parents.
Then, the boys’ weekend in Vegas. Strippers. A prostitute; the details even now were vague. She thought it was best to keep it that way. She didn’t need a visual; she already had sexting pictures seared into her imagination. Graham and their friend Brad got arrested in Vegas that weekend. She had to leave Oliver with her mother, fly there to bail them out. More counseling. The stress of new fatherhood, this time, according to the therapist, who was frankly starting to sound like an apologist. Poor Graham was struggling with the responsibility, the crushing effort of working and parenting and being a husband. God, it was just all so hard. More counseling.
“Think of him as an addict,” said her new therapist in one of Selena’s individual sessions. This doctor had fewer excuses for Graham. “His behavior is something outside of you that you don’t control and can’t fix. Don’t hang your worthiness on his failings. But now you have to decide where your boundaries are, what you will and will not tolerate. Every marriage is a negotiation. Both parties have to obey the terms.”
After Stephen, Graham changed, or really seemed to. Stephen was his soul mate. Something about that child’s arrival caused Graham to calm down completely. Graham plugged in to their family, focused on work with a new zeal, weekends he was home. There were no more boys’ nights—it helped that his two most corrupting friends had both settled down.
There was a night when both boys were down, and they stood together over Stephen and watched him sleep.
“Thank you,” he’d whispered to her. “Thank you for waiting for me to become a better man. I’ll never let you down again. I swear to god.”
She believed him. She had to, wanted to. She loved him so much—wild, deep, mad love, even when she hated him, wanted to kill him, railed against his stupidity and selfishness. There was something raw and primal beneath it. He was hers. And she was his. A fiery, blind devotion.
That’s what she thought.
Now this.
It hurt even worse because she had believed in him, in them.
“I saw her on top of you, Graham. In the boys’ playroom.” No point in beating around the bush.
The look on his face. It was almost comical. It shifted from stunned, to a practiced look of innocence, then to despair.
“The nanny?” she went on into the leaden silence. “Really, Graham?”
She didn’t want to cry; she promised herself she wouldn’t. She needed a steel resolve for what would come next. But she did cry, a tear trailing down her face.
He started stammering. “I—It-it-it was a mistake, a moment, it just happened,” he said. “I’ve been—depressed, I think. You know with losing my job and everything. She came on to me and I just—reacted.”
Really? He was going to make it sound as if Geneva came on to him? What a sad play. She truly couldn’t see it.
“Twice,” she said quietly. “I saw you do it twice.”
He got up and started moving toward her. She walked away, putting the kitchen island between them. The weird thing was that there was a part of her that wanted him to take her in his arms, to comfort her. She wanted to believe that he loved her, in spite of his flagrant infidelity. If she could take a pill to make herself unsee what she had seen, to make it all go away, she would have.
Wouldn’t it be nice if your problems just went away?
But problems don’t go away, not by themselves. When things are wrong, you have to fix them with your own mind and spirit.
“Don’t come any closer to me, Graham,” she said, her voice tight. “Just leave. I need time to think things through.”
“Selena.”
She moved a few steps back, and he kept coming toward her.
“Baby,” he said, his voice buttery soft. She saw the sadness, the desperation on his face. She’d seen it before. There were always big soulful eyes, heartfelt begging; she’d forgiven too many times.
“Please,” he said. “Listen.”
She tried for cool, but her voice just sounded small and sad.
“I can’t imagine what you think you might say this time.”
He wasn’t listening, though; he just kept moving closer until she was backed into the corner, no place else to go.
She didn’t like that feeling, of not having any options. Anger flared. Fear.
And she didn’t like the look on his face. She’d seen it before, when fights got ugly. He’d never hit her, but his rage could be frightening. And she knew, maybe she