Heartless

by R. C. Martin

  I hear the glimmer of hope in her voice, and I know that she does not understand. It’s as if she thinks I’m confessing an indiscretion—a mistake for which I seek absolution. Except, Blaine is not a mistake.

  “Veronica, listen to me—”

  “You have to end it,” she states, standing to her feet. Her tone is calm, in spite of the fact that I know calm is not how she’s feeling. “We’ll go to counseling. We’ll sit down with your dad and he’ll suggest someone.”

  “Veronica—”

  “We’ve been together for a long time. This happens. In every marriage, it’s a risk, right? There’s always a chance of infidelity. Nobody is perfect. I know I’m not, so I can’t expect you to be, either.”

  My back stiffens when her meaning becomes clear to me.

  Nobody is perfect.

  She thinks I find her imperfect because she can’t have children. She’s justifying my affair because of her lack when that has nothing to do with it.

  “Veronica,” I say softly, joining her as I stand to my own feet. I take a step toward her, but she retreats. I raise my hands in surrender, understanding her desire for distance, but still determined to get through to her.

  “Obviously, we’ve got issues, but we can fix them. We’ll get through this, and—”

  “Veronica,” I try again, wishing she would take a breath and listen to me.

  “I can learn to forgive you. I can. I will. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife. Marriage is—”

  Eliminating the space between us, I gently grab hold of her shoulders and confess, “I’m in love with her. I’m in love with Blaine.”

  “I’m your wife!” she shouts, suddenly fighting against my hold.

  My eyes widen in surprise, but I let her go. She then proceeds to beat her fists against my chest, her pain unleashed. I don’t stop her. Nevertheless, it only lasts for a moment. Then she’s not beating me, she’s clinging to me as she dissolves into a fit of tears.

  “I’m your wife,” she sobs. “Your wife!”

  I hold her, my heart aching as she leans into me, surrendering to her feelings. I don’t speak, certain that there are no words to make this better. There’s nothing I can say to ease her shock or her pain. As she reveals herself to me, as she gives me the pieces of herself that she’s been holding back, all I can think is that it’s too late. We’re broken beyond repair.

  With a gasp, she pulls away from me abruptly. Her legs are unsteady, so she almost loses her balance, but then she catches herself. Shoving a finger in my chest, she weakly demands, “Take a shower. Wash her off. I can smell her.”

  “Vee, I’m not taking a shower. We need to talk.”

  “Obviously,” she bites, burying her fingers in her hair. “But I can’t think knowing that you’ve been with her all night. I can’t look at you. I can’t even begin to fathom what we’re supposed to do next until you take a shower.”

  “Veronica, please. I need you to listen to me. I need you to understand that I’m in love with Blaine.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Dropping her arms to her sides, she narrows her eyes at me and asks, “How could you possibly love her? You don’t even know her.”

  “I do, Vee. I know it might be hard for you to believe that, but—”

  “We’ve been together for decades and you’ve been sleeping with her for three months.”

  I take a deep breath, scrubbing my hands over my face before I try and explain, “It’s not like that.”

  “Isn’t it? You admitted that you two were having sex.” Her breath hitches in her throat as more tears spill down her cheeks. She folds her arms across her chest before she chokes out, “Which explains why you haven’t wanted to touch me in weeks.”

  “It’s not that simple, Veronica. I told you, it’s not just about the sex.”

  “I know I’m not very adventurous in bed, but you never complained. We’ve both always been satisfied.”

  I clench my teeth together, biting my tongue. The last thing I want to do right now is compare sex with Veronica to sex with Blaine. It doesn’t matter, as I’ve been trying to explain.

  “Do you not find me sexually appealing anymore? Is that it?”

  “Babe—you’re not listening to me,” I mutter, begging with her to hear me.

  “I am listening to you,” she cries. “You cheated on me. You cheated! But nobody cheats for no reason, and we can fix this.”

