Margaret called that afternoon.
I was folding laundry when the phone rang.
I considered letting it go to voicemail.
Then I answered.
"Hello?"
"It's Margaret."
I stopped folding.
"Is everything okay?"
"I wanted to ask whether I could come by."
I looked toward the living room.
Brad was working at the dining table.
"Is this about something important?"
"Yes."
I glanced at him again.
"All right."
She arrived about thirty minutes later.
She carried a small paper envelope.
When I opened the door, she looked nervous.
"Thank you for seeing me."
I stepped aside.
Brad stood when he saw her.
"Margaret."
She nodded.
"Brad."
I noticed that she didn't smile.
We sat in the living room.
Margaret placed the envelope on the table.
"I found this while looking through some old documents."
Brad immediately looked uncomfortable.
I noticed.
"What is it?"
Margaret turned toward me.
"Something your husband wrote several months ago."
Brad shook his head.
"I don't think that's necessary."
Margaret looked at him.
"You've had enough chances to explain."
I picked up the envelope.
Inside was a folded sheet of paper.
I recognized Brad's handwriting again.
I opened it.
The first paragraph was dated several months earlier.
It wasn't addressed to anyone.
It appeared to be a personal note.
I read it quietly.
He had written about feeling unhappy.
He had written about the distance between us.
He had also written that he missed the way we used to talk.
I looked at him.
"Why did you write this?"
He looked down.
"I was trying to understand myself."
I continued reading.
There was a sentence that made my chest tighten.
"I keep waiting for her to notice that something is wrong, but when she asks, I tell her everything is fine."
I read it again.
Then I looked at him.
"You wanted me to notice?"
He nodded.
"I didn't know how to explain it."
I felt confused.
"Why would you want me to guess?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"I was ashamed."
I placed the paper down.
"Of what?"
"Of feeling unhappy when I had no good reason to be."
I stared at him.
We had both been struggling.
We had both felt the distance.
But I had tried to talk.
He had chosen silence.
Then he had chosen Chloe.
Margaret spoke.
"Brad called me around that time."
I turned toward her.
"What did he say?"
"He told me he was worried about your marriage."
I looked at Brad.
"You discussed our marriage with your sister but not with me?"
He nodded.
"Yes."
Margaret continued.
"He said he missed the way things used to be. He said he wanted to find a way to make things better."
I looked at the paper.
"Then what happened?"
Margaret hesitated.
"He started talking about Chloe."
Brad closed his eyes.
I looked at him.
"How long?"
He didn't answer.
Margaret did.
"Longer than he admitted at first."
I felt my hands go cold.
"How long?"
Brad finally spoke.
"The personal relationship started several months before I told Margaret about it."
I stared at him.
"Several months?"
He nodded.
I looked at the paper again.
The date was close to the period when I had first noticed his late nights.
I had thought we were going through a difficult stage.
He had been writing about wanting our marriage back while beginning another relationship.
I felt sick.
"Did you ever intend to stop?"
Brad looked at me.
"I wanted to."
"That isn't what I asked."
He lowered his head.
"No. I didn't make a real decision to stop until recently."
I stood.
I needed a moment.
I walked toward the kitchen.
Margaret followed me.
"I'm sorry."
I shook my head.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with all this."
She remained beside me.
"Neither do I."
I looked at her.
"Why did you keep helping him?"
She took a breath.
"Because he's my brother. I wanted him to make the right decision."
I nodded.
"But he wasn't making it."
"No."
"And you thought giving him more time would help?"
She looked down.
"Yes."
I leaned against the counter.
The black mug was still there.
I had considered putting it away.
Instead, I had left it beside the sink.
I picked it up.
The words Best Husband were beginning to look ridiculous.
I placed it inside a cupboard.
I didn't want to see it anymore.
When I returned to the living room, Margaret was standing.
"I should go."
I nodded.
She looked at me.
"I want you to know that I won't hide anything else from you."
I believed she meant it.
But I wasn't ready to trust her.
After she left, Brad sat quietly.
I remained standing.
"There's something I need to ask."
He looked up.
"Go ahead."
"When you wrote that note, did you still love me?"
He stared at the paper.
Then he answered.
"Yes."
I waited.
"Did you love Chloe too?"
He took a long breath.
"I cared about her. But I was using that relationship to avoid dealing with what was happening at home."
I shook my head.
"That doesn't make it better."
"I know."
I looked at him.
"I don't want to hear that you loved me while you were lying to me. I want to know why your love didn't stop you."
He didn't have an answer.
And perhaps there wasn't one that would satisfy me.
That evening, I moved a blanket into the spare room.
Brad watched me from the bedroom doorway.
"Are you sleeping there?"
"Yes."
He nodded.
"I understand."
I placed a pillow on the bed.
For months, I had waited for him to come home.
Now I was the one choosing distance.
And it felt necessary.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: The First Night Apart Made Me Realize That Forgiveness Was Not the Same as Trusting Brad With My Future Again
I Thought My Husband Was Meeting Another Woman That Morning, Until One Small Detail Made Me Question Everything
Part 15 of 20
