“Keep breathing, keep putting one foot in front of the other, and keep focused on the future.”
“The problem is I don’t know what the future is supposed to be.”
* * * *
Lynn’s calico cat, Vinnie, met her at the front door, loudly yowling her protests that Lynn had dared to leave her alone.
“I know. I’m a slacker.” Lynn reached down and stroked her. “I left, and I wasn’t working. I’m a horrible mommy and writer.”
Lynn had named her Vinnie because some of the swirls in the cat’s coat reminded her of Vincent Van Gough’s Starry Night painting.
She knew Vinnie didn’t care that she had a “guy’s” name.
Paul had thought it was a funny name. Funny in the good way. He’d been with Lynn the day she had seen Vinnie, a tiny kitten at the time, at an adoption fair.
Paul’s wife was allergic to cats and dogs, so they had no pets, even though he’d longed for one of his own. In fact, he’d insisted on paying the adoption fee and first several vet bills when Lynn took Vinnie in for her next series of shots.
Fortunately, Vinnie was only five years old, so hopefully Lynn didn’t have to worry about losing her any time soon.
She knew when she did that it would gut her emotionally, and not just because she loved Vinnie but because it’d also be one more lost tie to Paul.
As she prepared for bed, Lynn ran through her usual routine and tried to focus on her plans for tomorrow, the chapter she needed to work on in her current manuscript, the items she’d have to check off her to-do list so she could take the time off later to go meet Justin.
Vinnie jumped up on the bed and snuggled tightly against Lynn’s back once Lynn had gotten into her usual sleeping position. With the cat’s gentle purr lulling her, Lynn eventually slipped into sleep.
One day at a time. I can do this. I have to do this.
Chapter Two
Paul opened his eyes Friday morning and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the brief moment of disorientation to settle. After eight years living in the same house, he was still trying to adjust to his new apartment, even though he’d been there going on six weeks now.
He hadn’t unpacked anything except some of his clothes and two boxes of kitchen stuff he needed to get by.
He didn’t have the heart to do more.
I’m a failure.
He’d failed Lynn, and he’d ultimately failed Sarah.
Not that, in retrospect, he could have helped Sarah in the first place, but he’d been damned determined to try.
They were all right. Every one of them.
Maybe if he had followed his friends’ advice, Sarah could have started her recovery journey sooner and already been on a path to true healing.
Or…not.
He couldn’t force her to do it. Every concession she’d dragged out of him over the last couple of years had done nothing but completely isolate him from nearly all his friends and cost him his own peace of mind as well as his marriage.
She’d had no true intentions of changing. She’d worked just hard enough to make him think he’d made the right choice to stay and stand by her side and fight for their marriage, and then…
Not.
At the end, the ongoing list of excuses from Sarah had come nearly as fast as the isolating demands early on.
She was too busy with work and volunteering to deal with him and his requirements for what she had to do for her recovery.
He wasn’t supportive enough.
He wasn’t giving her enough attention.
He was still thinking about Lynn.
It was all his fault for wanting to do “that stuff” to begin with—even though they’d both been active in the lifestyle when they’d met.
Even though Sarah had held back everything of her truths in the beginning of their relationship while he’d been a transparent and open book in return.
Even though she’d changed—rather, finally revealed her true colors—after they’d been together a couple of years.
He’d never lied or hidden the fact that Dominant and kinky was just who he was. Add in the fact that she’d been upset at him for not wanting to change to suit her. She’d known when he’d married her that he was an atheist and had no intention to find religion. So when she’d suddenly started going to church a couple of years into their marriage without even giving him the courtesy of telling him first, it’d been a little…weird.
The only reason he’d found out was he’d woken up late on Sunday mornings, the way he always did, and she wasn’t home.
After three weeks in a row of this, he’d finally managed to get it out of her that she was going to church from that point on. And she would volunteer there.
Okay, no problem, but it was more than a little odd that she hadn’t even mentioned a desire to start doing that before she started doing it. That she’d gone out of her way to hide it from him.
Which, in retrospect, was part of a much larger pattern of behavior that he’d willfully ignored from the start. She wasn’t a bad person. Not by a long shot. They’d had lots of good times together, more than enough to make him fall in love with her and want to see her succeed and heal so their marriage could survive and move beyond what happened.
To make all the sacrifices worth it in the end.
He’d trusted, and tried, and loved, and in return her omissions had been revealed and then turned around to become all his fault in her mind.
Nothing would make her happy.
Not really.
Especially not him.
Not even making himself miserable in the process—because then it was a case of, well, why didn’t he go to counseling? He was the one with the “problem,” not her. He was the “pervert.”
Everyone warned me that was the wrong therapist for her.
The struggle to try to help Sarah and save their marriage stole two years from his life that he’d never get back.
