Saturday, Luke

The ride home was rather awkward, I had so many questions, but I wasn't about to ask them in front of Mattias.

Once home, I got Mattias out and asked him to go play for a bit so I could talk with daddy, and then we could snuggle up and watch movies and eat ice cream later, which he obviously obliged.

I led Owen out to the back of the house, on our balcony to talk.

I started, "Owen, I have so many questions-" he cut me off. "Lucas, we've been over this. We're through. Today was a mistake." His words were harsh, and his eyes were empty. I felt tears start to well up at the corners of my eyes, and I looked down, unable to speak because of a knot in my throat that seemed to have come out of nowhere. "I-" I choked out. He looked at me, there seemed to be an ounce of sympathy, but it was gone almost as soon as I saw it. "I want your forgiveness, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I need your forgiveness. I can't live without you..." Tears were streaming down my face and my voice was cracking. "Then why'd you do it?" He asked. I slumped over, starting to fall, but he quickly caught me. I looked at him, bloodshot eyes and all, and said: "I don't know."

"The truth." He demanded.

I willed myself to fall to my knees and watched as tears wetted my pants.

"WHY'D YOU DO IT?" He shouted, tears raining from his eyes. "WHY'D YOU RUIN EVERYTHING?! WHY'D YOU SCREW HER?! WHY?!" He screamed.

'I deserve this.' I thought.

I looked back up at him, tears staining my face. "BECAUSE I CAN'T EVER LET ANYTHING GOOD LAST! I NEVER BELIEVE IT WHEN THINGS ARE GOOD FOR ME! I ALWAYS RUIN IT! I'm RUINED!" I shouted. It was the truth. My childhood was full of alcohol and abuse, my mother still has scars on her from my father- I still have scars from my father, emotional and physical- and whenever anything in my life seems to be going well, I just can't believe it. I'm sceptical of it. Somewhere, deep down, I truly believe a part of me ruins everything that's good in hopes to save me from the pain. I sobbed and threw myself at his feet, hugging them.

I didn't deserve him.

"I don't deserve you, " I said.

"You don't." He replied, and bent down, taking my face in his hands. He brushed away my tears and made me sit up next to him. We hung our legs over the balcony and watched the cars drive past hundreds of feet below us. He took my hand in his, and kissed mine. We sat there for a bit, just watching, holding hands, no sounds except for the cars below us, and if you listened carefully, the soft sound of our breathing. I looked at him, my gaze soft and sad, wishing for a different outcome. "When are you planning on filing for divorce?" I asked, not really wanting to know the answer. He looked at me and said: "Next weekend." I looked down, "Why are you still here?" I asked. "Because you need me." That's all I needed to hear. I stood up and held out my hand for him, and he graciously took it. We walked into the small house, still holding hands, and I called for our son. "Mattias!" He came running out, and I picked him up and walked over to the couch where all three of us sat down. My husband sat next to me with his knees to his chest and Mattias sat on my lap. I soon started a movie, and just like how we spent every weekend, we watched a movie. Around the end, Mattias had fallen asleep, and Owen had started silently crying. I wrapped my arm around Owen and whispered to him: "it's going to be okay." He looked at me and nodded.