“W… Why didn’t you tell me?” he can barely force the words from his tense throat, his lips bumble and spurt. The veins in his neck threaten to burst. I don’t know how he’s holding the rage in. I know I wouldn’t have the same strength.

“Because he,” I stop myself, “or she, is dead.”

“You knew before the accident and you didn’t tell me before?”

“I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t.” He balls his fingers into a fist. “Why?”

“Because I wasn’t sure I wanted a baby. My life was just about to start—“

“That wasn’t your decision to make.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” I snap. “I needed time to figure everything out, and I was going to tell you that night…”

For the first time, his eyes become leveled with mine. I want to disappear through the floor, because this is the part where I’m forced to take accountability for my actions.

“I found out a few hours before I got in the car with Nathan.”

His lip begins to tremble again, and as his wife, I should comfort him. That’s what I should do, but I’m too terrified he’s going to hurt me, or leave me forever, and maybe that’s what he should do. But the absolute reason I don’t comfort him is because I can’t bear the thought of someone hurting more than me, and my touch against his skin would comfort him.

I’m so fucking fucked up. This is about my pain, and I’ll be damned if I let him win this time. Not like this.

“So yeah,” I whisper and swallow a nervous lump in my throat. “You caught me. I was as high as a fucking kite when I walked in that door, and maybe, just maybe, if I stay high long enough, then the next time I go to open my eyes, I won’t, and this pain won’t matter anymore.”

Exhausted from the battle, I collect my shirt off the ground and begin to ascend the stairs. I’m going to need a long nap between rounds of fighting.

“No, you’re not getting out of this,” he screams and chases me up the steps. I try to escape him, but he’s right on my ass as I run into the bedroom. I twist to face him as he slams the door shut behind him. “You lure me into your exhausting game of some kind of fucked up merry-go-round, but you always jump off while I’m left spinning.”

“You started this,” I accuse with a finger aimed squarely at him. “Take some fucking responsibility.”

“You shouldn’t have been in that car with that kid.”

“He needed help!”

“Some people can’t be saved.”

“Like me?” I question and take a measured step toward him. “Can I not be saved?”

“No, there’s a huge difference between him and you.”

“He was troubled.“

“A huge red flag you shouldn’t have jumped into his car. You could have lost your job.”

“Isn’t that one of those irreparable differences between us?” I glare at him. Football is his life. It’s always been his life. From the time he was a young tot, he was in love with the game and could have went pro if it weren’t for breaking his back in a bar fight that we both know I started after one too many drinks. Maybe that’s when this all truly began? “Your job is your everything, and I’m left fumbling in the dark because after two years playing this game, I’m over it. I’m not a teacher. I shouldn’t be a teacher. I should be something else.”

“If you hate it so much, then why do you choose to show up day after fucking day?”

“You still don’t get it, Brock.”

“I’m trying.”

“Why don’t you throw back a few shots and come back to me when your common sense is gone? Maybe that’s the only way you’re going to truly grasp this situation.”

He grunts as he throws his arm against the top of the dresser, sending everything shattering against the floor. A photo of our wedding day, vases, jewelry, and a bottle filled with sand from our honeymoon. He pinches at the bridge of his nose. “Make me understand, then.”

“I’ve been putting back all my money for months, because I’ve been planning on leaving you during winter break.”

“If I’m that bad, then why do you keep telling me that you love me?”

“Because it’s the truth.”

“Well the truth doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

I try to force the words down, but they come up like vomit. “I tried killing myself. Did you know that?”

He cocks an eye at me, a tired, glassy eye. “When?”

“A few weeks ago,” I say lowly. It’s not easy subject matter, riddled with embarrassment and shame. “He saved me and I fell in love with him.”

“He?”

“Kemper,” I yell. “Pay attention.”

And it’s as if his world caves in an instant, and we’re finally on equal footing. He sinks down onto the bed, defeated. “You’re having an affair?”

“I’m sorry, has all this drama damaged your brain?” I shake my head, confused. “You accosted me when I came home, wanting to know when it began, don’t you remember?”

“I was talking about the drinking and the pills.” He cups his palm over his mouth, his chest rolls with heavy breaths.

“Well, shit,” I chuckle uncomfortably and shrug my shoulders with apathy. I should care more that he’s hurting, and on some level, I do. “The pills and drinking started today,” I assure him, answering his question from the beginning of our drawn-out confrontation. It’s an easier conversation.

“Kemper?” he questions in disbelief. “The quarterback? The Student?” He shakes his head, and the contempt bubbles to the surface. “You are one hell of a piece of work.”

“Save your disdain for someone who cares,” I scoff.

“He’s a student.” He chews into his lips. “Just your type, I suppose.”

“Fuck you,” I spit. “Do you really want to get into this?”

“We’re in it, Stassi.” He bows his head and exhales a short breath, and in that particular moment, I see a change in him as anger fades into acceptance. “We’re stuck in it.”