  “Vee—”

  “You made a vow to me!” she states, speaking over me. “You’re my husband. My husband. You made a vow to me, and I made a vow to you. That matters. That matters more than some other woman who gets you off.”

  “Veronica—don’t talk about her like that.”

  She flinches at my request and then narrows her eyes at me. “I’ll talk about the woman who thinks she can have my husband the way I want to.”

  Raking my fingers through my hair, I try to think of what to say—how to be more clear without being cruel. Then I realize that even with the best of intentions, in her eyes, no matter what I say or how I say it, I’ll always be the bad guy at this point in our marriage. Looking at her now, reading her stance and hearing her adamancy, I concede to the fact that there is no way to be kind and defend my love for Blaine. I have to make a choice.

  No—I’ve already made my choice, weeks ago. Now, I can’t live without that choice.

  “This is my decision, Veronica. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for lying to you; I’m sorry for being untrue to you; I’m sorry for being unfair to you. I won’t claim to be in the right, but I can’t go back. I can’t undo what I’ve done. I can’t change the way I feel.”

  She stares at me, unmoving, for an entire minute. Then, without a word, she turns on her heel, headed for the closet.

  “Veronica, wait—”

  “If you won’t take a shower, I will,” she says. “You want to go out in the clothes you wore yesterday, be my guest!”

  “Go out?” I mutter, furrowing my brow in confusion. “It’s four-thirty in the morning. Where do you think you’re going?”

  “We!” she shouts, turning around and taking a couple steps back in my direction. “We are going to your parents’ house. We need help. I need help. I can’t fight for this marriage all on my own.”

  Feeling defeated, I ask, “Veronica, do you hear yourself? You shouldn’t have to fight by yourself. I’m sorry, but they can’t help us. We have to talk about divorce. I can’t keep doing this—I can’t keep pretending. I’m in love with another woman, Veronica, and you deserve better than that. You deserve to be with someone who can love you as a husband should. I’m not proud to admit it, but I…I’m not him.”

  “Bullshit,” she cries, her face crumbling as her tears return. “I deserve to be with the man I chose to be my husband. And that’s you. So, like I said—wear that, or change, I don’t care, we’re going to your parents.”

  I watch her disappear into the closet, and I find myself at a loss. I hadn’t anticipated that she would fight. I didn’t imagine that she would fight for us after I admitted that I’d stepped out of our marriage. Seeing her do so breaks something inside of me—something I didn’t even know was still there. All at once, I’m overwhelmed with disappointment. I’m disappointed in myself for giving up—for claiming defeat when faced with a challenge that felt impossible to rise above.

  I don’t know when it happened, when I gave up. I don’t know when my marriage became nothing more than the status quo; when I became a husband by routine. It breaks my heart to know that I didn’t even notice. It breaks my heart to see it only now, now when it’s too late. It breaks my heart to see Veronica shove aside her anger, her pain, all because she refuses to give up a fight that I stopped fighting even before I met Blaine.

  Is that the man I am?

  “Mike…”

  I don’t realize that my eyes have filled with tears until I look across the room at her soft call. As she stares at me, more bro
ken than I’ve ever seen her, I’m reminded of how selfish I’ve been. Seeing my reflection in her gaze, I know that this is not the man that I wish to be. I want to be better. Stronger.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she whispers through her trembling lips. “We’re going to be okay.”

  My first tear falls as she turns toward the bathroom.

  She starts the shower, and I say a prayer—that she isn’t wrong. That we’ll both be okay. That we’ll both get through this. But most of all, that God would forgive me for being less of a man than He designed me to be.

  THE DRIVE TO my parents’ house is completely silent. I managed to stall our departure, opting to take a shower at the last minute, but it’s still barely past six in the morning when we arrive. The second the car comes to a stop, before Clay can even shift the gear into park, Veronica is out the door. I watch her go, pulling in a deep breath before exhaling it slowly. I glance into the rearview mirror, catching Clay’s reflection, and he offers me a small nod. Sure that I can’t postpone the inevitable any longer, I follow after my wife.

