Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN I BLAMED
I wish I could say I understood everything that night.
I didn’t.
Shame is not the same thing as accountability.
At first, shame only made me desperate.
Desperate people look for exits.
And the easiest exit was anger.
The next morning, I called my attorney, Richard Hall, before sunrise.
He had represented my company through two acquisitions and a partnership dispute.
When I told him Maren had moved out with Noah and filed for divorce, he went silent.
Then he asked the question I did not want to answer.
“Is there another woman?”
I looked at the photographs scattered across my kitchen.
“Yes.”
“How documented?”
“Very.”
“How very?”
“Private investigator.”
Richard exhaled.
“That very.”
I hated his calmness.
“She took my son.”
“She relocated with your son.”
“Without telling me.”
“Given what you’ve just described, Damien, we need to be careful about language.”
“I’m his father.”
“Yes.”
“So she can’t just disappear.”
“She hasn’t disappeared. Her attorney contacted you, and you know the child is safe.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“That is something we can address properly.”
“I want an emergency hearing.”
“For what emergency?”
That stopped me.
“My son was taken from his home.”
“Was he endangered?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any history suggesting Maren would endanger him?”
“No.”
“Any reason to believe she left the state permanently?”
“I don’t know.”
“Any reason to believe she’s trying to prevent legal contact beyond requesting that communication go through counsel?”
I looked at her note.
“No.”
Richard’s voice lowered.
“Then this is not the moment to punish your wife for leaving you.”
“She left with my child.”
“And why did she leave, Damien?”
I said nothing.
He knew me well enough to wait.
I finally whispered, “Because she found out.”
“Then the smartest thing you can do is stop reacting like this was done to you.”
I hung up on him.
That is how far I still had to fall.
By nine, I was outside Cassie’s apartment.
She opened the door wearing one of my shirts.
That should have told me everything about how confident she was that my life had already shifted toward hers.
Her smile faded when she saw my face.
“What happened?”
“Maren knows.”
Cassie blinked.
Then she stepped aside.
I did not enter.
“She filed for divorce.”
“Oh.”
That was all she said.
Oh.
“She took Noah.”
Cassie reached for my arm.
I moved away.
“Damien, I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
Her expression changed.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know.”
I dragged a hand over my face.
“I don’t know what anything means right now.”
She folded her arms.
“Did she leave a note?”
“Yes.”
“Did she mention me?”
I laughed once.
It sounded ugly.
“There are photographs of us, Cassie.”
Her face lost color.
“What photographs?”
“Hotels.
Restaurants.
Shopping.”
“You were followed?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
She looked past me toward the hallway as though the investigator might still be there.
Then she said, “Okay.”
I stared at her.
“Okay?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“You told me your marriage was basically over.”
My throat tightened.
“I told you things were difficult.”
“No, Damien.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You told me Maren barely spoke to you anymore.
You told me she cared about nothing except the baby.
You told me you felt like a stranger in your own house.”
Every sentence landed exactly where it deserved to.
Because I had said all of them.
Cassie continued.
“You said you hadn’t felt wanted in months.”
“Maren had just given birth.”
“You knew that when you said it.”
I looked at her.
That was the first moment I understood something I had not allowed myself to see before.
Cassie was not responsible for my vows.
I was.
She had known I was married.
That mattered.
But she had not stood in a church beside Maren.
She had not held Maren’s hands and promised fidelity.
She had not cried over Noah in a hospital room and promised to protect the family that created him.
I had.
Cassie stepped closer.
“Maybe this is the thing that finally makes you leave.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She touched my chest.
“You said you were miserable.”
My body went still.
Miserable.
I thought about Maren asleep in the hospital with Noah curled against her.
Maren laughing when I assembled the crib backward.
Maren dancing barefoot in the kitchen at seven months pregnant because Noah kicked whenever music played.
Maren texting me photographs during the workday.
Your son just pooped through his entire personality.
No.
I had not been miserable.
I had been inconvenienced.
There is a difference.
Marriage after Noah became harder.
Sex nearly disappeared.
Dinner happened at strange hours.
Maren was tired.
I was tired.
She touched me less.
She asked me to do more.
Laundry.
Sterilizing bottles.
Picking up groceries.
Holding the baby while she showered.
Normal things.
But I had spent years building a life where nearly every demand could be delegated.
Assistants handled schedules.
Drivers handled airports.
Employees handled crises.
Restaurants handled food.
Housekeepers handled cleaning.
Then a seven-pound infant arrived who did not care what my watch cost.
Noah needed me when he needed me.
Maren needed me when she needed me.
And instead of becoming a husband and father large enough for that responsibility, I found a woman who expected nothing from me except attention and expensive dinners.
Cassie squeezed my arm.
“Stay here today.”
I looked at her apartment.
Candles.
White sofa.
No bottles drying near the sink.
No burp cloths.
No laundry basket filled with onesies.
No crying baby.
