Chapter 88 Three dots
Greyson
I stared at my phone for twenty minutes before finally hitting send on the message that could either save my marriage or destroy any remaining hope I had left.
"There's a small restaurant on Fox Street called The Garden Room. Tomorrow, 7 PM. I know I have no right to ask, but would you meet me for dinner? Just to talk. No expectations, no agenda. Just... please. - Grey"
The three dots indicating she was typing appeared and disappeared several times before her response finally came through.
"One dinner. One conversation. That's it."
I closed my eyes and let out a breath I'd been holding for weeks. It wasn't forgiveness, but it was a chance, and that was more than I deserved.
The next evening, I arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes early, choosing a corner table that would give us privacy while keeping Cassie from feeling trapped. My hands shook as I straightened my tie for the fifth time, and I had to resist the urge to order a whiskey to calm my nerves. I needed to be completely present for this conversation, completely honest in a way I'd never managed to be during our marriage.
When she walked through the heavy wooden door, I felt my heart stop. She looked different—thinner, more self-contained, like she'd built walls I wasn't sure I'd be able to breach. But she was still the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, still the only person who'd ever made me want to be better than I was.
I stood when she approached, running my hand through my hair in that nervous gesture I'd never been able to break.
"Thank you for coming," I said, pulling out her chair.
"I almost didn't." Her honesty was like a knife between my ribs, but I welcomed it. After months of lies and half-truths and careful omissions, her brutal directness felt like absolution.
"I'm glad you did." I settled across from her, acutely aware of the space between us, the careful way she held herself apart from me.
We ordered—the salmon for her, steak for me, a bottle of wine that neither of us really touched. For the first few minutes, we made awkward small talk about work, about the weather, about anything that didn't touch on the minefield of our relationship. But eventually, inevitably, we ran out of safe topics.
"You look good," I said, because it was true and because I needed to say something real.
"You look tired," she replied, and I could see her cataloging the changes in my face—the weight I'd lost, the new lines around my eyes, the way grief and regret had aged me in ways that had nothing to do with time.
"I am tired. Tired of missing you. Tired of waking up every morning in our empty apartment, trying to figure out how to live with what I've done."
She was quiet for a moment, studying me with those dark eyes that had always seen too much.
"Why did you run, Grey? Really. Not the therapy-speak version, not the explanation you've practiced. Why did you get on that plane?"
The question I'd been dreading, the one I'd spent months in Dr. Mitchell's office trying to answer. I took a sip of wine, buying myself time, then set the glass down and looked directly at her.
"Because I was terrified of how much I wanted you. How much I wanted the baby, wanted the family, wanted the whole beautiful future I could see stretching out in front of us."
Her brow furrowed. "That doesn't make sense. If you wanted it—"
"My father left when I was eight," I said, cutting her off before I could lose my nerve. "Just packed his bags one morning and disappeared. No goodbye, no explanation, just gone. My mother told me he said families were traps, that love was a cage that made weak men out of strong ones."
Cassie's expression softened slightly, but she didn't speak.
"I spent my whole life believing that. Believing that caring too much about someone was dangerous, that needing someone was weakness. I built my entire identity around being self-sufficient, around not needing anyone or anything I couldn't control."
"But you married me."
"I married you because I couldn't help myself. Because you were the first person who ever made me want to risk everything." I leaned forward, desperate for her to understand. "But wanting something that much terrified me, Cassie. The thought of losing you, of losing our baby, of having this incredible happiness and then watching it disappear the way my father disappeared..."
"So you left first."
"So I left first. I told myself I was protecting us both, that if I walked away before we got too deep, before I had too much to lose, it would hurt less when it inevitably fell apart."
The words hung between us, ugly in their honesty. I watched her process them, saw the moment she began to understand the twisted logic that had driven me away from everything I'd ever wanted.
"That's the most cowardly thing I've ever heard," she said finally.
"I know."
"You destroyed our marriage because you were afraid it might not work out."
"I know."
"You abandoned me when I needed you most because you couldn't handle the possibility of being abandoned yourself."
"Yes." The word felt like swallowing glass. "And I will regret that choice for the rest of my life."
She was quiet for a long moment, her food untouched on her plate.
"I used to think the worst thing about losing the baby was going through it alone," she said finally. "But you know what I realized? The worst thing was that you made that choice for me. You decided I wasn't strong enough to handle your fear, wasn't worthy enough to fight for, wasn't worth the risk."
Each word was a blow, perfectly aimed and devastating in its accuracy.
"You're right," I said. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being too weak to stay, for being too cowardly to fight, for making decisions about our marriage without including you in them."
"Apologies don't fix anything, Grey. They don't undo the damage."
"I know they don't. But they're all I have to offer right now, along with the promise that I'm doing the work. Real work. Dr. Mitchell has me doing EMDR therapy for the trauma from my father's abandonment. I'm in a men's group for people with abandonment issues. I'm learning how to sit with fear instead of running from it."
Something flickered in her eyes—not forgiveness, but maybe the beginning of understanding.
"What made you come back?"