Frayed Silk(48)

I sniff, wiping my nose, then I pick up my glass and down the rest of its contents before throwing it at the wall and watching it shatter on the tiles in front of the shower. In a daze, I stare at the mess, wondering why, when there’s so many missing pieces, so many irreparably broken fragments, you would even contemplate trying to piece it all back together. It’d be a misshapen cluster of desperation. A warped memory of what it once was, never to be the same again.

When the water cools, I decide I’ve had enough and climb out. I dry myself, walking back into the room and falling onto the bed on my stomach with the towel still wrapped around me. I close my eyes, wondering where he went, where he might be staying for the weekend. But even if I knew, would it do me any good?

My eyes open, landing on his nightstand where a photo sits of the four of us together. We were sitting outside the aquarium in Rayleigh. Greta was only four years old and Charlie six. They look so small, but it’s not them that snags my attention. It’s the way Leo and I are smiling at each other with a child sitting on each of our laps, instead of the camera. A love like ours isn’t only beautiful, it’s rare. I know that. Yet I was so eager to potentially ruin it with my anguish and recklessness. So much so, that I might have actually succeeded. I lean over, grabbing the black framed photo and pulling it to me. Lying on my side, I swipe a finger over the two faces that have no idea of what’s to come, of the heartache and hurdles they have yet to face.

But I know now. And I guess the only thing left to do is decide.

I need to decide if I’ll give up and continue to let the pieces keep falling, or if I’ll fight for what’s left of my heart, for the other half of my soul, and try to knit them all back together somehow. Placing the frame down on the bed next to me, I rest my head on my arm. He needs me—has needed me all this time. He just didn’t know how to ask for help.

And if he can’t ask, I’ll just have to try to give it to him anyway.





Sunlight filters into the room in streaks of blinding gold when my tear swollen eyes flutter open the next morning. I yawn, stretching my arms over my head when I feel it. A heavy arm draped over my waist. My stomach flips when I turn my head, finding Leo sound asleep behind me. I lie still, afraid he might disappear if I make my presence known, and just stare at him. His handsome face is rumpled from sleep, but the severity of everything he tries to hold inside is absent from his features. His lips are parted slightly. His long brown lashes rest on top of his sculpted cheeks. His sandy brown hair is in its usual disarray with a few pieces sprinkling down to rest on his forehead.

Where did he go? And when did he come back home? My eyes flit to the photo frame, which is now back on his nightstand.

The need to touch him is so strong that I bite my lip to stifle the urge. I slowly turn, his arm falling from my waist to the bed as I rise. Then I realize I’m naked, spying the towel I’d put on last night hanging over the side of the bed. Padding quietly across the carpet, I grab my robe from the back of the door and tie it around my midsection before going to the bathroom to do my business and brush my teeth. I pause in the doorway when I see the glass on the floor but ignore it. I’ll get to it later. I gargle mouthwash after brushing my teeth then make my way downstairs to grab the broom and dustpan, flicking the coffee machine on before going back upstairs. But when I walk into the room, it’s empty. I find Leo standing inside the en suite with his toothbrush in hand as he stares down at the mess on the floor. His eyes move to me.

“Hi,” I say dumbly.

He stands back, allowing me entry. I hear him brushing his teeth as I bend down, sweeping up all the pieces of glass into the tray. I shake out the bathmat over the tub to check for any more, but it seems okay, so I hang it over the side after I’m done. Bending back down, I pat the ground and look closely for any more glass.

“Don’t do that,” Leo says, spitting and rinsing his mouth out. “You’ll cut your hand if there are any small pieces.”

Rising, I take the dustpan over to the little trash can by the sink and empty it in.

“What happened?” He turns around, leaning against the sink to look at me.

I shrug. “I just got a little cranky about everything, I guess.”

Deciding to change the subject, I say, “Coffee? I’ll make us some coffee.” I go to leave, but he follows, grabbing my arm before I get through the doorway of our bedroom and spinning me around to face him.

“You and your … that guy …” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “It’s nothing? It’s over?”

I fidget with the dustpan in my hands, nodding my head. “I promise. It wasn’t like that, not for me.”

His eyes squeeze closed for a second. He reopens them and nods. “Okay.” He blows out a breath. “Coffee sounds good.”

With my heart thudding hard enough to rattle my bones, I smile. Probably looking a little crazy with the tears that are stinging the backs of my eyes as I leave the room.

Putting the dustpan away under the sink, I busy myself with prepping our coffee, trying not to get too far ahead of myself with the feelings coursing through my bloodstream. He said he wants coffee, not a red-eye flight to Vegas to renew our wedding vows. But still, it’s a start. And maybe that’s all we need right now. To start somewhere.

I head back upstairs when he doesn’t come down and find him sitting on his side of the bed, flicking through some emails on his phone. I put his mug down on his nightstand and move over to my side, taking a seat and a big sip of coffee. He puts his phone down, picking up his mug and leaning back against the headboard. Crossing his pajama clad ankles, he takes a sip and thanks me while staring at the wall.