No exhausted woman asking me to hold my own son.
For months, I had mistaken the absence of responsibility for happiness.
“I need to go.”
Cassie’s fingers tightened.
“Damien.”
“I need to go.”
“What happens to us?”
The question followed me into the hallway.
I turned.
She looked suddenly younger.
Not innocent.
Just uncertain.
And I realized I had never promised her anything clearly.
I had only implied.
That was another cowardice.
“I don’t know.”
Her eyes hardened.
“You knew yesterday.”
Yesterday, I had bought her diamonds.
Yesterday, I had told myself I deserved a few hours of uncomplicated pleasure.
Yesterday, Maren had been carrying boxes out of our house while I watched Cassie try on jewelry.
I said, “Yesterday I was lying to everyone.”
Cassie gave a short laugh.
“Especially yourself?”
“Yes.”
For once, there was nothing clever to add.
I left.
At eleven, Maren’s attorney emailed my attorney.
Temporary parenting arrangements.
That subject line made my pulse jump.
Maren was willing to allow a video call with Noah that evening.
Supervised by her sister, Elise.
Seven p.m.
No location would be disclosed.
I spent the entire day staring at the clock.
At 6:58, I sat at my kitchen table with my laptop open.
The house behind me looked cavernous.
I nearly moved to the living room because I did not want Maren to see the emptiness.
Then I realized she already knew.
She had created it.
At seven exactly, the screen changed.
Elise appeared.
Maren’s older sister had never liked me very much.
Before Noah, I had considered that a personality flaw.
Now I wondered if she had simply seen me more clearly than Maren did.
“Hello, Damien.”
“Where is Maren?”
“This call is for Noah.”
“I just want to—”
“This call is for Noah.”
I swallowed.
“Okay.”
The camera shifted.
Then I saw him.
My son.
Noah lay on a blue blanket wearing a green onesie covered in little white clouds.
His fists moved near his face.
His cheeks looked fuller than I remembered.
My chest collapsed inward.
“Hey, buddy.”
My voice broke immediately.
Noah blinked toward the screen.
I leaned closer.
“Hey.”
He made a small sound.
A soft grunt.
I laughed and cried at the same time.
Elise said nothing.
“Daddy misses you.”
The words escaped before I thought about whether I had the right to say them.
Noah’s mouth opened.
For one insane moment I imagined he recognized me.
Then he sneezed.
I smiled.
“You still do that twice.”
He had always sneezed twice.
Once.
Pause.
Then again.
The second sneeze came.
My eyes filled.
Chapter 3Behind the edge of the screen, I heard a floorboard creak.
I knew Maren was nearby.
“Maren?”
Elise’s face returned.
“Don’t.”
“I know she can hear me.”
“This is your time with Noah.”
“Please.”
Her expression tightened.
“You have eighteen minutes left.”
I closed my eyes.
When she moved the camera back toward Noah, I forced myself to stay focused on him.
I told him nonsense.
That his Orioles onesie still looked ridiculous.
That I had finally figured out how to install the car seat without watching a tutorial.
That the plant in the kitchen was dying because his mother had apparently been the only reason anything survived in our house.
I sang the first half of a song I used to hum when I walked him through the hallway at night.
Halfway through, I forgot the words.
I stopped.
From somewhere off camera, Maren finished the next line.
Very softly.
I froze.
The room inside the screen went silent.
“Maren?”
No answer.
But I knew she was there.
For the first time since finding the note, I did not ask her to come home.
I did not ask where she was.
I did not ask how she could take Noah.
Instead I whispered, “I’m sorry.”
There was a long pause.
Then the call ended.
I stared at the black screen.
A minute later, an email arrived from her attorney.
Mrs. Pierce requests that future video calls remain focused solely on the child.
I read it twice.
Then I noticed another message.
From Cassie.
I can’t do this halfway, Damien.
Choose.
I looked at the word.
Choose.
Maren’s note had used the same one.
You chose her while I was holding our son.
For months, I had pretended I had not chosen anything.
That the affair was separate.
That marriage was marriage.
Cassie was Cassie.
Work was work.
Fatherhood was fatherhood.
I had divided my life into rooms and acted surprised when the walls collapsed.
My phone buzzed again.
Cassie.
I answered.
“What?” I asked.
Her voice was cold.
“Are you coming over tonight?”
“No.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No.”
A pause.
“So that’s it?”
I stared into the dark nursery across the hallway.
The diamonds were still lying where they had fallen.
“Yes.”
Cassie laughed bitterly.
“You’re blaming me because your wife caught you.”
“No.”
The word came more easily than I expected.
“I’m blaming myself because my wife caught me.”
Silence.
Then Cassie said, “You’ll call when you realize she’s not taking you back.”
That sentence stayed with me long after she hung up.
Because beneath the cruelty was a possibility I had refused to consider.
May you like
Maren might never take me back.
And for the first time, I understood that being sorry did not mean I was owed forgiveness.
