32

The kids’ disappointed looks and recriminations have cut me to the quick and have me questioning my judgment, and my motivations.

‘Am I being a hateful shrew not wanting to talk to James? Katie claims marriages move on and grow from these kinds of problems all the time. If so, why can’t I move on from it? Why does his betrayal still sting so badly that I can’t even contemplate talking to him? Could I take him back for their sake? Am I the bad person here?’

I cry quietly, allowing my tears to sink into the pillow, but move to brush them off quickly and attempt to recover my composure as the door to the ensuite bathroom opens.

But I can’t fool him.

Sitting down beside me, Chris pushes my hair back from my face and studies me.

“What is it, Merri? Christmas Eve, and you’re crying?”

“Nothing,” I gulp, giving him a tremoring smile. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Speak to me.”

“I’m just a little overwhelmed, that’s all.”

“I don’t suppose,” he sighs, “that this has anything to do with your children saying I’m only here for your money?”

“Don’t even say it,” I shake my head and sniff, tears threatening once more. “They just don’t understand. I can’t tell them what you really are, and they’re still coming to grips with the separation.”

“They’re just trying to protect you,” he says gently. “You raised good kids, Merri.”

I shake my head.

“Your grandkids though…” he shakes his head and smiles, trying to knock me out of my doldrums. But this time it won’t work. I still have more tears to shed.

“I’m so sorry, Chris,” I whisper, the tears now running unchecked.

“Please, don’t cry, Merri,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against mine. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Tell me what you need. Tell me what to do to make you happy again.”

He takes my hand in his, his thumb rubbing back and forth across the top of my hand as he seeks to comfort me. His kindness, juxtaposed with the kids’ reactions and the continual arguments and recriminations, come crashing down upon me, and I can’t hold back my sorrow any longer.

“I just wish,” I sob. “Sometimes I just wish I could turn back time, you know? Turn back the clock to make it all go away. To wake up and find an old Christmas morning, with James dressing as Santa to hand out the presents, kids crowded around the tree, carols in the background and the world heading as it should be for all of us. Before Wednesday, before the lies, the deception, the threats, the smashed dreams, before it all.”

Sobbing as I haven’t in a long, long time, my breath hitching as I release all my pent-up emotions, I barrel on, unable to stop my thoughts and words tumbling one after the other.

“I just wish it was the way it used to be, and I didn’t have to witness how disappointed in me my children are. That I didn’t have to be the one to smash their faith in marriage and destroy the solid foundation I always thought we’d laid for them. To take it all back…”

His thumb stills.

“Is that what you really wish for?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

Rising, he walks around to his side of the bed and slides between the covers to spoon me, pulling me tight against his chest.

I accept his embrace, but don’t turn to him. I just continue to stare at the bedroom wall, trying to rein in my sobs and calm down. Gradually, the exhaustion of the past two days and my emotional overload hits me. Closing my eyes, I feel Chris kiss the back of my neck before I fall into a deep slumber.