The next few days passed in a strange kind of quiet.
Ryan woke when the twins woke.
He helped prepare bottles.
He changed diapers without waiting for me to ask.
He learned which songs settled Mia and which ones made Ava stare at him as if she were trying to understand his voice.
He took the early morning shift when I was too tired to keep my eyes open.
I noticed every effort.
I also noticed every time he looked at me afterward, searching for some sign that I had noticed.
I understood why he wanted reassurance.
He had hurt me, and he wanted to know whether anything he did could make a difference.
But I could not become the person responsible for making him feel better about the work he should have been doing all along.
One morning, I found him sitting beside the nursery window with Mia asleep against his chest.
The sunlight touched the side of his face.
He looked down at her with a tenderness that made my chest ache.
When he noticed me, he smiled.
"She finally fell asleep."
"She likes being held upright."
"I figured that out."
I nodded and reached for Ava's clean clothes.
Ryan watched me fold them.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You can ask."
"Are you still angry with me?"
I set down the tiny shirt.
"Yes."
His smile disappeared.
"Okay."
I looked at him.
"Why did you ask me that?"
"I guess I was hoping you'd say it was getting easier."
"It is getting easier to get through the day."
He waited.
"That doesn't mean I'm less angry."
He nodded.
"I understand."
I wasn't sure he did, but I didn't explain further.
I had begun to realize how often I felt compelled to translate my emotions into something he could accept.
If I was quiet, he worried I was shutting him out.
If I was angry, he thought we were going backward.
If I laughed at something the twins did, he sometimes looked relieved, as if happiness meant the worst had passed.
But I could laugh and still be hurt.
I could feed the babies and still wonder what my husband had been doing while I waited for his calls.
I could sit beside him at breakfast and still feel a distance between us that had not existed before.
Those things could all be true at once.
Later that morning, Ryan asked whether I wanted to take the girls for a walk.
I looked outside.
The sky was clear, and the street was quiet.
"Maybe after their next feeding," I said.
"I'll get the stroller ready."
He went to the hallway closet.
I followed him a moment later and found him trying to unfold the stroller with one hand while holding a bag of diapers in the other.
I almost smiled.
"You're making that harder than it needs to be."
He looked at the stroller.
"I was trying to be efficient."
"Put the bag down first."
He did.
The stroller opened.
For a moment, we both laughed.
It was a small, familiar sound.
I felt the warmth of it before the memory of the harbor returned.
My laughter stopped.
Ryan noticed.
He didn't ask me to keep smiling.
He simply adjusted the stroller handle and waited.
That helped more than an apology would have.
We took the girls around the block.
Mia fell asleep almost immediately.
Ava stayed awake, turning her head toward the trees whenever the leaves moved.
Ryan walked beside me, keeping one hand on the stroller.
For a while, we talked about ordinary things.
The weather.
The groceries we needed.
Whether the girls had outgrown their smallest clothes.
I found myself wanting to tell him something funny Ava had done the previous night.
I started the story, then stopped.
Ryan looked at me.
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
He waited.
I tried again.
"She sneezed while I was changing her, and she startled herself so badly that she started crying."
Ryan laughed.
"That sounds like Ava."
"It was ridiculous."
I laughed, too.
For several seconds, I forgot to be careful.
Then the thought came back.
I had wanted to share these moments with him while he was away.
Now that he was here, I wasn't sure how much of myself I could safely share.
I didn't want to punish him by withholding every ordinary detail of my life.
But I couldn't pretend that the ease between us had returned.
As we turned onto our street, Ryan spoke.
"I missed walking with you."
I looked ahead at the stroller.
"I missed you, too."
He glanced at me.
"Do you think we can get back to that?"
I took a slow breath.
"I think we can walk around the block."
He looked disappointed for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"Right."
I wasn't trying to be cruel.
I was trying to keep the truth small enough to hold.
I could not promise him that we would recover our old marriage.
I could only decide whether I was willing to take the next step.
That afternoon, I called my sister, Lauren.
I hadn't told her what had happened at the harbor.
She knew Ryan had returned home, and she had asked whether the girls were adjusting to having him around.
I had answered that everything was fine.
The words had come out automatically.
When she called again, I almost gave the same answer.
Instead, I said, "Something happened."
Her voice changed.
"What kind of something?"
