I have to remind myself of those things. Sometimes the girl inside of me—the daughter of my father—is really opinionated. She tells me I shouldn’t have forgiven him. She tells me I should have left the first time. And sometimes I believe that voice. But then the side of me that knows Ryle understands that marriages aren’t perfect. Sometimes there are moments that both parties regret. And I wonder how I’d feel about myself had I just left him after that first incident. He never should have pushed me, but I also did things I wasn’t proud of. And if I’d have just left, would that not be going against our marriage vows? For better or for worse. I refuse to give up on my marriage that easily.
I am a strong woman. I’ve been around abusive situations my whole life. I will never become my mother. I believe that a hundred percent. And Ryle will never become my father. I think we needed what happened on the stairwell to happen so that I would know his past and we’d be able to work on it together.
Last week we got into another fight.
I was scared. The other two fights we’d gotten into did not end well, and I knew this would be a testament to whether or not our agreement for me to help him through his anger would work.
We were discussing his career. He’s finished with his residency now and there’s a three-month specialized course in Cambridge, England, he applied for. He’ll find out soon if he was approved, but that’s not why I was upset. It’s a great opportunity and I’d never ask him not to go. Three months is nothing with how busy we are, so that wasn’t even what got me so upset. I became upset when he discussed what he wanted to do after the Cambridge trip was over.
He was offered a job in Minnesota at the Mayo Clinic and he wants us to move there. He said Mass General is rated the second best neurological hospital in the world. Mayo Clinic is number one.
He said he never intended to stay in Boston forever. I told him that would have been a good subject to bring up when we discussed our futures on the flight to get married in Vegas. I can’t leave Boston. My mother lives here. Allysa lives here. He told me it was only a five-hour flight and that we could visit as often as we wanted. I told him it was pretty hard to run a floral business when you live several states away.
The fight continued to escalate and both of us were getting angrier by the second. At one point, he knocked a vase full of flowers off the table and onto the floor. We both just stared at them for a moment. I was scared, wondering if I had made the right decision to stay. To trust that we could work on his anger issues together. He took a deep breath and he said, “I’m going to leave for an hour or two. I think I need to walk away. When I get back, we’ll continue this discussion.”
He walked out the door and, true to his word, he came back an hour later when he was much calmer. He dropped his keys on the table and then walked straight to where I was standing. He took my face in his hands and he said, “I told you I wanted to be the best in my field, Lily. I told you this the first night we ever met. It was one of my naked truths. But if I have to choose between working at the best hospital in the world and making my wife happy . . . I choose you. You are my success. As long as you’re happy, I don’t care where I work. We’ll stay in Boston.”
That’s when I knew that I had made the right choice. Everyone deserves another chance. Especially the people who mean the most to you.
It’s been a week since that fight and he hasn’t mentioned moving again. I feel bad, like I thwarted his plans in some way, but marriage is about compromise. It’s about doing what’s best for the couple as a whole, not individually. And staying in Boston is better for everyone in both of our families.
Speaking of families, I look over at my phone right as a text from Allysa comes through.
Allysa: Are you finished up at work yet? I need your opinion on furniture.
Me: Be there in fifteen minutes.
I don’t know if it’s the impending delivery or the fact that she’s not currently working, but I’m pretty sure I’ve spent more time at her house this week than I have at my own. I close up the shop and head toward her apartment.
• • •
When I step off the elevator, there’s a note taped to her apartment door. I see my name written across it, so I pull it off the door.
Lily,
On the seventh floor. Apartment 749.
—A
She has an apartment here just for extra furniture? I know they’re rich, but even that seems a little excessive for them. I get on the elevator and press the button for the seventh floor. When the doors open, I head down the hall toward apartment 749. When I reach it, I have no idea if I should knock or just go inside. For all I know, someone could live here. Probably one of her people.
I knock on the door and hear footsteps from the other side.
I’m shocked when the door swings open and Ryle is standing in front of me.
“Hey,” I say, confused. “What are you doing here?”
He grins and leans against the doorframe. “I live here. What are you doing here?”
I glance at the pewter number plate next to the door and then back at him. “What do you mean you live here? I thought you lived with me. You’ve had your own apartment this whole time?” I would think an entire apartment would be something a husband would bring up to his wife at some point. It’s a little unnerving.
Actually, it’s ludicrous and deceptive. I think I might be really angry at him right now.
Ryle laughs and pushes off the doorframe. Now he’s filling up the entire doorway as he lifts his hands to the frame over his head and grips it. “I haven’t really had a chance to tell you about this apartment, considering I just signed the paperwork on it this morning.”