. That stings. That wounds. That scars. Even though he tells me over and over that it was never about her, it was about a deficiency in him, it hurts. It makes me insecure. It makes me someone I’m not.
I hate it.
Worse, because Michel just died, it’s hard to discuss this devastation with him. It feels selfish somehow, as though I can’t focus on my pain, because he’s got so much of his own to carry.
But it all needs to be dealt with.
Decisions have to be made.
Right now, I’m curled on the couch with Dr. Phillips on speakerphone as we discuss my marriage.
“Stay with me,” Jude urges me fervently, his eyes so so sincere and warm. “Please, Corinne. We’re so much more than this. Our time can’t be up. We have so much left to do.”
“You should’ve thought of that before.” I’m hesitant, but God, Jude is my rock. He’s my life. He was the target of a psychopath. We were on shaky ground. I swallow hard.
“You have to decide if you think you can ever trust him again,” the therapist advises, and I kind of want to punch him in the teeth. “I know it isn’t fair, but it’s on your shoulders now.”
“So, he gets to fuck around, and then I get to clean up the pieces?”
The therapist says, “Yeah. But he has to work hard, too. He has to earn back your trust by being transparent and trustworthy. Jude, can you do that?”
“I’m an open book,” my husband tells me. “You can look at my phone, my computer, anything. I’ll earn back your trust. I’ll earn back your love.”
“I’ve never stopped loving you,” I tell him honestly, and the honesty hurts my throat. “It would be easier if I could.”
His head snaps up. “Don’t say that,” he tells me, and he’s got bags under his eyes. He’s not sleeping.
“It’s true,” I answer limply. “If I didn’t love you, this would be so easy.”
I’d just snip the ribbon of Fate. I’d cut ties, I’d run far away.
But I can’t.
I love him.
“I’ve loved you since I met you,” I tell him. “From the very moment I met you. I could leave you. I know that. I could start all over with someone else, someone who might make the very same mistakes as you did. And then what? I’d be right back where I started.”
“No one will ever hurt you again,” Jude growls, and I know he means it.
“You can’t stop the world from hurting me,” I tell him, although it warms my belly just a little that he wants to try. “I don’t know if I can forgive you. I want to, but...all I can see is you with her, and God, Jude, you’ve got to try to earn back my trust. It’s shattered right now, Jude.”
“I know.” His eyes are hopeful. “But if you give me a chance, that’s all I need, Co. One chance.”
My Jude is in front of me now, my Jude. The sunlight hits his eyes and they turn gold, and I want to lose myself in them. He’s the man I’ve loved for years. I don’t think I can love anyone else. I don’t think I’m capable.
“If you hurt me again...” My voice trails off, and his jaw twitches as he clenches it.
“I won’t.”
His fingers clench and unclench around the curve of his chair arms, and he looks at me again, his gaze liquid.
“Can I hug you?”
I haven’t let him touch me in days. I couldn’t...because he touched her with those hands.
I nod now, though, because I need him. It’s so strange that the one person I need more than anyone, the one person who can help heal me, is the one person who injured me in the first place.
But it doesn’t change the fact that I need him to breathe. I need to feel how much he loves me.
He scoops me up and pulls me against him, and I can hear his heart against my ear. It beats fast and faster, and I clutch him, my fingers curled into his back, and I try to avoid wondering if she’d ever clutched him in exactly the same way.
God, it hurts.
Is it always going to hurt like this?
“I’m yours and you’re mine,” he murmurs into my ear. “That’s how it’s always going to be.”
The therapist clears his throat and we break apart, but Jude keeps my hand tucked in his. I let him, because I need to absorb his strength. I need to feel that everything is going to be okay...even if it’s not.
Truly, for the first time in my life, I know I’m in a situation where it might not be okay. Jude and I might be over. I don’t know if I can fix this.
For the millionth time this week, I cry.
Hours later, I call someone and order an entire household of new furniture, arranging to have all of the old taken to Goodwill. She was in here, and I don’t know what she touched.
I’d light the house on fire if I could.
65
Corinne
The pain is the first thing I think of when I wake, when I’m brushing my teeth, when I’m getting a drink, when I’m breathing. It’s the last thing I think of before I sleep. I think of it always.
I don’t know if I can keep living like this.
I tell Jude that one night as we sit on the sofa, staring at each other over Chinese.
“What are you saying?” he asks quietly, and there’s panic in his eyes.
I swallow. “I don’t know. I’m just saying that I can’t keep obsessing over it. I look in the mirror, and I worry that you don’t find me sexy, I worry that you wanted her because I’m too old for you now, I worry that...”
“Corinne,” he interrupts, and he’s firm and stout. “You are everything to me. I never wanted her. I swear to God. I wanted the idea of her. I wanted the words and the texting and the pictures. I’ve always wanted you. You’re who I love. You’re who makes me laugh and makes me cry and shares dinners with me.”
“You shared dinners with her, too,” I remind him painfully, and he clenches his jaw.
“I wish I hadn’t,” he tells me. “That’s the God’s honest truth, Co. I’d give anything to undo all of it.”
My rib cage hurts when I breathe, and the panic sets in, overwhelming me. I’ve been fighting panic attacks all week.
I try to focus on the things in the room, to bring myself back to the present, to center myself. I close my eyes, and the pain the pain the pain.
“It hurts,” I tell my husband. “It hurts so much more than I ever thought possible.”
His face is anguished, a tiny muscle flexing in his cheek. I breathe in, I breathe out. I breathe in, I breathe out.
He looks at me, something flickering in his eyes.
“Let’s start over,” he tells me. “We can move away, away from the memories. I’ll start a new practice and you can, too. A new house...a new life.”