Two years of hating himself for the pain of two people when, ultimately, the only pain he’d been responsible for causing had been Lynn’s.
All because she’d trusted him.
Here, weeks after the divorce being finalized and him moving out, he still didn’t have the guts to reach out to Lynn. She’d probably moved on already, was hopefully with someone else and healing.
Would hate him.
It’d be cruel to try to contact her, right?
The lonely part of him, curled up tightly in a ball in the back of his soul and in hiding for the past two years, whispered, Try.
Those whispers grew more insistent every day but still barely louder than a spider’s web being spun through the air.
It would serve me right to see she’s moved on. I deserve it.
Then again, it wasn’t about his pain. This was about Lynn.
He’d tried to close himself off from Sarah, once it was obvious she wasn’t going to do the work required to keep their marriage alive. She’d used him as an excuse and a crutch to stay stuck, and he knew wasn’t doing her any favors if he allowed her to continue.
He sat up and turned, legs over the edge of the bed. He’d gained twenty pounds over the last two years after throwing himself into work in lieu of a social life outside home, and Sarah, and her therapist’s office.
I need to start going to the gym again.
Even that had always brought a glaring look from Sarah, unspoken accusations that he must be sneaking out to meet her.
It’d been easier to give it up, along with everything else.
To just…give up.
* * * *
Paul sat at his desk a little after nine that morning. He hadn’t bothered shaving. He didn’t have to deal with meetings today to make it worth the effort. In front of him, on his laptop, he tried to make sense of a report he’d first started working on yesterday afternoon.
The problem wasn’t the report—it was him.
Increasingly, he’d found it harder to focus.
He’d always prided himself o
n his focus, on being someone who could immediately fix problems when they arose, a man others could always turn to and find a steady rock.
Now, he didn’t even have that illusion of control over his own life.
Fuck me.
At lunch he walked out to the parking lot and sat in the shade of a tree to eat the sandwich he’d brought with him. He worked for a shipping company, in charge of the department that ran their database server systems. Their campus housed the company’s main server and IT infrastructure, their facility allowing the company’s computers talk to each other all over the country.
Sure, there were air-conditioned conference and break rooms all over the campus where he could have found solitude.
Sitting in the muggy Sarasota heat seemed…apt.
Penance.
Hell.
Although slightly milder and more soggy than a literal hell would probably be.
He knew he couldn’t live his life like this. At this rate, he’d be dead in a few years simply from losing the will to live.
I should go talk to her.
There hadn’t been a day since their forced good-bye that Lynn wasn’t there in his thoughts, in his heart and soul, part of him effectively amputated and the phantom pain only growing worse with time. Not just his best friend but someone he’d deeply loved and trusted. Someone who understood, embraced, and loved the dark side of him.
I never should have let Sarah order me to stop being friends with her.
But the faith-based therapist had treated their situation like a case of cheating, even though it wasn’t. No contact at all allowed. The woman had insisted it was the only way for Sarah to heal.
So he’d reluctantly agreed.
Sarah had not only signed off on his relationship with Lynn from the start, she’d actively seemed relieved to not have to be involved in “that” any longer. He never would have put Lynn through any of it had he known the secrets Sarah kept.
Had he realized how deeply broken Sarah was to start with.
Every step of the way, he’d sought permission from Sarah and never did anything she didn’t sign off on.
Had he been blind to Sarah’s secrets in the beginning? Maybe. Sure, looking back, there were lots of red flags he could see now.
But she’d also lied when he’d asked. He’d tried to get her to open up to him from the start.
She was the one who didn’t tell him the full truth.
He could second-guess himself forever, but the fact remained he’d married someone he shouldn’t have. He’d loved her, absolutely. Still did. They’d had a lot of fun together. She wasn’t a monster. She was a woman who had severe mental issues and had developed incredible coping skills to hide them.
Which made it even worse in the long run. Because, despite doing everything she’d asked of him once the truth came out, even the painful things, she still blamed him for Lynn.
She wasn’t half wrong, but she wasn’t half right, either.
He shouldn’t have blown up that day in her therapist’s office. It’d been nearly two years since he’d last been able to so much as text with Lynn. That afternoon, once again, Sarah had gotten stuck in the past, railing to the therapist about every old thing they’d already covered ad nauseam, dredging up every single perceived hurt he’d inflicted upon her, and conveniently leaving out the fact that he’d consulted with Sarah first and had received her permission.
He was tired of not being able to defend Lynn when Sarah shredded her to the therapist, because it would trigger a rage reaction in Sarah.
He was tired of not being able to honestly speak his mind without weighing all the options first.
He hadn’t even realized he was speaking out loud until he said it and the two of them stared at him.
