Chapter 11 I Can Carry My Own Bag
The car ride home had been quiet. Not the comfortable kind, but the kind that made every second stretch. As soon as the towering highrise building came into view, Holland shifted in her seat and reached for her bag. When the car finally pulled into the underground lot, she stepped out without waiting for Oliver. Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she walked toward the private elevator needing to be away.
Oliver was quick to follow, the sound of his footsteps growing louder behind her. “Holland... Holland wait...”
She didn’t slow down. She didn’t even answer. She was too exhausted to argue. The elevator door slid open, and Holland stepped inside, eyes fixed straight ahead. Oliver hurriedly joined her, standing beside her and far too close. The silence between them grew heavier as the doors closed.
He turned slightly and reached for her purse as he used to. “Here, let me carry that...”
“I can carry my own bag,” Holland said flatly, without looking at him.
Oliver’s hand dropped. “Okay,” he said quietly.
The numbers above the door lit up slowly with every ascent and Holland’s eyes stayed locked on them wishing she could magically teleport to her room.
Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He cleared his throat and turned to look at his wife, “About this morning…” he started, trying to sound softer than his usual tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Holland didn’t answer.
“I’m trying, Holland,” Oliver continued. “I know I’ve made mistakes. But I’m really trying here.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on the numbers. “There’s nothing to try,” she said simply. “Oliver, this would be a lot easier if we just went our separate ways.”
His jaw clenched, as the anger within him bubbled. “You say that like it’s nothing.”
“I say that like it’s the truth, Oliver."
“You don’t mean that, ” he retorted firmly.
“I do.”
At the fierce declaration, Oliver turned and punched the elevator wall hard. The dull thud echoed in the small space, but Holland didn’t flinch. She just closed her eyes.
“I don’t want a divorce,” he snapped. “I never have. I never will.”
Holland blinked slowly, her emotions tightly reigned, but within, she could feel her soul cool with hurt and exhaustion. They had been going in circles for more than two years now. This conversation had happened too many times too count.
“Why do you want to leave me so bad?” Oliver asked, his voice cracking slightly. “Why won't you let us work it out? Tell me, what... what do I need to do?”
Holland's throat tightened. She hated that question. Because once, not long ago, the man standing next to her meant the world to her. But now… she didn’t even know what he meant to her anymore. Was he a memory? Or the biggest mistake of her life?
“I just want you to be happy,” she said, barely above a whisper. “And it’s clear you’re not. We are not happy together. Not any more.”
“I am happy,” he said quickly. “Where you are, that’s where I’m supposed to be, Holland. That’s where I want to be, Honey.”
He reached for her hand just as the elevator doors opened to their private floor, but she pulled away. Stepping out of the elevator, she was greeted by silence, the kind of silence only money could buy. Thick and heavy. The soft lighting glowed golden against the ivory walls. A hallway stretched ahead, filled with sleek furniture and tall windows that overlooked the city. Their home took up the entire 43rd floor.
Holland pulled her hand away gently. “I’m heading to bed,” she said, stepping out.
“No!” Oliver called after her. “We need to talk about this!”
Holland turned around, her face tired. “What is there to talk about, Oliver? What else can we possibly say that hasn’t already been said?”
“You’re my wife,” he softly said, walking up to Holland. “And I’m never letting go of you. Till death do us part, that’s what we promised each other. And I intend to keep it.”
Holland looked at him. Really looked. And for a brief second, her heart twisted with something that felt like grief, “Oliver, marriage is more than just words,” she said softly. “It’s more than promises shouted in frustration. It's built on honesty, on truth. And we both know just how much you lack in that.”
"I meant what I said on that altar..."
“I know you meant it,” she said. "But doesn't erase what happened." Oliver looked at her like he was searching for something, some sign of hope, some crack in her armor. But she had none to give.
"What do I need to do to make it better, Honey," Oliver asked pleadingly, "I'll do it. I promise I will."
She didn't reply, instead, Holland turned and walked down the hallway, heels tapping against the polished wood floor, each step echoing louder than the last. She passed the living room, once full of laughter, and then the kitchen island where they used to share wine and late-night snacks. Everything was the same, but at the same time everything felt different.
Gone were the warm nights when they would stay up talking about the future. Gone were the quiet mornings with soft kisses and shared coffee. Gone were the dreams, the laughter, and the love.
All of it was gone.
She reached the bedroom door and paused. The room had once been their shared space. Now, it was hers. Behind her, Oliver had followed silently. He stood in the middle of the hallway, fists clenched at his sides, and her heart broke all over again.
