“What? Mom, how can you possibly—” I lifted my hands before squeezing them into tight fists. “We are in the entryway,” I said softly, reminding them of how that space carried noise throughout the house.
Without another word, I hurried across the entryway and down one of the halls with my parents close behind.
“How can you possibly be on his side?” I asked once we were far enough away, still keeping my voice low.
“Savannah,” she said reproachfully. “I am on your side. I am on Beau’s side, and I am on your kids’ sides. But, right now, you are only on the side of hurt. You’re taking what happened and holding on to it, and you can’t.”
“Yes, I can.”
“If you want to ruin your life, sure.” She held up a hand to stop me when I started arguing. “You’re treating this situation and him as if what he did was purposeful and recent.”
“He lied to me for thirteen years,” I reminded her. “He helped her leave, and then was there for me when I grieved her. He was mad at her.”
“We never said Beau didn’t make mistakes, Savannah,” Dad cut in. “He did, and he knows that.”
“So, that makes it okay? That means I should just get over it?”
“Of course not,” Mom said wearily. “But, Savannah, you’re shutting him out and you’re closing doors that should never be closed in marriages.”
My stare fell to the side as shame and anguish ripped through me.
“Kicking him out of the house for weeks,” she went on softly. “Not letting him see you or the kids for most of that time. Taking off your wedding ring?” Shock filled her tone at that. “That’s such a huge and damaging statement, and he has to know that.”
“I gave them to him,” I confessed, my shoulders caving as that grief became too much.
As my parents’ deafening silence said more than words could.
“He’s moving out next week,” I whispered shakily. “He told me just before y’all got back.”
After a while, my dad huffed. “I know damn well from talking with him that it isn’t by choice.”
My blurry stare snapped to him. “I didn’t ask him to.”
“Did you ask him to come back?” He lifted his hands in a pleading gesture. “You’re hurting. I know it, we all know it. Your husband knows it, Savannah. But if you aren’t even going to give your marriage the chance to survive this, you might as well have some papers drawn up now. Save him the heartache of wondering.”
“Y’all are talking like everything that’s happened is my fault,” I cried out.
“We’re not,” my dad gently argued. “But after these kinds of shocks and betrayals, what happens moving forward is up to the person who’s been hurt. And you’ve decided to throw away your entire life with him by not even trying.”
“That isn’t—” A whispered sob tumbled past my lips, my head shaking quickly. “I don’t know how when everything feels like a lie. I look back, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to know what was real and what wasn’t because I never even knew something was wrong.”
“You know, Savannah,” Mom said, all strength and encouragement. “In your heart, you do. And if you look carefully, maybe you’ll even see that there were signs during those times that you dismissed or took as something else.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure she was right.
“Your mom and I have been thinking,” Dad began, the hesitance in his voice capturing my attention, “and after this conversation, I’m pretty positive in our decision.”
Mom made an agreeing sort of hum in her throat as he continued.
“We’re going to take the kids back to Utah with us for a week or so.”
“What?” It might’ve been a breath or a scream or a cry, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was they were trying to take the rest of my heart.
All that was keeping me going.
“No,” I said quickly. Harshly. “No, you can’t.”
“Savannah, take a second and just think, sweetheart,” Mom said softly. “Right now, you need to focus on your marriage, and you can’t do that when one thousand percent of your focus is on your kids and this business.”
“Of course my focus is on them. That’s my life. My kids are my life.”
“If any part of you wants to save your marriage, then your focus needs to be on that. You need to spend time thinking about what’s happened and what is happening without those constant distractions fighting for your attention. Also,” she added with a shrug, “we want time with our grandbabies. Are you really going to deprive us of that?”
My body sagged at the unfair jab. “But they have school.”
They shared an amused look before my mom met my pleading stare. “They’ll miss, what, the last two . . . three days of school? It’s kindergarten and first grade, it isn’t a big deal.”
“Mom, please don’t,” I begged, my chin wavering when she set her hands on my shoulders.
“I love you,” she said softly. “Your dad and I love you. We are doing this for you.” With an exaggerated sigh, she turned to my dad. “I could use that drink now.”
I stood there, shaking and shaking as they started down the hallway, trying desperately to hold myself together until they turned into the kitchen. Staggering back to the wall and bending, my hands on my knees and my chest pitching with sharp, broken breaths. Struggling to pull myself together when I had a house full of people—when my world was breaking.
In the back of my mind, I knew my parents were right. Knew I needed that time to let myself truly be consumed in the pain of what happened so I could start healing from it. But I was afraid.
Any time I had to myself, my mind went wild with what I knew and thoughts of my life with Beau. Anytime that happened, I hurried to shut the memories and pain down, busying myself with my kids or baking or cleaning until all that was left was an echo of pain and anger.
And I couldn’t do that forever.
“Anna-Hannah.”
I straightened, wiping at my cheeks and trying to force a smile when I met Peter’s knowing stare.
He gestured to follow him, drink in hand. “Let’s go. Time to talk it out.”
A stuttered breath escaped me as I tried to come up with another excuse to get out of talking about my misery, but I eventually pushed from the wall and followed after him.
“That’s two nights in a row that your husband has left around eight-ish,” he said when I caught up to his side. “He also wasn’t here at breakfast.” One of his shoulders jerked up. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, except your mini-me said he’s never here for breakfast anymore.”
Pain sliced through me, stealing my breath and forcing my eyes to shut.
When I managed to open them again, Peter was holding a drink out to me.
“Uh . . . no. No thanks,” I whispered, then reached for a coffee mug and headed over to the pot of decaf I’d brewed while Beau was putting the kids to bed, eyes lingering on where my parents and Peter’s aunt and uncle were outside by the fire pit.
Once I had my coffee made, I bent to open one of my cupboards, pulling out my secret stash of goodies and setting them on the counter.