PART 6
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want to?”
I thought about it.
“Yes.”
“Then let him in.”
I opened the door.
Grant looked exhausted.
His shirt was wrinkled. His eyes were red. His hair was uncombed.
He looked like a man who hadn’t slept.
“How is your mother?” I asked.
“She made it through the night.”
I nodded.
“That’s good.”
He looked at me.
“Can I come in?”
I stepped aside.
He walked into the kitchen.
My mother was sitting at the table drinking coffee.
She looked at him.
“Grant.”
“Hi, Helen.”
“You look awful.”
He gave a weak smile.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Sit.”
He sat.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Grant looked at me.
“I owe you an apology.”
I crossed my arms.
“For what?”
“For everything.”
“That is a very large category.”
He lowered his eyes.
“I know.”
My mother quietly stood.
“I’ll give you two some privacy.”
“Mom—”
She shook her head.
“No. You need to hear what he has to say.”
She walked into the living room.
Grant watched her leave.
Then he looked at me.
“I was wrong.”
I said nothing.
“When your mother was sick, I convinced myself that staying away was somehow reasonable.”
He swallowed.
“I told myself hospitals made me uncomfortable. I told myself you were strong enough to handle it. I told myself there was nothing I could do.”
He looked at me.
“But the truth is…”
His voice cracked.
“I didn’t want to be uncomfortable.”
I felt something tighten in my chest.
“I didn’t want to watch someone suffer.”
He rubbed his face.
“So I stayed away.”
I nodded slowly.
“And I left you alone with all of it.”
“Yes.”
“I thought because you were handling it, you didn’t need me.”
“You should have asked.”
“I should have known.”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“Last night, when my mother was lying in that hospital bed, I understood something.”
I waited.
“I kept thinking about you.”
My expression didn’t change.
“I remembered every time you sat beside your mother.”
He swallowed.
“Every surgery. Every night. Every morning.”
He looked at me.
“And suddenly I realized you did all of that without me.”
“Yes.”
“I was ashamed.”
I didn’t respond.
“I kept thinking, ‘What would Rachel do?’”
I almost smiled sadly.
“Probably too much.”
He nodded.
“Exactly.”
Silence.
Then he said, “When I texted you to go to the hospital, I wasn’t thinking about what you had been through.”
“No.”
“I was thinking about what I needed.”
“Yes.”
“I treated you like a solution instead of a person.”
Those words hurt.
Because they were true.
Grant leaned forward.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
He looked surprised.
“Because forgiveness isn’t something I can hand you because you finally understand.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t know if our marriage can survive this.”
His face fell.
“I was afraid you would say that.”
“I’ve been afraid for a long time.”
He stared at me.
“Afraid of what?”
“Of admitting that I was alone.”
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