Dr. Harris nodded slowly, giving space to the words. “Ashley, what do you need to feel safe again? To even consider trust?”
Ashley wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “I don’t know. I don’t think I can.” She turned to Kingstonfinally, her eyes red but steady. “Every time you say you love me, all I can see is you with her. Every late night, every unanswered call, it replays in my head. You touched her with the same hands you held me with. You gave her the parts of you that were supposed to be mine.”
Kingston looked gutted, his shoulders hunched like the words were knives. “I hate myself for it. If I could cut out the memory, I would. If I could go back—”
“But you can’t,” she interrupted. “That’s the problem. You can’t undo it and I can’t unsee it.”
The sessions continued for weeks. Every Wednesday evening, they sat in that same small room, spilling pain into the air. Kingston confessed more than Ashley wanted to hear, the moments he should have stopped, the lies he told himself to keep going. Ashley shared the depth of her hurt, the nights she lay awake imagining him with Rebecca, the way her own body felt foreign to her now, tainted by his betrayal. Some sessions ended in silence, both too wrung out to speak. Others ended in shouting, years of unspoken resentment exploding between them.
One evening, Kingston dropped his head into his hands, his voice muffled. “I don’t know how to make you believe me. I’ve cut Rebecca out completely. I’ve changed my shifts to be home more. I’m trying, Ash. I swear I’m trying.”
Ashley stared at him, her heart aching in ways she couldn’t explain. Part of her still loved him, of course she did but love wasn’t the same as trust. Love wasn’t enough to erase the images burned into her mind.
“I know you’re trying,” she admitted softly. “But every time I look at you, it hurts. I can’t breathe when you walk into the room. I want to forgive you. God, I do but the woundkeeps bleeding no matter how many bandages we throw on it.”
Dr. Harris leaned in. “Ashley, it’s okay to admit if forgiveness feels impossible. Trying doesn’t always mean repairing. Sometimes it means acknowledging the truth.”
Her chest tightened at the word, truth because the truth was, no matter how many sessions they sat through, she couldn’t find her way back to him.
At home, the children picked up on the tension. Their daughter, Emma had asked one night, “Mommy, why isn’t Daddy sleeping here anymore?” and Ashley’s heart cracked anew. She’d answered with a soft lie, saying Daddy had to work late, but Emma wasn’t fooled.
Kingston tried. He came to family dinners, read bedtime stories, played with the kids in the yard. He made sure to be present, to show up and sometimes, watching him with them, Ashley felt the faintest glimmer of the man she once knew but then she’d remember the betrayal and the glimmer would vanish.
The final session was the hardest. Dr. Harris had them each write a letter of what they hoped for, what they feared, what they couldn’t say out loud. They sat in silence as Ashley read hers first, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Kingston, I love you. That hasn’t changed, and maybe it never will but I don’t trust you and without trust, our marriage feels like a cage. I can’t keep living in a space where every breath hurts. I want us to be the best parents we can be. I want us to be kind to each other, for the kids’ sake but I can’t be your wife anymore. Not like this.” Her hand shook as she lowered the paper. Tears blurred her vision, but her voice was steady.
Kingston sat frozen, his letter crumpled in his fist. When he finally spoke, his words were raw, breaking. “I was going to write that I’d do anything. That I’d spend the rest of my life proving myself to you but I hear you, Ash and as much as it kills me, I won’t chain you to me in pain. If letting you go is the only way to love you right… then I’ll do it.”
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Ashley closed her eyes, exhaling shakily. “Then I think this is the end.”
Kingston’s shoulders sagged, his face hollowed with grief but he didn’t fight her this time. He simply whispered, “I’m sorry,” again and again, as if the words might somehow soften the shattering.
Dr. Harris ended the session gently, reminding them that endings could also be beginnings but as they walked out of the office side by side, Ashley knew this wasn’t a beginning for them as a couple. It was the slow, painful start of letting go and though her heart ached, there was a strange, quiet relief in finally naming what had been true all along.
Chapter Seventeen
It weaves in the families’ pressure, the children’s heartbreak, and Ashley and Kingston’s united front as co-parents. Ashley sat at her parents’ kitchen table, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that had long gone cold. The morning sunlight streamed through the lace curtains, catching the fine lines of worry etched into her mother’s face.
“Sweetheart,” her mother, Diane, began gently, “are you sure this is the right choice? Every marriage has rough patches. Ten years together isn’t something you throw away because of one mistake.”
Ashley’s chest tightened. One mistake. It felt too small a phrase for what had happened, like labeling a storm a drizzle.
Her father, Tom, cleared his throat, his voice firmer. “It wasn’t one mistake, Diane. It was betrayal. If Ashley says she can’t trust him anymore, that’s her decision to make. She needs peace more than she needs appearances.”
Ashley swallowed, grateful for his support but raw at the reminder. “I’ve tried, Mom. We went to counseling, we talked until I had nothing left to say but I can’t unsee it. I can’t un-feel it. Staying would break me even more.”
Her mother’s eyes filled with tears, but she reached across the table, squeezing Ashley’s hand. “Then I’ll stand by you, sweetheart. Whatever you choose.”
Later that day, Kingston found himself sitting across from his own parents in their living room, his mother dabbing her eyes with a tissue while his father paced.
“Kingston, you can’t just let her go,” his mother, Margaret, pleaded. “Fight for her. Fight for your family. Do whatever it takes.”
“I did fight,” Kingston whispered, voice hoarse. “Counseling, promises, cutting ties with Rebecca. Ashley doesn’t want me anymore.”
His father, Chris, stopped pacing, his expression grim. “And can you blame her? You made your bed, son and now you’re lying in it. What were you thinking?”
