“You need to go out,” I tell him. “Before you have an accident.”
I listen for Jude because I know he’s still home. He’s been home every morning since it happened. He hasn’t gone running on the trails. He’s tried to change everything about his life that might remind me of her.
He runs on the treadmill now, until I start to feel more comfortable. He didn’t have to do that, but he insisted.
I lie still and listen to the whirring of the treadmill belt, and the pounding of his feet.
When it stops, I wait for him to come shower, but he doesn’t. Minutes pass, and finally, I get up to check on him, carrying Rx with me. The doctor has cleared me to walk around the house a bit, and for that, I’m thankful.
Jude is in his den, on his computer.
When I walk in, he minimizes his screen quickly, and my heart pounds.
“What are you hiding?” I ask, because that’s what I’m scared of now. What he’s hiding. Is he chatting with someone again? Is he going to go back down that path?
He shakes his head and turns his computer around. “Don’t be scared,” he tells me softly. “I’m not doing anything wrong. Look.”
There’s a real estate website pulled up. He’s looking at houses in other towns...in Denver, Kansas City, Miami, Seattle.
“I didn’t want you to freak out,” he tells me. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured.”
Relief floods me from my head to my toes because he’s not doing anything bad. He’s not texting someone, he’s not chatting with a strange woman.
Maybe...
Just maybe...
Maybe he means what he says. Maybe I can lower my guard...just a little.
The fresh new houses stare at me from the screen, and the idea of starting somewhere new is suddenly appealing.
“Portland might be nice,” I suggest, and my words are soft.
Jude startles, then smiles. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
Without another word, I leave and let the dogs out and then make coffee for Jude.
He joins me and we curl up on the sofa and we start talking, and we don’t stop for hours. We talk about where we went wrong, how we grew apart. We talk about how he should have reacted and how he didn’t, and how we both felt when Zoe died. We talk about Michel and how devastated we are. We talk about all of it.
“How are we going to get through this?” I ask, and I realize that I’m afraid to hear the answer.
Jude is silent, and his head is bowed, and I have to strain to hear him.
“We’ve already been doing it, Co. We’ve been getting through every day, hour by hour. We swallow the pain like a pill and move forward. We’ve already been doing it.”
“Tell me how it all started with her,” I tell him. “Please. I need to know.”
So he does. He tells me all of it. How he was flattered, how it felt validating. How he felt useless to me and important to her. And how she manipulated all of it.
“I’ll never understand how I got to such a place,” Jude finally says at the end of his explanation. “It was like I wasn’t even myself. Looking back, it doesn’t even seem like me. It seems like a bad caricature.”
“It does,” I agree.
“It’s going to be a long road,” Jude tells me, cupping my face with his hand. “For you to recover, I mean. It’s been traumatic, and it kills me that I did this to you. But if you can just live one day at a time, and focus on the now, I promise you, I’ll make it worth it.”
I swallow, and there’s a lump in my throat, and I want to believe him.
I desperately want to believe him. That has to be a start.
“I can’t make love to you yet,” I warn him as he kisses my forehead. “I just can’t. I keep picturing you touching her and...” I shudder.
He lifts my chin with his finger.
“I want to tell you something. I never made love to her. Not ever. It was all so stupid and ridiculous, but she meant nothing to me. Less than nothing. You are everything, Corinne. Everything. Without you, I’m lost.”
My chest rumbles, and I’m going to cry again, so I swallow it down. I do believe him. I believe that she meant nothing. He showed me the texts—all of them. From the very beginning, and even though it hurt, even though it shredded me, it painted a picture of a girl pursuing a married man. And while that’s true, he still succumbed. So he’s not faultless. That’s what I can’t get past.
“If that ever happens again, you have to shut it down,” I tell him. “From the very beginning. You can’t allow yourself to be flattered. You have to be firm.”
“Don’t worry,” he says wryly. “I’ll run in the other direction. I promise.”
He leaves to get us milk shakes and then dinner, and then days turn into nights, which turn into days, which turn into a strange sort of healing.
Every day, Jude tries to prove that he’s strong and true.
He texts me from wherever he goes, and tells me he loves me and holds me at night. Every night, I have nightmares...about Zoe dying, about Jude sleeping with her...about all of it. Sometimes I wake up screaming. When I do, Jude holds me and soothes me.
We decide to sell our house and move to Portland to start over. I’ve always loved the mountains and the sea, and Portland is a metropolis near both, just waiting for us to start anew in.
On the night we sell our home, I stand in the doorway of our guest room, staring at the empty walls. It’s how Jude finds me when he comes home from work.
Coming up behind me, he wraps his arms around my waist.
“Are you okay?”
I nod. “It’s just... This house was supposed to grow our family. We were supposed to flourish here.”
“Our new house is beautiful,” Jude reminds me. “We’re going to have our baby there, Co. She’ll have a beautiful nursery, and then we’ll have more babies. And our life is going to be grand.”
“Make love to me, Jude,” I say softly. He glances down at me sharply, and I nod.
“It’s been a long three months, Jude. I think I need this...to heal. I need to make you mine again.”
“I’ve always been yours,” he growls against my lips before he kisses me. “I’ll always be yours.”
He carries me into our bedroom and lays me gently on the floor.
“Has your doctor approved this?” he asks, and he’s so so concerned and gentle.
I nod. “Yeah. I can resume all normal activity. Our baby is fine.”
We make love on the floor, surrounded by blank walls. It doesn’t matter. My husband makes me his again, and his hands are everywhere and he’s mine.
He’s mine.
He doesn’t fuck me, he makes love to me. My chest swells with emotion, and he’s so gentle, so loving. He touches me with reverence and stares at me with such a soft look in his eyes. The gold in them turns liquid, and I kiss him softly, my lips melting into his. He pulls me close closer closer. He rocks with me, and we come together, and it’s a meeting of souls, not just a joining of bodies. We’re one again.
We’re Corinne and Jude, and we both feel it.
“Don’t hurt me again,” I tell him afterward as my head rests on his chest. “Just don’t.”
“I won’t.” His words are quiet, his grip is strong. He holds me like the world is ending, and in a way, it did.
Our world ended. And then it started again. It started over, and it started better.
We’re stronger now than ever before, and we won’t be vulnerable to something like this again. I feel that in my bones.
I close my eyes tight and let my husband hold me, and I know that everything is going to be all right. Maybe not today, but someday.
I am strong, and our wounds will heal, and our scars will fade.
That’s what scars do.
It has to be enough.
“Will you stay with me?” Jude asks, long after the flush in our cheeks has faded and we’re still clinging together.
I nod, and my cheek scrapes against his chest.
I remember lying like this with him in Hawaii, on our honeymoon. We were on the cusp of a life together, and we were so naive and new.
We’re battered now, but we’re stronger.
We’re older, but we’re wiser.
We’re better now. So much better than before.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I’m staying. You’re my home.”