  The front door opens before either of us even reaches the porch. Dad steps out in his house shoes and night clothes, his robe hanging open, and greets us with a concerned scowl.

  “This isn’t exactly how I anticipated starting my Saturday morning.”

  “It couldn’t wait,” murmurs Veronica, her voice tight and strained.

  “Sorry, dad.”

  He looks between the two of us suspiciously before instructing, “We’ll take this to my study. The girls are still sleeping.”

  “The girls?” I ask.

  “Your mother hosted girl’s night yesterday evening. Your nieces are scattered and sprawled across the living room floor.”

  “Is mom up?” Veronica inquires, fidgeting with her fingers.

  “She’s making coffee,” he answers with a nod.

  “It couldn’t wait,” Veronica repeats.

  Instinctively, I reach up to press my hand on the small of her back—the act nothing more than a habitual sign of comfort—but she’s quick to jerk away from my touch. It’s a reaction that doesn’t go unnoticed. Dad’s scowl returns before he leads us inside. Speaking in a hushed whisper, he tells us to go to his study while he gets mom. Both Veronica and I decline when he offers coffee, and then we part ways.

  Dad’s study is more like a sitting room with a desk on the far wall, right below a large picture window. There’s a couch, a coffee table, and two sitting chairs in the middle of the space. Veronica takes a chair, but I remain standing, my attention focused out the window. The sun is on its way up, and I find it incredibly ironic, given the circumstances in which I currently find myself.

  “I wish you hadn’t brought them into this,” I state softly.

  “I wish you hadn’t brought another woman into our marriage,” she argues.

  “I’m sorry, Veronica,” I tell her, turning to face her. “I can imagine those words don’t mean much right now, but I mean them. I’m sorry for hurting you. That wasn’t my intention.”

  “You’ve been having an affair for three months. Three months, you’ve been having sex with another woman, and you honestly have the gall to tell me it wasn’t your intention to hurt me?”

  Running my hand over my face in frustration, I shake my head before I explain, “It wasn’t about you, Veronica. This wasn’t about vengeance. I needed—”

  “Stop talking. Please. Nothing you say—nothing will justify what you’ve done.”

  “If you believe that,” I start to say, staring straight into her angry gaze. “If you truly believe that, then why are we here? What is there to save? What are you fighting for, Vee?”

  “Us! My marriage, my husband—my life!”

  I don’t get a chance to respond before my parents darken the doorway. The cautious look on my mother’s face makes me pause. My chest tightens, knowing that in a few minutes, Veronica’s won’t be the only heart I’ve broken with my news. I’m reminded that fifteen years of marriage isn’t merely a promise made on paper, or a vow said before God. My relationship with Veronica is twenty-one years of my life. Twenty-one years of my family’s life. She’s a Cavanaugh. I made her a Cavanaugh. Now, I can’t just undo that anymore than I can undo the affair that has brought us here.

  “What’s going on?” asks mom as she and dad make their way into the room.

  They sit together on the couch, and neither Veronica nor I saying a word.

  “We can’t help if we don’t know what’s going on,” dad offers.

  When Veronica starts crying, I look down at my feet, needing a second to gather my courage. Telling my father—my pastor—that I’ve been unfaithful to my wife is only going to make this harder. Convincing my mother that I choose another, it will be as if I’m tearing away one of her children from the fold. Closing my eyes, I think of Blaine, and my heart fills with both grief and love.

  Now, more than ever, I despise myself for the mess I’ve created. I hate that this is how my family will come to know the woman who owns my heart. I hate that I was the coward who didn’t face this moment when I should have. I hate that I let my fear of the unknown, of the seemingly indecipherable, of this moment cloud my judgement. I regret that Blaine will always be at the center of the end of my marriage, as if she’s to blame, when that is not the truth at all.

  Shoving aside my shame, I lift my eyes as I tell my parents, “I’m in love with another woman.”

