The Wife He Couldn't Forget

When he said nothing more, she went over to the sofa and grabbed her handbag. “I’m sorry, Xander. More than you’ll ever know. I’d hoped, that if we talked—properly this time—that maybe we could work things out. But I guess the river runs too deep between us now for that to happen.”

Before he could stop her or form a coherent sentence, she was gone. Feeling more horribly alone than he’d ever felt in his life, Xander sank back down onto the sofa and stared out the window. The last rays of the evening sun caressed the peninsula across the harbor. The peninsula where his home lay and, if he was to be totally honest, where his heart lived, as well.

He replayed Olivia’s words over and over, thinking hard about what she’d said and in particular about her admission of fault in what happened that awful day when their world stopped turning. Why had she never said anything about that before?

I did what I do. What I’ve always done for the past twenty years of my life. I picked up the pieces and I carried on.

Of course she did. It was the example her father had set her and it was what he’d clearly expected of her after her mother died. In so many ways it was a mirror to what Xander had gone through as a child. Keep putting each foot forward straight after the other—no time for regret, no time for emotion. Do what needs to be done at all times. And whatever you do, don’t talk about it.

Could he have made more effort to salvage their marriage after Parker died? Of course he could have. But he’d been turned in too much on himself. Focused too hard on protecting that facade that he’d spent most of his lifetime building, as his mother had built hers. He’d never seen his mother show weakness, never seen her so much as shed a tear. When the going got tough, as it had so often as she struggled to keep everything together, she just worked harder. And wasn’t that exactly what he’d done, too?

When Olivia had told him they were expecting a baby, he’d thrown himself into work. He’d distanced himself from her and from the impending birth by doing whatever he could to ensure their financial security. He’d earned a promotion along the way. Successes like that he could measure, he could take pride in. What the hell did he know about being a father? Heaven knew he hadn’t had a good example of one to call upon. He hadn’t had any time to research it, to even get his head into the idea—they’d had no discussion, nothing, before she’d sprung it on him. And then to his amazement, when Parker had been born, the bond and the love had been instant. Equally rewarding and terrifying in its own right.

Fatherhood had become an unexpected delight. He’d been amazed at how effortlessly Livvy had transitioned from high school teacher to homemaker and mother. She did everything with an air of efficiency and capability that was daunting. Did she never question her ability to be a good parent? Did she never question his? If she had, he’d never seen any sign of it.

Part of his original attraction to her had always been to her self-sufficiency, but that very thing was what had slowly driven a wedge between them. It shifted the balance. But what he realized now, weighing her words and the feelings she’d finally opened up to him about this evening, was that in trying not to become a victim of his past, in trying not to be like his father, he’d fallen in the trap of behaving like his mother.

Why hadn’t he been able to see that he didn’t need to be a part of a dysfunctional relationship? When had he lost sight of all that was good and right about life? He thought back to the joy and excitement of meeting Olivia, of falling in love with her. He’d met a lot of women over time—beautiful, strong and successful women—and none of them had touched his heart the way she did. Why should it be wrong to be vulnerable to the one person he wanted to be close to?

Had he, with his own determined aloofness, contributed to the demise of their marriage? Of course he had. He had to accept that he couldn’t be all things to all people. Surely his own mother’s example had shown him that. Then why had he followed her path in life instead of his own?

He’d been a fool. A complete and utter idiot. He’d pushed away the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally. A woman who was flawed in her own ways but who needed him as much as he needed her. Of course he wanted, no, needed to be close to her. And that was okay. It didn’t weaken him; it didn’t diminish him as a man. It made him stronger because he loved her.

He got up and walked over to the window, one hand resting on the glass as he looked toward the dark bump on the distant landscape—the hill on which their home stood. So she’d made some stupid choices—hadn’t he made some equally dumb ones? More importantly, could he forgive her for manipulating him when he’d come out of hospital?