“Stuck in a field of shit,” I add and glance down at the man I was to spend the rest of my life with. He’s hurting. I’m hurting. He’s broken because I broke him, and I’m broken because he broke me. It’s a vicious cycle with no blue skies in sight. I sink down onto the mattress beside him so we can grieve the loss of our once ironclad romance in silence and despair.

“We’re the same person, Brock,” I whisper, not because I wish to disturb the silence, but because I’m too tired to fight anymore. I’m beyond exhausted, and scared about how this night might end, because what I once thought impossible is quickly becoming possible. “We’re magnetized on the same end, and it’s begun to push us away. No matter how we try to position the two magnets, we always come up short when trying to connect.” I feel his gaze upon me, even while I’m too scared to stare anywhere but straight ahead at the remnants of the dresser dressings. “You cheat, so I cheat. You buried your problems in alcohol. I freed myself through living on the edge. You chose someone safe, my sister. And I chose someone dangerous, my student.”

“Do you still love me?” he questions, low and riddled with hope and loss at the same time.

“I wish I didn’t, but there’s something magical about that whole two of us against the world thing.” I sigh and wet my lips. “If we’re together. If we’re not together, you’ll always have a place in my heart.”

“We weren’t expecting the world to be so heavy,” he says, a beautiful sentiment of which I couldn’t agree more. I cock my head to look him in the eyes, not expecting tears, but they’re there. “It bore down on us and broke us.”

“I’ll always love you, Brock. If it weren’t for you, I’m not sure I ever would’ve learned what love was.” I comfort him with my palm on his back. “Without everything you ever gave to me, I’m not sure I’d be able to know what it is that I know now.”

“Which is?”

“I love you,” I say with a kick of my heart against my chest, but there’s more. Something I dread saying out loud, because it’s the hardest fucking thing I’ll ever have to do in this life. “I think…” I stutter, and try to catch my breath. I know once these words slip from my lips, we can’t go back.

“What is it, Stas?” He lifts my chin with a strong hand. “It’s okay, whatever it is,” he assures me, but there’s no way he can see this coming.

I close my eyes tight, trying to hold back the tears, but I should know by now. It’s no use. The words roll across trembling lips, “I think I love him more,” and I break completely, into his arms.

It’s the most fucked up dichotomy in the world, but he cradles me the way he used to cradle me back in high school when I had my breakdown of the week.

“There’s nothing I can do?”

“There’s something.” I clear the tears from my face and sit up straight in bed. His head perks up to meet me at eye level. “Tell me you love my sister.”

“You know I can’t do that.” He shakes his head. “She was only a distraction.”

“That’s a shame,” I sniffle. “I wish you felt for her the way I feel about Kemper, because you deserve a happy ending,“ and then like thunder, “it just can’t be with me.”

The revelation surprises even me, but then I remember, Kemper had said he wouldn’t be sticking around. He could be gone by now. My eyes sink to the floor.

“It’s okay, Stassi,” he says to me, nodding his head in a repetitive manner as if he’s trying to accept the bomb I’ve just tossed onto his lap. “It’s okay.”

“He’s leaving,” I mumble under my breath, but Brock’s able to hear me. “Kemper is leaving.”

“Go,” he commands me.

Stunned isn’t the word. I rise to my feet. “What?”

He joins me and clenches his eyes shut, he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “Go and get him.”

I’m suspicious of his motive, of course. “Why are you supporting this?”

“Because…” his voice cracks and he balls his hand into a fist. “Because I took a vow on our wedding day to make you happy for the rest of your life, and I wish I could make you happy, but I can’t.” Tears stream down his face, though he tries to fight them, to hold them back. It’s a losing proposition. They stain his cheeks and his eyes fill a blood red shade. “So, I have to honor those vows and let you go.”

My feet are weighted down with emotional baggage, holding me in place as I throw my arms around him. He stumbles forward and collapses his head on my shoulder. I close my eyes, crying silently as I stroke short circles in his hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he cries. “Sorry for everything.” His grip tightens, threating to crack my ribs in half, but through the pain, I find the strength of healing. “I’ll never stop loving you,” he whispers against my ear and pulls away. He smiles a crooked smile, a forced smile if I ever saw one. This isn’t a happy man. This is a broken man. He caresses my arms lovingly. “You need to go. Your happiness is about to drive away.”

I crane my head over my shoulder to peek at the bedroom door and then back at him. “I—“

He raises his finger to the air. “Please… Don’t.”

I can’t help myself. There are three words that need to be said before I flee out that door. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he promises and steps past me, opening the door for me and motioning for me to leave.

I stand in the center of the floor for a moment more, glancing around at the pictures on the wall, and the light blue paint we chose together. I look at our bed. I look at him, and know he’s about to lose the strength to let me leave.

I rush past him, out the hallway and onto the steps. When I’m halfway down the spiral staircase, I peek up at the bedroom and see him disappear behind an oak door as it shuts.