PART 18 – When Roscoe Asked Me to Sit Beside Him, I Told Him That Forty Years of Marriage Could Not Be Repaired With One Apology

It was a Sunday evening when Roscoe asked me to sit with him.

The boys had gone home.

His mother was resting.

I had finished putting away the dishes.

He was sitting at the kitchen table.

The same table where we had spoken after the truck stop.

The same chair he had occupied when he first admitted that Jasmine wasn't the only woman.

I sat across from him.

He looked nervous.

"I've been thinking about us."

I folded my hands.

"All right."

He took a breath.

"I know I've hurt you."

I didn't answer.

He continued.

"I know saying I'm sorry doesn't fix it."

That was true.

He looked toward the window.

"I don't want to lose our marriage."

I watched him.

For forty years, I had thought our marriage was something we both protected.

I had believed we were working toward the same things.

A home.

A family.

A comfortable old age.

I had imagined growing old beside him.

Now those thoughts felt different.

"I didn't want to lose it either," I said.

He looked at me.

"I know."

"No, Roscoe. I don't think you understood that when you were away."

He lowered his eyes.

I told him about the years I had waited.

The Christmas mornings.

The empty bed.

The meals I prepared.

The times I had wanted to talk to him but waited because I knew he was tired.

I wasn't trying to make him feel guilty about his work.

I had never resented his work.

I resented what he had chosen to do while I was trusting him.

He listened.

Then he said something that surprised me.

"I got used to thinking you would always be there."

I looked at him.

He continued.

"You always handled things. I never thought about what that meant."

I sat quietly.

That was perhaps the closest he had come to understanding.

But I wasn't ready to make it easier for him.

"Being dependable doesn't mean I don't have feelings."

He nodded.

"I know."

I shook my head.

"You know now."

He accepted that.

For a while, we sat without speaking.

Then he asked whether I wanted him to stop driving.

I looked at him.

That wasn't what I had asked for.

"Your job isn't the problem."

He looked confused.

I explained that I had never needed him to stop traveling.

I needed him to respect the marriage he returned to.

He asked whether I thought he could do that.

I looked directly at him.

"That's something you have to show me."

He nodded.

He told me he wasn't going to see Jasmine again.

I didn't ask him to repeat it.

He said he understood that the other women had been part of the same betrayal.

I listened.

Then I asked whether he understood what honesty meant.

He said he thought so.

I told him it meant telling the truth even when the truth was uncomfortable.

It meant not waiting until somebody caught him.

It meant not treating my silence as agreement.

He nodded slowly.

I could see that he wanted to reach for my hand.

He didn't.

I appreciated that.

He asked whether we could try to rebuild things.

I took a long breath.

"I don't know what that will look like yet."

He looked disappointed.

But he didn't argue.

I told him I wasn't promising forgiveness on a schedule.

I wasn't going to wake up one morning and pretend the truck stop hadn't happened.

He said he understood.

Then he asked what I needed from him right now.

I thought about it.

"I need you to be present."

He looked at me.

"Here?"

"Here. With your mother. With the boys. With me."

He nodded.

I added something else.

"And I need you to stop making excuses for yourself."

He looked down.

For once, he didn't defend himself.

I stood.

He looked up.

"Are we all right?"

I thought about that question.

Then I answered honestly.

"We're still here."

It wasn't the answer he wanted.

But it was the only one I could give.

Click here to continue reading: PART 19: His Mother Finally Told Him What She Had Been Carrying Since the Truck Stop, and I Realized She Had Her Own Heartbreak to Face