  “An affair!” Veronica grinds out. “You’re having an affair. It’s not the same thing as love. Fifteen years of commitment to your marriage is love. Three months with a woman you barely know—that’s not love. That’s lust.”

  “I know you want to believe that, but you’re wrong. I know how I feel. I know what I want.”

  “What? What is it that you want, Michael?” dad interjects.

  “A divorce.”

  “You can’t mean that,” says mom, her hand clutching at the robe over her chest. “You made a vow before God. You are in covenant with Veronica. You can’t just throw that away.”

  “I’m not throwing anything or anyone away. I’m doing what’s best for us. For the first time in months I’m doing what’s fair—what’s right.”

  Standing abruptly, Veronica argues, “How is this either of those things? How is lying and cheating and abandonment fair and right? In what world, Michael? In whose world?”

  “You’re not listening to me,” I reply, taking a step toward her. I beseech her to hear me as I say, “I am here, taking full responsibility for what I’ve done. I’m not proud of myself! I know what I’ve done is wrong. I know that I’ve hurt you—I’ve been unfair to you—”

  “You’ve made me into a fool!” she yells, shortening the distance between us. “Everything I do, it’s for you—it’s for us! And here you are, off screwing some other woman.”

  “Everything you do is not for me,” I mutter, suddenly feeling angry. “You take care of me, yes. But you take care of yourself more. You’re so busy being busy that you don’t see that I never asked for that.”

  She scoffs, rearing her head back in surprise before she asks, “So now this is my fault? What—I was so busy that you had to seek another woman’s company?”

  “I didn’t go looking for her. But I met her, and you know what? From the moment I laid eyes on her, she didn’t hide from me. I knew her for all of five minutes, and I could see her pain—she let me chase it away. And it felt good—God—it felt good.”

  “A hero? Is that it? You needed to be someone’s hero? It wasn’t enough for you to be my husband? To be my partner?”

  “We’re not partners,” I mutter, reaching up to bury my fingers in my hair. “Partners don’t hide from each other. You’ve been hiding from me for years.”

  “How could you say that? I tell you everything. You’re my best friend!”

  “I was. I was your best friend. Then you stopped letting me in. We found out we couldn’t have children, and you stopped letting me in.”
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  “That’s not true,” she whispers, her tears resurfacing.

  “It is true. Our dreams died together. It was hard, and it was devastating, and it was painful—and on the road of coping, I went left, and you veered right. So I went right, and you turned left. I chased after you until I couldn’t chase after you anymore, and we changed. We grew up. We’re not the same people we were ten years ago. We’re not the same couple.”

  “Of course, we’re not! That’s not grounds for divorce. Tell him,” she insists, looking to my parents for help.

  “Emotions are high right now,” dad says, glancing between the two of us. “I think you both need to sit down, take a minute, and then listen to one another. If you’re going to get through this, you have to get to the root of the issue. Trust has been broken. We’re starting from the ground up here.”

  “Dad—” I shake my head with a sigh, wishing it was that easy. “I appreciate what you’re saying, but I’ve made up my mind.”

  “Son, you have a wife to consider. She’s right here, in this room, fighting for you—don’t disrespect that.”

  I cough out a humorless laugh, my exhaustion overwhelming, and my fight just about gone. Dropping my chin to my chest, I claim defeat.

  “It’s too late,” I remind them. “I already gave my heart away, and I can’t get it back. I don’t want it back. I can’t live without it—without her—and I don’t want to.”

  I look up only when I hear the study door open and slam shut. I watch as mom rushes after Veronica, leaving me alone with my father.

  “What have you done, Michael?” he asks, staring at me dumfounded. “What have you done?”

  Blaine

  DAD’S STILL IN the ICU when I return to the hospital at nine in the morning. I was home long enough to shower, nap, eat, and then come back. I didn’t want to stay away as long as I did, but I knew that I’d be useless if I didn’t get at least a couple hours of sleep. Now, as I enter the room, I find that he’s still asleep. I’m grateful for this, knowing that his body could use all the rest it can get.