Page 33 of Chosen Road

The events of the day of the accident never came back to me fully, and although I was grateful to be spared the details, I accepted the fact that I was not the man I once believed myself to be. There was more than enough proof in the slice of memory I had, especially since remembering the events of the night before. From that memory, there was no reprieve. That memory clung to my psyche like a tumour that refused to be eradicated.

After saying goodnight to Amber on my way up the stairs and getting no reply, I waited for her to come up to bed.

When she padded quietly into our room, I turned on my bedside light.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be up.”

“Isn’t that the point of you staying downstairs?” I asked quietly.

Her eyebrows shot down into an angry V. “No, Gus, it isn’t. I have more going on in my life than just you.”

“I don’t want to be the only thing in your life, Amber. I just want tobein your life.”

The depth of my loneliness stunned me. The idea that I could pine so deeply for someone who slept beside me, even held onto me in the night, filled me with despair. My hope was dwindling.

She swept out a hand to indicate me and our bed. “Aren’t you in my life?”

I didn’t answer. There were some things that should not have to be said, and she was in denial about what was happening to our marriage.

She turned to go into the bathroom to get ready for bed, and I turned off the light. When she returned, she slipped into her side and lay stiffly on her back, leaving a foot of space between us. The tension radiating off her stifled my urge to push.

I sighed. “We’ll work it out.”

“There’s nothing to work out,” she answered softly. “I’m busy at work. Maybe a little overwhelmed,” she held a palm up to forestall anything I might say, “but I’m fine. We’re fine.”

I pushed up on my elbow and looked down at her.

Her eyes were wide and wary. I needed to stop fighting her and do what I could to help her. When she first pulled away from me, I’d been surprised, then hurt, then angry. That anger enabled me to do what I never thought I could: take away my support.

“We’ll work it out,” I restated and offered her a smile. “Goodnight, beautiful,” I murmured.

“Goodnight, Gus,” she whispered back, offering me a tiny smile in return.

Weeks had passed since we’d last connected in any way. That unexpected smile touched me in a way her hands never could.

We would be okay. We had to be. We were Gus and Amber. My love for her was such that it could overcome any obstacle.

I felt my face relax into a real smile and leaned over to kiss my wife goodnight.

A split second before my lips touched hers, she flinched.

I froze, then reared back from the stabbing pain of her rejection. The blade sunk deep, so unexpectedly sharp, even my anger could not rouse to protect me. The shock ripped away my excuses and the truth lay naked and exposed between us.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

My eyes flitted over her face, noting her sorrow and anxiety, but worst of all, her resignation. My brain struggled to assimilate this new information.

Finally, I whispered back, “So am I.”

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I retreated to my side of the bed and turned my back. I curled up on my side like an animal licking its wounds.

I could overcome any obstacle but the truth.

And the truth was my wife no longer wanted me. It was so obvious it catapulted me out of denial, which left only the question of whether or not I could live in a sexless marriage.

It was the same question I’d asked myself often over the previous six months. I had considered if I could do it for Alex’s sake. After months of deliberation, I concluded that I could not, and if anything, tonight’s rejection solidified that decision.

Where Amber buried her feelings, I felt all of mine, and the deluge pulled me under.

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