"Goodnight, Oliver," Holland said, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind her. She leaned against it, her back pressing into the wood as if it was the only thing holding her up. Her hand remained on the handle, fingers clenched tightly, knuckles white with strain.
She moved blindly through her nightly routine. Her heart and mind laden, just as they were every night she stepped past the elevator door. Falling into bed, it took her a moment to release her pillow was growing damp with tears she hadn’t meant to cry. But they came anyway, slow and soft, sliding down her face as she reminisced it all.
How dare he? How dare he asks her that.
What could he do to make things better?
Nothing.
There was nothing left to do. His lies had already taken too much. They had hollowed out the trust she once had, burned through the love she had fought to hold onto. Her chest ached with the weight of old memories, sharp and raw even after all these years. It had been three years since she found out. Three long years since the truth broke her in a way she’d never imagined.
She had gone for another round of tests that day since the doctors had suggested more fertility exams, just to check again. She had gone alone, like always. Oliver never made it to those appointments. He hated hospitals. And every time she had gently suggested they both get checked, he'd brushed it off with the same excuse. There was nothing wrong with him, and his three kids were proof enough. Why would anything be wrong with him?
She had blindly believed him. She always had.
Oliver never wanted to get tested. Said it wasn’t necessary. To him, it was a waste of time and money. He used to tell her they just needed to relax, to let it happen naturally, as if their hopes and heartbreak could be soothed by patience alone. Yet, he seemed to remain oblivious to how her maternal clock was ticking and how she was getting older.
So she had let them test her. Again and again. And each time, when they found nothing wrong, she thought maybe they just missed something. Maybe it was still her fault. Maybe her body was broken in a way they couldn’t find.
She had carried that blame. Cried in secret. Prayed quietly. Hoped hard.
Until that day.
The doctor handed her the results and mentioned something about reviewing Oliver’s medical history. Holland frowned, confused. She hadn’t expected anything about him.
But there it was, printed clearly on the page. Vasectomy. Done nearly eight years ago. Long before she and Oliver had even met. Her hand had gone cold holding that paper. Her legs had felt weak, and she could vividly remember sitting in the clinic's parking lot, her heart thudding hard as she started at that word again and again. Vasectomy.
She called the clinic over and over, desperate to understand. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was someone else’s chart.
The nurse on the phone had paused for too long before responding. Her voice had turned soft, almost careful, as she explained that the procedure hadn’t recent, it had been in his records for years.
Years.
She had driven home in a daze. Walked into the house and into the life she’d built with a man who had kept this from her. A man who held her every night while she cried for the baby they would never have.
Oliver had greeted her like always. Smiled. Kissed her cheek, asked about her day and she had lied, saying it had been a good doctor's appointment.
He had no idea she knew. No idea she had found the one thing he had worked so hard to hide.
That night, she had locked herself in the bathroom and sat on the floor, staring at nothing. Her chest felt hollow. Her dreams felt dead.
Now, three years later, she was still lying in the same bed, crying the same tears. The pain hadn’t lessened, it had only learned how to hide better during the day and return stronger at night.
She wanted the divorce.
She needed it.
His explanations after she’d cornered him with the truth had done nothing to ease the wound. He’d said he was sorry. Said he hadn’t meant to lie. That he wanted to give her the family she dreamed of, but the procedure was irreversible.
He told her he loved her. That he’d live every day trying to make it up to her. That loosing her would be the end of him. That they could fix it all. But how do you fix something built on lies? How do you rebuild trust when the foundation was never real to begin with?
Holland had no answer. All she had was the ache, and the quiet, steady decision to let go. She couldn’t keep living like this, trapped in a marriage that had turned into a lie. Her fingers curled tightly into the blanket as she remembered all the times she begged him to take a test. All the times he refused.
So she had believed it was her. She had questioned her own worth, her womanhood, her body. And he let her.
He let her.
A fresh wave of pain crashed over her, and Holland let out a quiet sob. The kind that came from somewhere deep, too deep to reach. She had wanted a family. She had dreamed of holding a child with his eyes and her smile. Of building a life that was theirs. Together.
But that dream had died the day she saw that report. The day she realized the man she loved had taken that future away without even telling her.
Outside the bedroom, the floor creaked. She heard Oliver’s footsteps pause outside the door before then walking away after a while.
She stared up at the ceiling, her chest tight. Oliver had lied. And worse, he let her carry the pain for them both. Holland closed her eyes, more tears slipping out. No matter how much time passed, the hurt didn’t fade.
Her heart still ached for the child she’d never hold, for the future, the family he had stolen from her with his silence.