All I could do was stare at Andrew. It was as though he had morphed into a stranger in front of my eyes.
“Please, Sophie. Say something.”
This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real.
Andrew walked toward me, slowly, as if trying to corner a scared dog. I didn’t say a word. Couldn’t. I was too numb.
But when he reached for me, I reacted instinctively, slapping his hand away. “Don’t touch me.” I suddenly heard the ragged breaths coming from my chest. I sounded awful. “Don’t you ever touch me again.”
“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do—”
“Shut up. Just shut up!” I covered my ears with my hands. I wanted to block his words, as though not hearing them would make what he’d said go away.
My hands still over my ears, I stared at Andrew, my eyes imploring him to take back what he’d said. He held my gaze, but only for a few seconds. Then he looked down.
“Oh, my God.” I shot to my feet. “Oh, my God.”
“Sophie—”
Gasping, I stumbled past Andrew. I wanted to run out of the house, escape to a place where Andrew’s words wouldn’t hurt me. But as I got into the living room, my knees buckled, and I was lucky to collapse onto the sofa as opposed to the floor.
An affair? My husband had had an affair?
Andrew, the guy I’d known since I was nineteen, who had gently pursued me in college until I hadn’t been able to say no. The guy who’d given me a plastic ring in a bouquet of dandelions and told me that even though he wasn’t really proposing, he wanted me to know that one day he would.
If there had been anyone I could count on, anyone who I thought I could completely trust not to betray me in this way, it was Andrew.
My eyes filled with tears. Why, why, why? Why would he do this to me? How could he?
It wasn’t like I rolled over in bed at night and complained of being too tired to make love. If anything, I wanted it more than he did. He wasn’t as aggressive when it came to sex as he’d been in the beginning, but he also hadn’t been the tear-your-clothes-off kind of guy in the first place. That kind of man didn’t look for sex on the side when he had a wife ready and happy to please him.
No, what mattered to Andrew—or so he’d always said—was our commitment to each other. Passion could wane, but he’d assured me that our love would always be strong.
“Sophie.” He spoke softly, and I whipped my head up to see he was standing near the end of the sofa.
Seeing him standing there with a pained expression on his face was all it took for my confusion to turn to anger. He dared to look pained? After he had betrayed me?
“What do you want, a medal? You think because you had the guts to confess that I’m supposed to forgive you for fucking around?”
“No,” he said softly. “That’s not what I expect.”
“Then what the fuck do you want?” I was pissed, and didn’t care if my foul mouth offended him.
He shrugged. “I wanted you to know.”
“Aren’t you just the epitome of honor. Go to hell.”
I got to my feet and marched to the bedroom. But as soon as I was in there, I whirled around. I wanted answers from the man I’d given my heart to. The man I’d married and promised to be faithful to.
No, I deserved answers.
I was fuming, my nostrils flaring with each angry breath. “You fucked someone else. Tell me why.”
He said nothing.
“Tell me why! Wasn’t I good enough for you? Lord knows you always acted like sex wasn’t the be-all and end-all, so why the hell would you end up in someone else’s bed?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” I gaped at him. “What—were you abducted by aliens who removed your brain?”
Andrew said nothing.
“Was it a one-night stand?” I demanded. “Some slut you met out at some club?”
Nothing.
My stomach sank. “Someone you met at the hotel?”
Andrew didn’t reply.
An awful thought hit me, as painful as if Andrew had slapped me across the face. “She wasn’t a one-night stand…. Oh, God.”
Groaning, Andrew ran a hand over his face. “It’s not like…it’s not like it meant anything.”
“My God, you’re a walking fucking cliché.”
“Jesus, Sophie. Can we just…can we talk? I know I was wrong. I made a huge mistake.”
“I’ve heard enough bullshit from you.” I was cursing like a trucker, but I was angry.
“I’m trying to do the right thing here.” Andrew sounded exasperated. “That’s why I told you about it. I wanted you to hear it from me.”
Several beats passed. I was so livid, I was shaking. I needed to calm down. Not for Andrew’s sake, but for mine.
I drew in deep breaths, trying to bring myself to a better place. I wondered if I’d ever find a better place again.
“I thought I knew you,” I said. “I thought you loved me.”
“You think I don’t love you?” Andrew asked. “That’s the reason I’m telling you—because I love you. And I want to make this right.”
Make this right… As if it were so simple. As if what he’d done could be undone.
“Get out,” I told him.
He looked stunned. “What?”
“I want you gone. Out of my life. Forever, you son of a bitch.”
But even as I said the words, I couldn’t imagine a life without Andrew. Just a few months ago, Andrew and I had talked about finally having children. After having devoted the first eight years of our marriage to building up a nest egg, we were ready.
I drew in another breath and held it until my lungs burned. I didn’t want to cry, but damn it…Andrew had destroyed everything.
The dam broke on my last bit of self-control, and I began to weep. Huge, chest-heaving sobs.
Andrew gathered me in his arms and, though I wanted to, I had no energy to push him away. He held my head against his body and I cried until no more tears would come.
“God,” Andrew moaned. He stroked my hair lovingly, as though he were consoling me for an entirely different reason. “This is the last thing I wanted. To hurt you like this.”
His words pierced my heart. I took a step backward, wiping tears from my face. Somehow I was calm when I asked, “How did you think that cheating wouldn’t hurt me?”
“I know, I know. I sound like a moron. I’m just saying…all I can say is that I’m sorry.”
Feeling cold, I hugged my torso. Though I knew my arms wouldn’t keep me warm when the cold was emanating from inside me. “Sorry can’t erase something like this.”
Andrew nodded. “I get it.”
“Oh, stop giving me that look.”
“What look?”
“That wounded look. As if this is hurting you more than it’s hurting me.”
“I’m hurting too,”