The Life You Stole (Life Duet 2)

“It’s fine that I can’t get time off or fine if I don’t go at all? Come to think of it, you did use the word I instead of we. Do you not want me to go?”

“It’s up to you.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She wrapped his sandwich and packed it in his lunch box before giving me a direct look. “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered as Franz barreled down the hall toward the kitchen.

It hurt. Maybe more than Lila’s pain—at least my heart felt a direct hit.

“Let’s go, Daddy!”

“Shh …” I held my finger to my mouth. “I’m coming. Put on your shoes.” I grabbed his lunch box and stuffed it into his backpack.

Evie crossed her arms over her robe-clad chest and stared at her feet. We needed something. I was tired of just existing. But suggesting I spend Thanksgiving away from my family was not the answer. I couldn’t believe she suggested it.

“Will Sophie be at the shop with you today?”

She nodded, giving me a two-second glance.

“Meet me at Grinds at noon.”

Another nod.

The rejection hurt and the suppressed anger I saw in Evie that morning poisoned my blood. I swore my heart stopped beating correctly. My body moved from one task to another, but I couldn’t focus on anything but those words she whispered to me. By the time I made it to Grinds, Evie was already there sitting in our favorite booth, sipping her coffee and picking at a piece of coffee cake. I ordered a drink and wormed my way to the back of the cafe.

“Hey.” I pulled out the chair across from her.

She returned a sad smile, more like a cringe. “Hey.”

“Two kids and close to six years of marriage and I’m already being disinvited from Thanksgiving with your family. Not going to lie, Evie, I didn’t see that coming.”

“I need some space,” she murmured, gaze stuck to her cup of coffee. That made it exponentially worse—she couldn’t look at me for more than a blink, maybe two.

“Space? We’re away from each other for a good eight to ten hours—five, sometimes six, days a week. We take care of the kids and the dog without saying more than a dozen words to each other in the evening. And even on the weekends you find some excuse to run to the shop or take a two-hour hike by yourself. We have space, Evelyn. Maybe too much space. And I’m trying to work my way out of this depression or whatever’s been dragging me down. But I’m not walking away. And I’m sure as hell not doing it on Thanksgiving.”

“I can’t breathe, Ronin. When I’m at work, I hold my breath, wondering if you’ll be better or worse. When I’m at home, I tiptoe around you, putting on this “we’re-okay” act for the kids, all while holding my breath. And I lie in bed at night for hours, just listening to you breathe, wondering if we’ll ever be the same. Still … holding my breath. So maybe it’s not space that I need, maybe it’s distance. And maybe you need some distance too. Maybe part of your depression is the feeling, consciously or subconsciously, that you’re being rushed to feel better, suffocated to act like everything is fine when it’s not.”

I started to speak, but I had nothing to say. Her painful assessment of our current situation wasn’t wrong.

“Fuck …” I rested my elbows on the table and ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m sorry … I’m just so incredibly sorry. Sometimes I think I should have chosen to accept the short life this time around. The pain. As much as I try to contain it, shield you from it, I can’t. I’m cursed and it’s ruining my whole life.”

She reached for my arm. “No one has been ruined. I’m not leaving you. I’m not giving up on us. I just need a little break to find myself again, to recharge my battery. This mom gig is exhausting, and you added to my responsibilities by bringing home a dog.”

“Evie—”

“No. I’m not mad about that … anymore. Mrs. Humphrey is a great dog, and the kids love her. I’m only making my case for needing a break. I might even see if Katie and my dad will watch the kids so I can drive down the coast and truly have some me time to do a lot of things I’ve needed to do.”

Grieve her mom. That was what she meant. I wanted her to have that too, but it still stung. My failures as a husband lingered in my conscience. I never thought this could happen to us. We had the perfect life.

“I’m going to see a doctor again. See if they can give me something.”

Evie nodded, rubbing her lips together. Her skepticism showed, even if she held back her words. I wasn’t hopeful either. It was like trying to cure Lila’s cancer by me going through chemotherapy and radiation. Antidepressants weren’t going to numb me everywhere like opioids. They were going to simply fuck with things that weren’t out of balance. I knew they weren’t a happy pill. I also knew I needed to prove to my wife that I was doing everything I could to fix our situation.