Kristina Knight - Breakup In A Small Town

And Adam just kept sliding away. He’d been moping around the house for months, rude to the doctors trying to help him, unavailable to comfort or care for their children...and he’d acted as if she existed only to force him to go to doctors’ appointments he didn’t want to attend.

“It’s our business, Jen, not his. Not theirs. We—”

“What’s this we you’re talking about? Yeah, we both signed the papers when they retired three years ago, and yes, we were both working on the expansion. But since the tornado it’s been me. I’ve paid the bills, ordered materials, approved layouts and figured out design issues.”

She could hear the boys in the kitchen, debating the merits of the mini muffins she’d left on the table for them against the sugary goodness of their favorite cereal. She intentionally lowered her voice. They didn’t need to hear their parents arguing, not on top of everything else. “I was the one who got the extension from the distributor in the first place, and I’m the one who has been busting my ass to win him back since your father treated him like a pariah. I begged you to go with me to a meeting last month, and all you did was stare out that damn window, feeling sorry for yourself. And now you’re surprised that, because you folded a freaking load of laundry, the life we’d been building is falling down around our ears?”

“What was I supposed to do? Go in this wheelchair? So he could take us on out of pity?” Adam put a hand on her arm, but Jenny jerked away from him.

“No, you were supposed to go as Adam Buchanan, a damn fine furniture designer. A man who, yeah, is temporarily in a wheelchair. The wheelchair doesn’t stop your mind from working.”

“No, the epilepsy does that,” he said, the words dripping with sarcasm.

“Temporarily. They’ll figure out a medication regimen—you heard the doctor. You’ll get the surgery for your hip and knee, and you’ll have your life back.” Jenny held her hands out at her sides. What wasn’t he understanding about this? “But you couldn’t even do a load of laundry without calling your mom for help. You know what that means, don’t you? It means for the first hour that I’m at work today, instead of actually working, I’ll be listening to her lecture me on your condition, as if I don’t already know it by heart.”

“I’ll call my mom—”

“No. No, I’ll deal with it, just like I’ve been dealing with everything else. But let me tell you one thing that you don’t know. I’m done, Adam. I’m done. I’ve been the supportive wife. I’ve been encouraging since the accident, and I’ve tried everything I know to help you deal with this. I still believe they’ll find the right medications, and I still hope that somehow the epilepsy won’t be permanent. When they find the right meds, and if the epilepsy goes away, I’ll be cheering for you.”

Jenny squeezed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “I hate that I’m angry. God, I don’t want to be angry at you. I’ve done my best to just be angry with the tornado or the destruction, but I’m not just angry about that. I can’t be the supportive wife when you refuse to be the husband who at least tries to deal with his condition. I can’t hold your hand while you refuse to even consider how to make this new life work for you.”

Adam’s face was a strange shade of red, as if he was just as angry as she. Maybe he was. He should be. Yes, the tornado had been awful, but he was still here. Alive. He had two amazing boys who were unhurt. Parents and a twin who loved him. He had had her, right up until the moment he’d called his mother to do the laundry. Jenny knew it was a silly thing to throw her over the edge. That should have gone to his refusal to meet with the service dog company, or his lies to the doctor trying to fix his brain. She shook her head as she picked up a pair of Frankie’s shorts. Carefully, she folded the garment into a square.

“I know about separating out the loads, now. It’s not that big a deal.” The redness had gone from his face. Adam tossed an unfolded pair of the boy’s underwear atop the carefully folded shorts, then a haphazardly folded T-shirt.

Jenny had thought Adam calling his mother to do their laundry was the last straw. It wasn’t. The carelessness with which he said the words and tossed the underwear made up that final straw. These things mattered. His involvement mattered.

His noninvolvement mattered even more. She was not going to go through her life desperately waiting for him to take an interest; she’d had enough of that as a child.

“I think you should move out,” she said, and she hated that her voice cracked over the words. She didn’t want him to go, but she couldn’t bear to watch him fade away like he’d been doing for the past three months. The boys deserved better.

She deserved better.

“Jenny, come on.”

She fled from the room before he could stop her, and didn’t pause at the kitchen to check on the boys. She didn’t slow down until her back was pressed against the closed door of their bedroom. She held a hand against her chest, felt her heart banging against her sternum, and refused to cry.

Laundry was supposed to be her first battleground, and it was killing her that it would be the only one. Fighting required two people—she couldn’t do it alone.

And she was through crying for Adam, for the life they’d had before the tornado.

She might still be alone, but she didn’t have to stay in the darkness.

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