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WHAT HAD SHE BEEN THINKING? Why had she believed that waiting to hear her husband’s response would be easier than having it all out in the open? It was too late now though. Just a minute or two after she locked herself into the bedroom, she’d heard the front door slam shut and then listened as Greg pulled the car out of the driveway.
She’d started a dozen different texts but didn’t know what to write.
How long would he be gone? Was he so angry he’d stay away forever?
Why had she told him at all? What good did she expect it to accomplish? And why had she come up with that stupid wait thirty minutes rule?
She should have never let him leave.
She should have never given him that note in the first place.
The irreversibility of what she’d done made her sick. She curled up in a ball under the blankets and watched the clock.
Thirteen minutes.
Twenty-one minutes.
Thirty-two minutes.
Still no Greg.
Forty-six minutes.
He was never coming home. They were through. What she’d done was unforgivable ... just as she’d expected.
Fifty-two minutes.
A car pulling into the driveway. Headlights shining in through her window.
The sound of her husband opening the front door and kicking off his boots.
“Katrina?”
She had never heard him sound like that, so uncertain and pained.
“Katrina?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, hating herself for how fervently she’d wished for him to come home.
He knocked on the bedroom door. “Can I come in?”
She’d forgotten she locked it. The last thing she wanted to do was get out of bed, but what choice did she have?
“Katrina? I’m not mad.” His voice was soft. She pulled the blankets off her and shivered from the cold. “I just want to talk and make sure you’re ok.”
She didn’t look at herself in the mirror. Didn’t want to see the blotchy eyes, the matted hair. How had she done this? How had she ruined such a good marriage in a single afternoon?
She unlocked the door.
“Can we talk?”
She hardly recognized her husband. Disheveled, frazzled, he looked nearly as awful as she did.
For the first time, she realized how thankful she was to see him. “I thought you were gone,” she croaked.
“I just had to take care of some things. But now I’m ready to talk if you are.”
She couldn’t stop the tears from leaking from her eyes. He had been so good to her, and she had destroyed him.
“I’m so sorry.” She sobbed out the words, waiting for his strong arms to wrap around her.
He didn’t move. “I know. Come on. Let’s talk out here.”
She dared to raise her eyes to his. Was he angry? Was he going to tell her they were through?
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, unable to take a step forward until he knew. Until he understood.
“We’ll talk about all that. Come on. We may as well make ourselves comfortable.”