I sat at the kitchen table and looked at the feeding notebook beside me.
"Ryan was seeing someone while he was away."
There was a pause.
Then Lauren asked, "Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"Claire, I'm so sorry."
I closed my eyes.
For days, I had been trying to keep the truth inside the house.
Hearing someone else acknowledge it made the situation feel more real.
I told her about the harbor.
I told her about seeing Ryan kiss Simone.
I told her how he had admitted the affair and ended it the next day.
Lauren listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked, "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know."
"That's okay."
"I keep thinking I should know."
"You just found out. You don't have to make a decision because everyone else would like the uncertainty to be over."
I pressed my fingertips against the table.
"I don't want to make a mistake."
"You can't guarantee that every choice will be painless."
"I know."
"Then start with what you need right now."
I looked toward the living room, where Ryan was folding a blanket beside the twins.
"I need him to be honest."
"Then tell him that."
"I have."
"Tell him again if you need to. And Claire, don't confuse giving him a chance to prove himself with promising to stay."
I felt tears gather in my eyes.
"I don't want the girls to lose their family."
"Your girls still have their family," Lauren said gently. "What happens with your marriage is something you'll have to work through. But you don't have to solve it today."
I wiped my cheek.
"Can I come over sometime this week?"
"Of course."
"I might need to get out of the house for a little while."
"Then come over. Bring the girls if you want. Or come alone if Ryan can watch them."
I glanced at him again.
The idea of leaving the twins with Ryan for an afternoon still felt complicated.
But he was their father.
Caring for them was not a favor he was doing for me.
It was his responsibility.
"Let me see how the next couple of days go," I said.
"All right. But call me whenever you need to."
After we hung up, I sat quietly for a while.
I had not realized how lonely I had become.
Ryan had been away, and I had missed him.
Then he came home, and I had been afraid to let anyone else know how badly he had hurt me.
I had been trying to protect the image of our family even while I was struggling to understand what remained of it.
I didn't want to do that anymore.
That evening, I told Ryan that I had spoken to Lauren.
He was sitting on the living-room floor, helping Ava reach for a soft toy.
"Did you tell her what happened?" he asked.
"Yes."
He looked down.
"Okay."
"She asked how I was doing."
"What did you tell her?"
"That I don't know what I'm going to do yet."
He nodded slowly.
"That's fair."
I sat on the sofa.
"I need you to understand that I'm going to talk to people I trust. I'm not going to hide this to protect you."
"I wouldn't ask you to."
"I know. But I need to say it anyway."
He placed the toy beside Ava.
"You should be able to talk to whoever you need to."
I studied his face.
There was no argument.
No request that I keep his mistake private.
It was a small thing, but I appreciated it.
I didn't tell him that.
Not yet.
Later, after the twins were asleep, Ryan came to the bedroom doorway.
"Would it be okay if I sat with you for a while?"
I looked up from the book I had been holding without reading.
"Here?"
"Only if you're comfortable with it."
I thought about the question.
A week earlier, I would not have needed to consider whether my husband could sit beside me.
Now even that felt like something I had to choose.
"You can sit," I said.
He came in and sat on the far side of the bed.
He didn't touch me.
We listened to the quiet house.
After a while, he said, "I know I can't ask you to be the same with me right now."
I kept my eyes on the book.
"No, you can't."
"I miss you."
I swallowed.
"I miss who I thought we were."
He took a slow breath.
"I don't know what to say to that."
"You don't have to say anything."
So he didn't.
We sat together for several minutes without trying to fix the silence.
When he finally stood, he paused beside the door.
"Good night, Claire."
"Good night."
He left the room.
I put the book on the bedside table and turned off the lamp.
I was still angry.
I was still hurt.
But I was beginning to understand that I could let Ryan take a step toward me without promising to meet him halfway.
I could accept a quiet evening.
I could appreciate a walk with the stroller.
I could laugh at something our daughter did.
None of those things meant I had forgiven him.
They meant I was still living my life.
And for now, that was enough.
*END PART 11**
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: The First Time I Left Ryan Alone With the Twins, I Had to Face the Difference Between Protecting My Children and Carrying Every Burden Myself
I Thought Our First Family Reunion Would Be the Happiest Morning of My Life Until I Saw Who Was Waiting Beside My Husband
Part 11 of 20
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