necessary because we’re over. We’re not. I can feel it, her love. It’s still alive, and there’s hope for us. This isn’t just about spending time feeding the kids, long walks at night, and sex before we go to bed. It’s about us finding each other, and this time, not letting us go.
Once the meeting is over, I head to Hayes’s practice.
When I arrive, he’s by the door checking the clock. “You’re pushing it too close. Did you eat or drink anything after midnight?”
“I told you I couldn’t cancel this, or Sophia would be suspicious about my absence,” I remind him. “And no, I’ve been starving myself, so let’s get this over with now.”
He grunts. “This is why your marriage is failing. Not the lack of children—or your stupid decisions when you were young. Stop lying to Leyla.”
“This is the last time,” I say and run a hand through my hair because fuck, I sound like an addict about to buy another gram of cocaine.
He shakes his head.
“You know it’s not just that,” I remind him.
We’ve talked about my marriage when we’re by the fire pit during the evenings. They know how royally I’ve fucked up. He can’t just say this was my mistake, and if I keep doing it, I’ll never get her back.
You are wrong, Hayes. This is twenty-four months of doing one stupid thing after another. I failed her and myself. There’s no doubt that I’m an idiot, but even idiots deserve a second chance. Today won’t fix my marriage either. This is just one of the million things I’m doing to repair all the damage I did to our relationship.
Having a vasectomy didn’t fuck my marriage. All the truths I hid from her, that’s what messed up everything. It was pure fear. I was programmed to please people and tell them whatever they want to hear—or to avoid saying what they don’t want to hear. She wanted a baby, and if I ignored it, maybe she’d change her mind.
Fuck, how simple would it have been to tell her, “By the way, I was once young and stupid. I don’t believe in having children because I come from two shitty families.” Even better, I could’ve said, “I’m damaged, and I don’t know how to put myself together.”
“Are you even sure you want to do this?” Hayes asks, taking me back into the now.
“Yes, I do.” My voice comes loud enough for everyone to turn to look at me.
“Follow me,” he instructs.
We go to the second story where the doctor explains the procedure one more time before I undress and put on the gown. When I’m on the table, counting down from ten to one, my only thought is Leyla. Hayes is right, I should’ve said something this morning. I need to be more open with her.
Beacon’s studio has a house underground. It took me some time to convince him to let me stay in one of his guest bedrooms. Once the procedure is done, Henry picks me up and takes me to the house. There are two entrances to Beacon’s place, and one of them is through the garage.
I wonder how many times we thought he was in his studio and he was somewhere else…and where the fuck has he gone without us noticing? That’s something I can’t worry about right now. I have four, almost five days to recover before I go back to the main house.
I sleep for the rest of the day. On Tuesday, I feel a lot better. Even when I want to go home, I can’t. The doctor said I should stay off my feet at least until Friday and put lots of ice on my crotch. This better work, but just in case, I do some research online, not only about adoption and fostering, but how accurate the statistics of a vasectomy reversal are.
There’s also the option of saying goodbye to Leyla. We’re both residents of the state of Oregon. If and when she signs the papers, we have to handle everything from here. The timelines and procedures are different from one state to another. It sounds a little fucked up that I just got some hope, and I’m searching for the right way to end us.
Around six, Beacon comes to the house with my food.
“Red is asking for you,” he says, handing me one of the takeout bags he’s carrying.
“You’re sticking to the story, aren’t you?”
He grunts and nods.
“Thank you.”
“I don’t get it. She’d be taking care of you. Why