CHAPTER 19
The months passed slowly, but we were getting better.
Mark was working again, and he was sober.
He had gotten the help he needed for his depression and his anxiety.
He was a better husband now, more present, more attentive.
He was a better father too.
He spent more time with Emma, read to her every night, took her to the park on weekends.
He was trying.
And that was all I could ask for.
---
Rachel was doing better too.
She had found her son, David.
He was living in California with his adoptive family, and he was happy.
She called him every week, and she was working on building a relationship with him.
She had gotten the help she needed for her guilt and her fear.
She was a better sister now, more open, more honest.
She was a better aunt too.
She visited Emma every month, took her to the movies, bought her ice cream.
She was trying.
And that was all I could ask for.
---
Emma was doing better too.
She was thriving.
She was going to school, playing with friends, laughing and smiling.
She had nightmares sometimes, but they were getting less frequent.
She had fears sometimes, but they were getting less intense.
She was healing.
And that was all I could ask for.
---
I was doing better too.
I was still angry, still hurt, still betrayed.
But I was trying to move on.
I was trying to forgive.
I was trying to trust.
It was hard.
It was so hard.
But I was doing it.
For Emma.
For myself.
For my family.
---
One night, Mark and I were sitting on the couch watching television.
He took my hand in his.
"Lauren," he said.
"Mark."
"I love you."
"I know."
"I want to spend the rest of my life making this right."
"I know."
"Can we try again?"
"Try again?"
"Try to be a family again."
"Mark, we are a family."
"I know. But I want us to be a real family again. I want us to be happy again."
"I'm happy."
"Are you?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Can I kiss you?"
I hesitated.
But then I nodded.
He leaned in and kissed me.
It wasn't a passionate kiss.
It was a gentle kiss.
A kiss of forgiveness.
A kiss of hope.
A kiss of love.
And when he pulled away, I felt something shift inside me.
Something that had been broken was starting to heal.
---
The night of Emma's eighth birthday party was approaching.
We were planning a small party at the house.
Emma wanted a unicorn theme again.
She wanted the same cake, the same decorations, the same everything.
We were happy to give it to her.
We wanted to make her happy.
We wanted to give her a happy memory.
So we decorated the house with balloons and streamers and sparkly unicorn decorations.
We baked a cake and frosted it with pink frosting and sprinkles.
We invited family and friends and did everything we could to make it special.
---
Emma's eighth birthday party was a success.
She had a wonderful time.
She ran around with her friends, laughed and smiled, ate too much cake.
She was happy.
And that was all that mattered.
---
After the party, Mark and I were sitting in the living room.
"Lauren," he said.
"Mark."
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For everything."
"Mark, you don't have to thank me."
"Yes, I do."
"Mark, I love you."
"I love you too, Lauren."
"Can we move on now?"
"Move on?"
"Move on from everything."
"I don't know."
"I know. But I want to try."
"Let's try."
We held hands and looked at the pictures of the party.
"Emma's getting so big," I said.
"Yes, she is."
"She's eight years old now."
"Yes, she is."
"She's so beautiful."
"Yes, she is."
"I love her so much."
"Me too."
"Mark, I'm so grateful she's okay."
"Me too."
"We're so lucky."
"Yes, we are."
We sat there in silence, holding hands and looking at the pictures.
And for the first time in a long time, everything felt okay.
---
But not everything.
There was still something that wasn't right.
Something I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Something that was nagging at me.
I couldn't shake the feeling that something was still wrong.
I couldn't shake the feeling that the truth hadn't been fully revealed.
I couldn't shake the feeling that there were secrets still to be uncovered.
And I was right.
I just didn't know it yet.
---
One night, I found a letter in Mark's jacket pocket.
It was addressed to him, and the return address was a name I didn't recognize.
"Who is this?" I asked him.
"Who is what?"
"This letter. Who is it from?"
"Oh, that's from Lee."
"Lee?"
"Yes. He's in jail."
"I know."
"He's been writing me letters."
"Why?"
"He's been apologizing."
"Apologizing?"
"He's been trying to make things right."
"Mark, Lee almost killed Emma."
"I know."
"Mark, Lee threatened you. He threatened Rachel. He threatened Mrs. Carter."
"I know."
"Mark, why are you in contact with him?"
"Because I want to forgive him."
"Forgive him?"
"Yes."
"Mark, he tried to kill Emma."
"I know. But he's sorry. He's trying to make things right."
"Mark, are you serious?"
"Yes."
"Mark, I can't believe you."
"Lauren, I know it's hard to understand. But I need to forgive him. If I can't forgive him, how can I ever forgive myself?"
"Mark, you didn't do anything."
"I know. But I still feel guilty."
"Guilty about what?"
"About everything. About not telling you the truth. About not protecting Emma. About not being a better husband."
"Mark, you were a good husband."
"I know. But I could have been better."
"Mark, please. Let's just move on."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I need to make things right."
"Mark, the only way to make things right is to move on."
"No, it's not. The only way to make things right is to face the past."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've tried to run from it. And it never worked."
I didn't know what to say.
"Mark," I said finally, "I need to know everything."
"I've told you everything."
"No, you haven't."
"Yes, I have."
"No, you haven't."
"Lauren, what do you want me to tell you?"
"I want you to tell me the truth."
"I've told you the truth."
"No, you haven't."
"Lauren, I don't know what you want me to say."
"I want you to tell me the truth, Mark."
"Lauren, I've told you the truth."
"No, you haven't."
"Lauren, please."
"Mark, tell me the truth."
"Lauren, I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because if I do, something terrible will happen."
"Something terrible already happened."
"I know."
"So tell me."
"I can't."
"Then I can't help you."
"I know."
"Goodbye, Mark."
May you like
I walked out.
And I knew, in that moment, that everything was going to fall apart again.
