Page 73 of The Widower
“Time doesn’t go backward, but we can choose to do things differently if we truly want to…”
COLIN ADAMS
I was in one of the guest rooms of the mansion.
Isabelle had fallen asleep in my bed, and it didn’t feel right to stay there with her. She gets under my skin, and if I’d stayed, I would’ve spent the whole night watching her. I can’t afford to be at the mercy of any woman—and this thing between us, whatever it is, is getting too dangerous.
I needed to think about something else. Replaying what happened between us in the gym wasn’t helping. That night—that wild, out-of-control night—was all I could see when I closed my eyes.
Stop thinking about it.
I turned over, arguing with my own mind, which kept dragging me back to her—her scent, her body, that look in her eyes.
I have to stop thinking about her. Tomorrow’s a new day.
A day to finally do what I promised myself I’d do since the night my family fell apart.
Being here had become a ritual for me.
Visiting that man was a part of my life I'd tried to forget—ironically, the one I never managed to let go. Said like thatit sounds masochistic, but sometimes you have to relive certain pains to feel alive, even if it’s because of someone else’s mistake.
I know you probably don’t grasp much of what I’m saying, and you don’t need the details. Only I know exactly what I’ve been through, what I go through every single day.
Again I stood in front of him, and without any effort at all an enormous hatred rose in my face.
“How’ve you been?” he asked.
“You know,” I answered, not meeting his eyes the way I’d learned to.
“I know,” he said, and there was a tiny shake of his head, like a man disagreeing with himself. “You’ll never stop coming here.”
“If that was a question, I think you already know the answer. I’ll make the two visits I’m due this month.”
“I don’t want your visits!” he shouted for the first time, and the sound surprised me.
“So that’s the angle you want to take? Haven’t I shown you what I’m capable of?” I shot back, and his expression changed.
“I'm sorry.”
“No.” I cut him off. “You haven’t suffered a fraction of what I reserved for you, and somehow you will pay for all the hurt you caused me.”
“I’m so sorry.” He lowered his head, and I saw a single tear slide down his cheek—so small that it made me laugh the exact moment I noticed it.
“It’s almost beautiful seeing you cry. It even moves me,” I said.
“Colin…”
“Don’t call me by my name!” I snapped, pointing my finger at him.
“I… I’m sorry for everything.”
The anger that rose in me every time he said those words again and again was beyond measure.
I’d been staring at my daughter’s headstone for thirty minutes and still couldn’t bring myself to say a word.What could I possibly tell her?
That I’m a monster who makes people suffer? That my life lost all meaning after she was gone? That I no longer have the will to live like a normal man?
“Forgive me… it should’ve been me in your place.”
