And Beau . . . he looked terrified. Sick. The dark circles under his eyes seemed even more pronounced than they had a minute before, as if he’d heard every thought.
“Things have just been . . .” I struggled to swallow past the grief gripping my throat, my head shaking as I thought of anything to say. “Busy,” I said, going with the excuse that had pacified them these past two weeks. “He’s been busy.”
“Sometimes things are hard,” Beau began, voice soft but edged with that steel I’d known since I was nine years old, “and sometimes we can’t understand them, but we find a way through them. Together.” His pleading stare met mine at the last word.
I jolted at the high-pitched shriek from Levi and automatically reached for him, mumbling, “He’s hungry.”
“I know,” Beau responded just as softly, a hint of offense weaving through the two small words. “I’ve got it.” He moved past my awaiting hands, keeping Levi close to his chest with the older kids trailing close behind.
And I stood frozen in my grief.
At the paralyzing unfamiliarity and coldness that stretched between us for the first time in our lives. It felt wrong, so wrong. But I was helpless to stop it when the thought of him, let alone the sight of him, had me spiraling down a dark hole of everything he’d done.
Every way he’d betrayed me.
My eyelids slipped shut when the kids’ laughter rang free behind me, mixing with Beau’s low, gravelly voice as he spoke to them and fixed snacks. As he and Levi babbled nonsense to each other, and whatever our youngest did had one of those rare, rough laughs scraping up Beau’s throat.
Unable to stand there any longer without falling into that precious time that I missed and craved—or, worse, falling into my husband’s arms—I forced myself to walk away. Hurrying through the house until I ended up in the supply closet again. Staring vacantly at towels and linens and supplies until they blurred from view.
My shoulders jerked when Beau was suddenly there. Gently gripping at my wrist to move my hand away from my mouth.
“I wasn’t biting it.”
“I know,” he murmured as he stepped into my line of sight. “Savannah—”
“I can’t,” I said before he could continue, head shaking furiously. “I can’t do this in front of the kids.”
His stare shifted to the doorway and lingered when he said, “They’re playing. Levi’s in his sit-and-play.”
I wondered for only a second how long I’d been in there if the kids were all playing but shook off the thought and took a step back until I was pressed to the shelving. “I won’t do this in front of the kids, Beau. Not while they’re here.”
“Savannah, we have to talk—”
“I said no,” I cried out.
The muscle in his jaw feathered before he gave a harsh nod and left the closet, leaving a trail of his anguish and fear. Mixed with my grief and betrayal, it felt lethal.
The book in my lap was unopened, but I didn’t care.
I wasn’t sure if I’d even grabbed the book I’d recently been reading, I’d just reached out and grabbed a book on my way to sit in one of the living room chairs that evening. Waiting, waiting, waiting for when Beau would come downstairs.
For when he would leave.
My soul was screaming for him to stay. To make this hellish nightmare go away. But my heart needed him to leave because if this day had shown me anything, it was that I wasn’t ready.
He’d played with the kids for hours, and when Quinn had begun crying at the thought of him not being there for another dinner, he’d assured her he would be there.
And I’d nearly crumpled.
Wondering what kind of mom I was to put her children through that. I’d been so consumed by my own pain that I’d neglected their own confusion and hurt.
I’d choked back tears all through making dinner and hadn’t been able to eat once we were sitting, my stomach in knots from being pulled in so many directions. My body trembling from the overwhelming emotions I’d been drowning under for so long.
When I’d dropped a plate I was washing afterward, Beau had gently eased me aside and told me to go sit down, that he had it.
“Don’t touch me and don’t tell me what to do,” I’d quietly seethed, picking the pieces of the plate out of the sink.