“I don’t know how much you know about kink,” she says coolly. “And now you know that I am…familiar…with that world. Only artistically, only to the research level, but I’ve read a lot. Taken classes at The Wheelhouse.”
“You know more than me,” I admit hoarsely. “A lot more. It wasn’t…I never thought of myself as kinky. I was going along with it.”
Her lips pull tight, and the faint smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “And now?”
“Now what?”
“Now are you starting to realize some of those things are deep down? Is that what you meant when you shared…what you think of me?”
Baby girl. Little slut.
I guess I showed my hand more than I realized. “Sure. Yeah.”
“When you said it’s not like you want me to call you Daddy, that hurt me.” She licks her lips as a dull roar starts to churn in my ears. “The thing is, that’s one fantasy that’s always been consistently hot for me. It’s why I wanted you to take that quiz I found.”
“The quiz is about kink?” Fuck. I clench my fists, trying hard to focus on what she’s saying. But all I can hear is her sweet little voice echoing in my head. Daddy. Fantasy. Daddy. Fantasy. “Shit, Grace, if you have a Daddy fantasy, that’s okay.”
She flinches. “I know it’s okay.”
“Do you?” I rise out of my chair, my heart pounding. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s fine.” It’s more than fine. Fuck. “That’s…interesting, actually. I want to know more about that.” I want to know more about you, my mysterious little wife.
“You didn’t want to know more about me wanting to be spanked, and that’s something a lot of people do. Often people who use words like Daddy and Baby Girl.”
“I wasn’t listening then. I’m listening now. I’m here. I’m present. Tell me.” Desperate pleas fill my brain, gag me in their need to spill out, but I can’t overwhelm her. Please, fuck, tell me. Tell me everything, and I will love it. I love you so much. I choke all of those thoughts back and wait. Listening.
“There’s a part of me—last night, for example—that wants you to take this quiz, figure out your kink preferences, and then we could start over again. Maybe. Down the road. But there’s another part of me that is worried, deeply, that whatever you are feeling for me now is temporary. The attraction that you feel for me doesn’t feel real.” She takes a deep breath. “I told you that I know her name. I’ve looked her up online. I know she’s pretty. Younger than me, sexier than me—”
“No.”
“Yes.” Her voice cracks. “Because remember that I also know what it is to be the wife you don’t see. To be a woman, changing in front of her husband, knowing he couldn’t care less. When I remember those moments, I feel hopelessly unattractive. I worry that your new attraction to me is desperate and responsive, not organic. And I know you don’t like hearing that, don’t want me to say that. I can see it on your face right now, you want to protest.”
I do. That’s not how it feels for me at all, but I can’t argue with her, either.
And then she says the worst thing, because it’s ugly and it’s true. “Until I found out about your affair, you really struggled with how you felt about my body.”
Fuck.
“That was—I’ve talked to my therapist about that—” I know I should just keep quiet. “But it’s not exactly right. Think about all the good times we had. Remember when—”
“I remember,” she says smoothly. Her eyes are deep, endless pools of sorrow. “I’m just providing some context. I know we had some good times, too.”
“I don't like that you feel this way.” I shove my hand in my hair. “I wish I could take away those feelings.”
“You can’t. Because me finding out about the affair, it was like a switch was flipped, and you realized that way of thinking hadn’t done you any favours.”
“I did realize that. Yes, exactly. It was shame, and grandiosity, and—” I stop myself.
She gives me a small smile I don’t deserve. “So you tackled that as something to fix. But you haven’t ever dealt with the fact that our marriage was built on that. That can’t be fixed or undone.”
“I’m not going to deny the past. Maybe repair isn’t the right objective. Maybe we should try to start over. And now isn’t the time. I went to the sexual health clinic today. After you said that last night, when I woke up, I looked into it, and went as soon as they opened. They told me I should be tested again in a few months. So let’s wait that long. I’ll be celibate for as long as it takes, to prove to you I’m serious about this.”
“And why should I be celibate that long?” She crosses her arms.
It’s the second time she’s brought up dating.
And with a newfound horror, I realize what I need to do to win my wife back. I need to truly let her go.
21
Grace
To his credit, Luke stops interrupting me, and listens to everything I have to say. We don’t fight, we just talk, and when I leave his apartment, he says he needs some time to think, and he wants to come over for tea later this afternoon.
After I leave his apartment, I go to the gallery because it makes me happy. I walk, because it’s a glorious day, sunny and bright, and on the return walk home, I call Hazel.
“Hello?”
“Hi Hazel, it’s Grace.”
“Oh, hey.” She murmurs my name. “Sam says hi.”
I laugh. “I wanted to follow up on last night. I really would like to get coffee. How long are you in the city?”
“A few days. How does tomorrow sound?”
“Like a date. I’ll come to you.”
We set a time, and I end the call just before letting myself into my building.
What an absolutely lovely, normal afternoon. It feels like I’ve finally exhaled, after holding my breath for weeks. I’ve said everything I need to say to Luke, I’m back on track with work, and my life can begin moving forward again.
Upstairs, I put the kettle on and text Luke that I’m home whenever he wants to chat again.
At this rate, I might not even need therapy for myself. We’re actually figuring out a way through this. Maybe we’ll be amicably divorced by the summer.
It’s a strange thought. Makes me feel a little empty, and I’m still contemplating that when his knock sounds at the door.
I let him in, and this is immediately a different man than I left in his apartment this morning. He’s done something, I can tell. “What’s going on?”
“Now it’s your turn to sit,” he says grimly.
“You’re scaring me.” The kettle whistles, and I hold up a finger. “Wait a second.”
I pour water into the teapot, then leave it. Something tells me I don’t need to entertain him right now. I stalk back into the living room and curl up on the armchair, because he’s sitting on the couch. “What is it?”
“Everything you said this morning…I heard all of it. I don’t want you to live with any kind of doubt, and I need to fully own the damage I have done. The truth is, I collapsed in on myself just as much as our firm did. In a time of acute crisis, I failed to do the right thing on every level. Looking back, I see that I just abdicated my responsibility to this marriage. To you. I won’t make the same mistake again.”