“I'm not asking you to forget her. I would never want that. She’s too important to you. But maybe…" She pauses, and I find myself holding my breath. "Maybe there's room in your heart for both of us? In different ways?"
My throat tightens.All this time, I've been treating Hannah like a threat to Meghan's memory. But here she is, acknowledging Meghan's place in my heart while still offering her own kind of love. But I can’t see it, the possibility of lovingHannah in a way that doesn’t betray Meghan's memory. And yet, I wish I could.
She leans in, and I catch the slight tremor in her movement, nervous but brave. Always so brave. The fact that she can accept my broken pieces, understand my guilt over Meghan, and still want to try is a testament to how amazing she is.
"I want to be what you need," she whispers, and Christ, the pure honesty in her voice makes me want all that she’s offering. "Whatever that means."
My thumb traces circles on her wrist. Her pulse jumps under my touch, and the knowledge that I affect her too only makes it harder to maintain control.
"I know you’ve worked hard to make this work. You’ve created a lovely home. You’ve given me the space I demanded."
She nods, those green eyes full of an empathy I don't deserve. And suddenly, I see how cruel I've been, pushing her away while simultaneously burning with jealousy at the thought of another man touching her. Making her tiptoe around her own home, her own marriage.
"It's been torture," I admit. "Watching you try so hard to be invisible in your own house. To be what I said I wanted."
She blinks like she’s surprised to hear it.
"You deserve better than that," I tell her. "Better than my acting like your presence was some kind of betrayal. I know it’s cliché, but it’s me, not you. I’m the one who’s fucked up. I wanted you to keep your distance because it would be easier.”
“Because of Meghan?”
I nod. “But the truth is, watching you maintain it… it's been driving me crazy, Hannah."
“I’m sorry, I can?—”
“Hey. The problem is me, not you or anything you’ve done.” I cup her cheek, taking in the gentle curve of her face. She's only eighteen, barely an adult, yet trapped in this mess of a marriage.While other girls her age are starting college and dating, she's stuck with a broken man who can't even give her the basic intimacy a wife deserves.
She deserves the excitement of first love, the joy of starting a family, all the dreams young women have.
"You should be experiencing all your firsts with someone who can give you everything. Not living like a nun because your husband's too damaged."
My hand drops from her face as shame washes over me. I'm not just denying her physical intimacy. I'm denying her the chance at motherhood, at building the kind of family she clearly yearns for.
"You've been so strong, Hannah, taking everything I've thrown at you without breaking. But you shouldn't have to be strong. You shouldn't have to suffer just because I can't get my shit together."
“Now that I know the situation, I’m okay.” But something has dimmed in her eyes, in her tone. I realize that she again offered her love, suggested I could care for her in a different way, and my response has essentially been a rejection of her again.
“Thank you for telling me. I know it was hard.” Hannah starts to pull away, but my fingers tighten around her wrist. The thought of her walking away now, after everything we've shared, feels wrong.
She pauses, those green eyes questioning. But I don’t know what to say.
“You’ve been alone a long time, Ash. Missing your true love. I won’t infringe on that. You’ve gone this long without being with a woman. That tells me just how deeply you still love and want to honor her.”
Fucking hell. Guilt swells again because that’s not true. Sure, I haven’t loved a woman, but I have touched a woman.
“I’m not a saint, Hannah.” I look down, unable to look her in the eyes, knowing I’ll see pain. “I’ve fucked women since Meghan. I just haven’t loved one.”
When she doesn’t say anything, I lift my head. I see confusion more than hurt. I give her a sheepish smile. “They were nameless, faceless women. It was like scratching an itch. Just physical, not emotional. They were nothing.” Inwardly, I wince at how awful that sounds. I didn’t use the women. They knew it was a hookup. Sometimes, money was exchanged. But to Hannah, a total innocent, it probably sounds like I’m a fucking douchebag.
She frowns. “I’m nothing to you, but you won’t touch?—”
My eyes close as shame washes through me. When I open them, I hope she can see sincerity in my words. “No, Hannah. That’s not true.”
“Because I’m your wife? The other ladies you left and never saw again, but I’m here.”
“Not just that.”
She studies me. “You said I’m yours and you don’t like anyone touching me.”
