Emilia

The Night He Left

(3 Years Ago)

Endings are the start of new beginnings.

That is what they say, isn’t it? What well-meaning folks wrap around you like a warm blanket, as if the saying is the antidote to heartbreak and disappointment. Not until today had I questioned the premise of the saying. Never did I see it for the lie it truly is, for there is no comfort to be found in watching the life you love come to an end. Much less in the prospect of a beginning, you don’t want.

“Just sign the papers, Emilia.”

“I don’t understand. Why the rush? We should wait until—”

“God damn it, woman!” He roars and slams a fist against the black marble countertop of our kitchen island. “Don’t you get we’re out of fucking time! Five hours from now, I’ll be gone and on my way to the most important assignment of my career. I need this done, so I can focus on not getting myself killed!”

“How can you want this? After everything…” I step forward, reaching out for him in hopes the physical contact will help remind him of the life we share. When strong fingers wrap around my wrist to stop me, a deep sense of sadness chokes me up and renders me unable to speak.

“This isn’t working for either of us anymore,” he states matter-of-factly, as though my opinion on the matter means nothing. “I know it and deep down you know it, too.”

“No Creed. That’s not true…”

“Will you fucking stop!” he screams as he grips my arms and shakes me violently. When he realizes what he’s done, he pulls me hard against his chest and wraps me up in a tight embrace. “Please, Emi. Just stop…” he begs over my head, his pained whisper blowing through my hair like an agonizing caress. 

I can sense his desire to diffuse the tension between us. It’s like we’ve been catapulted into an alternate universe where I’m the one that fights and he’s the one who appeals for peace. The sudden role reversal is jarring, and further strains the deep sense of dread I can’t seem to shake.

Still, after months of missing his touch, my body sinks into him. Even as this embrace is a far cry from the way he used to hold me, I close my eyes and soak it in. The smell of aftershave and the way it mixes with his scent somehow helps to ease the ache inside my chest. The relief is short-lived, however, for when he steps away and puts the kitchen island between us, my heart sinks at the realization he won’t be swayed.

“It’s over. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. We don’t work. Not because of you, but because of me. I’m a selfish bastard who’ll do or say whatever it takes to get what he wants and from the moment we met, all I wanted was you.”

“I don’t understand. You have me.” I move to get closer, but he raises a hand to stop me.

“No. You’re not listening, and I need you to hear this. I wanted you, so early on I learned all I had to do was convince you I could give you the life you wanted. I knew that once I got you to the altar, all bets would be off because you would never, ever leave me. No matter how short I fell on the promises I made, you’d stand by me because it’s who you are. Loyal to a fault.” He scoffs as though he’s disgusted by my sense of loyalty, but in his eyes, I see the truth. It’s a quality he admires.

“I never had that before I met you, you know? The way you loved me is the most real thing I’d ever experienced in my life and God, it was addictive,” he sighs and then winces. Running a hand over his face, he emits a low growl before he says, “It’s why I lied and manipulated you. To trap you so I could keep you.”

“Stop this! Why are you saying these things?” I gasp in agony through piercing sobs. His words hit their mark, and it’s like the very foundation of our relationship has turned to dust, leaving me to question every moment of our past. Our present. Our future. What he’s insinuating can’t be true because if it was, wouldn’t I have felt it long before now?

“Because you asked me why I’m doing this, and for once, I owe you the truth. The life you’re fighting so hard to hold on to is based on lies.” Leaning onto the edge of the counter, his shoulders slump. “I’m tired of living this way. I’m sick of pretending I belong with you and the girls. What we have isn’t real. Even standing in our home, surrounded by our things, none of this feels real to me. But out there,” he points to the back door behind me, as the intensity of his gaze burns through me.

“In the dark trenches where despicable evil exists, now that world feels real. It’s the pain of it. The fear and devastation. The type of desperation that seeps into your bones and brings you to your knees. That’s where I thrive. It’s what drives and fuels the fire I need to burn it all down to hell. To chase the monsters, I must exist solely in that murky world instead of splitting my time here, where ignorance and pretense are par for the course. Where the search for joy and happiness comes at the expense of ignoring the terrifying truth that there are people in this world hell-bent on destroying its innocence.”

He swallows hard. His chest rises and falls several times while his head drops to his chest, before rising once more to meet my gaze. “I don’t belong in this life and I’m tired of pretending I do. So I’m begging you. Put us both out of our misery. Sign the papers so we can get back to living in our respective worlds.”

Another round of sobs breaks through me as devastation sinks in. The finality of what he’s said hits with such force, that I can feel myself plummeting into the dark abyss of grief. As despair descends over me, the life around us fades behind a fog of gloom. The family pictures on the wall hung in a proud display of our life together. The girl’s artwork that lovingly adorns our refrigerator door. My great-grandmother’s heirloom china, carefully stored behind glass cabinets for all to see. All the symbols of the perfect family life I love and want to keep now shroud me like a cold blanket of deceit. 

Lost to my sadness, I hear the soles of his shoes as he comes to stand next to me. When he takes my hand to comfort me, I fill the silence with the only truth that matters to me. 

“I love our life.”

At this, he gives a tired sigh. Then, with a pitiful look, he hits me with one last dose of devastating truth.

“No. What you love is the idea of what could have been. The lie I sold to you, but would never deliver. It was a mirage, Emilia. A sleight of hand. Deception at the hands of someone well-trained in the art, whose mission at the time was to win the heart of a woman he wasn’t meant to have. For that, I’m truly sorry.”

Releasing me, he reaches for the pen and divorce papers and then lays them down in front of me. “You deserve a chance to find your happily ever after, Emi. Signing these gives you that chance.”

Through tear-filled eyes, I stare at the paperwork. With shaky hands, I move to do as he asks, but when the pen touches the page, the finality hits me. Once I do this, he’ll be gone, and with him, the future I thought was guaranteed. Like before, I’ll be left behind to wander the world alone and in pieces. Broken. Never whole. The emptiness in my heart forever serving as a reminder that I’m not enough. That no matter how much or how hard I love them, they will never choose me.

“I can’t do this…” I cry as I look up into his eyes. “Please don’t make me do this. Don’t leave us like this. I know you love us. Just this once I’m begging you, please choose us…”

For a second, it looks like he’s going to reach for me, but then stops. Instead, he stares into my eyes, and for once, he doesn’t hide behind his usual mask of indifference.

“I do love you. All three of you. But unfortunately, love isn’t enough. The job will always come first. I will always be a source of disappointment in your lives because this is how I’m built. It’s better that we do this now. In hurting you this final time, I’m saving the three of you from a lifetime of future pain.”

Turning away, he grabs his jacket from the back of the dining chair before making his way toward the back door. When he steps out into the cool spring air, he turns to face me, sad eyes meeting mine for what feels like the last time.

“Sign the papers, then get them to Nic. She knows what to do. Take care of yourself and our girls.” When his voice breaks, he pauses a moment to compose himself, before adding, “It was an honor being your husband and father to our girls. I hope someday I can be the type of father they deserve. Until then, I think it’s best I stay away.”

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Author’s Note: 

This is the first time we get to meet Emilia's husband, Creed. Though I'm angry with him for what he's done to Emilia and his girls, there's a part of me that feels sorry for him. He's caught between two opposing worlds, and struggling to figure out a way to balance them both.

How about you? What do you think of Creed and this scene? 

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