I don’t know why I did what I did. I can’t even explain it, even when I tried to tell you about it that night in the car. It’s hard to put into words because I’m still trying to process it. I didn’t do it because of some intense attraction I couldn’t fight. I didn’t do it because I missed having sex with you. And even though I tried to convince myself that I was doing it because she reminded me of you, I know how stupid that sounds. I never should have said that to you. You’re right, in a way it sounded like I was blaming you, and that was never my intention. You had nothing to do with what I did.
I don’t want to talk about it, but I need to. You can skip this part of the letter if you don’t want to read it, but I need to work through it and for some reason, writing about things in these letters always seems to help sort through my thoughts. I know I should be better at communicating them, but I know you don’t always want to hear them.
I think the way I’ve been feeling started during a moment I had at my sister’s house. I guess you could say it was an epiphany, but that sounds like such a positive word for what I was feeling. It was the day we were supposed to meet our new nephew, but you said you got stuck in traffic.
I know that was a lie, Quinn.
I know, because when I was leaving Caroline’s house, I saw the gift we bought her in the living room. Which means you had been there at some point during my visit, but for whatever reason, you didn’t want me to know.
I thought about it during my whole drive home after leaving her house. And the only thing I can think of that would make you not want to admit you were there is if you saw me standing in Caroline’s living room, holding Caleb. And if you saw that, you might have heard what Caroline said to me, and what I said to her in return. About how I was devastated I still hadn’t become a father yet. As much as I wish I could take that away, I can’t. But I do need you to know why I said it.
I couldn’t stop staring at him as I held him because he kind of looks like me. I had never held the girls when they were that young, so Caleb was the tiniest human I had ever held. And it made me wonder, had you been there, what would that have made you feel? Would you have been proud, seeing me with my nephew? Or would you have been disappointed that you would never see me holding a newborn of our own like that?
I think Caroline saw the look on my face while I was holding him and thought I was looking at him with such intensity because I wanted one of my own. But I was actually looking at him and wondering if you would continue to love me if I never became the one thing you wished I could be.
I know Caroline was merely complimenting me when she said I’d make a good father. But the reason I said I was devastated it still hadn’t happened yet is because I was devastated for you. For our future. Because it wasn’t until that moment that I realized I might never be enough for you.
Not long after that, I was walking out of my sister’s house and saw the gift and knew you had been there. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to confront you because I was afraid you might confirm my fears, so I drove around aimlessly. Later that night when I got home, you asked if I got to hold Caleb. I lied to you because I wanted to see your reaction to my lie. I was hoping maybe I was wrong and you weren’t actually at my sister’s house. Maybe the gift was from someone else and it was just similar to the one we had bought. But as soon as I saw your reaction, I knew you had been there.
And because you were hiding it, I knew you must have overheard our conversation. Which meant you also saw me holding Caleb. I was worried that the image of me holding a newborn like I was a father would be stuck in your head and it would make you sad every time you looked at me and I wasn’t a father. You would realize that the only way to get those images out of your head is if I were out of your life for good.
I’ve worried about a lot of things since we got married, but I don’t think I’ve ever worried about us until after that moment. I’ve been fighting for so long to be the strength you need, but that was the first time it occurred to me that I may not be what brings you strength anymore. What if I’m part of what brings you pain?
I wanted you to call me out for lying to you. I wanted you to scream at me for telling Caroline I was devastated I wasn’t a father yet. I wanted something from you, Quinn. Anything. But you keep all your thoughts and feelings bottled up so tight; it’s becoming impossible to read you anymore.
But you aren’t the only one who is impossible to read anymore. I should have been honest with you about it that night. The moment I knew you had been to Caroline’s, I should have said so. But somewhere between our wedding day and today, I lost my courage. I became too scared to hear what you truly feel inside that head and heart of yours, so I’ve done my share of keeping it just below the surface. If I didn’t press you to talk about it, I would never have to confront the possibility that our marriage was in trouble. Confrontation leads to action. Avoidance leads to inaction.
I have been an inactive husband for the past few years and I am so sorry for that.
The night I lied to you about holding Caleb, I remember you walking to your office. It was the first moment I ever had the thought that we might need a divorce.
I didn’t have that thought because I wasn’t happy with you. I had that thought because I felt I was no longer making you happy. I felt like my presence was bringing you down, causing you to sink further and further into yourself.
I walked to the living room and sat down on the couch, wondering if new possibilities would open up for you if I left you. Maybe if you weren’t tied to me, somewhere down the line you could meet a man who already had children. You could fall in love with him and be a stepmother to his children and have some semblance of happiness brought back into your life.
I broke down, Quinn. Right there in our living room. It’s the moment I realized that I was no longer bringing you happiness. I had become one of the many things adding to your pain.
I think that’s been the case for a while now, but for some reason, I wasn’t able to recognize it until recently. And even then, it took me a while before I finally allowed myself to believe it.
I felt like I had failed you. But even knowing that, I never would have made the decision to leave you. I knew that about myself. Even if I believed that you might be happier after I left, I was too selfish to give that to you. I knew what it would do to me if I left you and that terrified me. My fear of not having you in my life sometimes overpowered my desire to see you happy.
I think that’s why I did what I did. Because I knew I would never be selfless enough to leave you. I allowed myself to do something completely out of character for me because if I felt I was no longer worthy of you, it would be easier to convince myself that you deserved better.
It’s so fucked up.
I don’t even know how it got to this point. I can’t look back on our marriage and pinpoint the day that my love for you became something you resented and not something you cherished.
I used to believe if you loved someone enough, that love could withstand anything. As long as two people remained in love, then nothing could tear them apart. Not even tragedy.
But now I realize that tragedy can tear down even the strongest of things.
You could have one of the greatest singing voices of all time, but one injury to the throat could end your entire career. You could be the fastest runner in the world, but one back injury could change all of that. You could be the most intelligent professor at Harvard, but one stroke could send you into early retirement.