“Do you want me to take out my pocket knife and open up a vein, Sarah? Will that make it better? I’ve done everything you asked of me, and more, and stood beside you and tried to support you and your healing, and I’m still to blame here? Really? When do I finally see you making the changes you swore to me would happen once Lynn was completely out of my life forever? I’m never going to stop loving her, so stop trying to erase the past and what’s in my heart before you end up erasing what’s there for you, too.”
That’s when the therapist frowned and asked him to wait out in the lobby for the rest of the appointment.
During the ride home, the silent arctic blast from Sarah in the passenger seat had settled deep within him.
Through this whole process, every time Sarah had mentioned a divorce, he’d gently, thoroughly picked through it with her to see if it was what she wanted or whether she was just saying it, thinking it would solve everything.
How many times?
He couldn’t even count.
She didn’t speak to him until almost bedtime. He was done trying to pry things out of her.
“Are you ever going to stop loving her?” she’d asked.
“No, but I’m here, with you. I told you when you started down this path that I’d do whatever it took to try to make this right and help you heal. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. You can’t keep using me and Lynn as the reason for you not making progress.”
“Do you want a divorce?”
“I told you that I meant my wedding vows. If you want a divorce, then you contact an attorney, but I’m doing my best.”
“Why wasn’t I good enough?” she screamed.
He wouldn’t be pulled into the trap of one of her rages. “When we met, we were both into BDSM. You’d even told me you were into swinging with your ex. I gave BDSM up for you, and I was miserable. You started going to church and dropped out of the lifestyle without bothering to talk to me about it first. When you gave me permission to get back into BDSM, you were miserable when you attended events with me. You didn’t want to be there. It was a win-win when you told me to go do it by myself. When I met Lynn, you told me it was fine. You told Lynn to her face you were fine with it. Including her and I going from being playmates to being poly with each other. It was your suggestion, if you recall.”
“You lied to me!”
“How?”
“You never told me you were going to fall in love with her! Why couldn’t you meet other women? Why only her?”
“So you would have been okay with me randomly playing with and fucking other women, but not with having only one person to play with and be partners with?”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“No, I don’t know what you mean because you keep moving the goal line. I never lied to you about where I was or what I was doing. I always asked permission to go do things with her before we did them. If you called or texted me, I always answered or replied. Even when it was blatantly obvious what you were doing. When I tried to get you to talk to me, you’d insist you were fine.”
“I wasn’t fine, and you should have known that.”
“Why? Because I was a mind reader?”
“You could see what it was doing to me.”
“No, I couldn’t. You were drinking when I wasn’t home. I’d come home and find you asleep. You always told me to go have fun because you were too tired or too busy volunteering. How was I supposed to know what you were doing when you refused to tell me the truth? And by the way, when was your last AA meeting? Part of the deal was you’d attend a minimum of one meeting a week until we mutually agreed you could go less frequently.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“You were the one who, despite volunteering to me that you were okay with me and Lynn going from play partners to poly, told the therapist at first that I’d cheated on you. You lied to your therapist until I forced you to own up to that and admit the truth. I even had to show her the e-mails. Even then you still tried to twist it around until the therapist called you out on it.”
A guilty look filled her face. “She misunderstood me. That’s not my fault.”
“Another lie. You were the one who didn’t tell me everything go
ing on with you when we first met. You knew my secrets when we met. You withheld informed consent from me and from Lynn by not telling either of us the truth. If you can’t trust me after everything I’ve done since this blew up to try to help you get better, then I honestly don’t know what else I can do. I won’t lie to you and tell you I don’t love Lynn, when I’m always going to love her, the way I’m always going to love you. But I chose you and let her go, even as a friend, when you asked me to. I’ve isolated myself from all my friends because of your fear.”
She’d stormed out of the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.
He didn’t chase her.
When he’d come home from work the next day and found all his stuff in the guest bedroom, he hadn’t said a word, either. Neither had she.
The message was clear.
He was done chasing her, too tired to try any longer.
The fact that Lynn and everyone else had told him early on when the shit first hit the fan that this was exactly what would happen was not lost on him.
But he’d had to try.
He stopped going to the therapist appointments, and Sarah had stopped going, too, but she didn’t file for divorce.
Two months later, when she’d barely spoken to him during that whole time, he filed, despite swearing up until that point that he wouldn’t. Especially when he realized she’d stopped taking her medication and beer bottles were starting to appear in their recycling bin every night.
Living as roommates with a woman who wouldn’t even talk to him or uphold the promises she’d made to him to stay in counseling and try to find recovery was the final straw. He’d always swore she’d have to be the one to file for divorce, but he’d also told her, in no uncertain terms, if she wanted their marriage to work that she had to do the work to try to heal and find recovery from her past traumas. That the only way he’d stay, especially after making the sacrifices he had, was if she was as dedicated to making it work as he was.
Although he knew she’d use this as one more way to blame him for everything.
Now the divorce was final, their house sold, their assets divided, his previously secure financial situation down the shitter…