The Journey Home

“Okay, who wants to go first?” The short woman sitting across from me asks, almost begging us to speak. I’ve come to know her as Mrs. Carter, a therapist in our small town of Boulder, Nevada. I look across the grey couch at the person sitting beside me, somebody I used to say I’d do anything for, and continue to feel the couch’s scratchy material as I refuse to be the first to speak. 

“I guess I’ll go,” he starts as I keep my head down, unwilling to make eye contact. “Natalie is mad at me because I cheated on her with my secretary. I can’t apologize to her because she won’t listen to my side of things, and I want to fix what happened. I miss her. I thought coming here and talking with you might help.”  

Him saying this brought me back to what happened that horrible night in July. I drowned both of them out as I began thinking about what I haven’t allowed myself to think about since it happened six months ago. The fight became a blur over time, but I do remember the slamming doors, the piercing screams, and my voice telling him to leave and never come back. 

“I know you’re hurt right now,” he’d said. “So if you really want me to go I’ll go. That doesn’t mean I’m giving up on us, Natalie.” His last words to me echo through my head.

“Did you hear me?” Mrs. Carter asks, snapping me out of the nightmare replaying in my head. 

“No, I’m sorry, this is just difficult for me. Please, say it again.” 

Understanding, she says, “I think you both had the time you needed to calm down, so I’ll ask again, what made things go so wrong?” 

I honestly don’t have any idea why our relationship went sour. I hadn’t done anything to hurt him in my eyes. All I’d done was stay loyal and expect the same back from him. I decide if I’m going to say my side of things, I better do it now. 

“When Mark cheated on me, he expected me to understand why. I know he’s sorry, but doesn’t he know how much he hurt me?” I turn to him with tears in my eyes. “I never would’ve expected you, of all people, to hurt me like that. I loved you. I still do. And what you did makes me feel like you didn’t love me at all. Please, just tell me this. Why’d you do it?”

Getting that off my chest feels like a giant wrecking ball being lifted off my back. After holding it in for this long, I hadn’t realized how much it’d weighed over me, but now that it’s out in the open, all I feel is relief.

I look across the couch and wait to hear the explanation that I’ve been wanting this whole time.

“You were always working late nights, and I couldn’t take it anymore. You’d come home grouchy and take your anger out on me. Instead of causing a fight, I went behind your back to hurt you instead. I’m sorry I did it, I wish I’d never done it, and I wish you’d forgive me so we can work on fixing us. Even though things went bad for a while, that doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving you.” He blurted it out so quickly I thought he might simultaneously burst.

Halfway through his explanation my mind is blown. I hadn’t even thought about his perspective. I feel ashamed of myself for letting this happen, and for not realizing sooner. If I had any idea, then maybe none of this would’ve happened. 

Mrs. Carter looks me in the eye, and I can instantly tell that she sympathizes with both of us.

“Do you have anything you’d like to say?” She directs it at me as she looks back and forth between us, like she’s trying to gauge what’s about to happen.

I take a deep breath and look at the curtains on the windows, flapping back and forth from the wind like a baby bird learning to fly. It feels like they’re telling me to let go and say the one thing I never thought I’d be offering him: an apology.

“I didn’t realize I was doing that, and I’m so sorry you felt that way. If I would’ve realized sooner, none of this would’ve happened. You know how I can be when it comes to work, and I’m sorry I let my career get in between our relationship. But, this doesn’t excuse what you did entirely. You could’ve talked to me and we could’ve figured it out together like you’re supposed to do as adults in a mature relationship.” 

“I know my method wasn’t ideal,” he says. “But it was what I felt like I needed to do. Think about it this way: if I hadn’t done it, I never would’ve brought up how I was feeling. We would’ve just kept going about our lives as if nothing was wrong between us, and I have a feeling you knew back then that things weren’t feeling right.”

He’s right. If I’m being honest with myself, I can’t sit here and say that everything was like a fairytale when it wasn’t. I had the same feeling of unhappiness but I didn’t exactly know how to express myself. 

I can tell he’s about to ask me something important by the way he tilts his head at me and looks me in the eye, almost like a sad puppy dog.

“Can we please start over? Can we agree to start fixing things back to the way they were before?” He looks like he’s nervous about what I might say, which is why I take a few seconds before I answer.

“Well,” I start, noticing he looks a little defeated. “I think that’s a good idea.” His face instantly lights up. “But this time we have to promise each other that we’ll talk about things as soon as something comes up. If you’re feeling ignored or angry, you have to say something. I’ll do the same, and I’ll try to keep my work separated from my personal life. Is that a deal?” 

He smiles in that crooked yet perfect way I’d missed. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed him until this moment, where suddenly the fight and the past six months feel like lifetimes ago. I stand up and walk towards him with open arms, ready to be engulfed by a warmth I haven’t felt in a while. The sweet smell of trees and laundry detergent on his skin makes me feel something I haven’t felt in a while: I’m home.