Chapter 2

2

My childhood friend, George, fumed. "You raised that ungrateful brat, and he throws it back in your face."

"After you married Jenny, her career took off. You gave up your own dreams to support her. And this is how he repays you."

"I can't believe you let this happen. If you'd taken that Arizona project, you wouldn't be in this mess!"

George knew how much I'd sacrificed for this family.

He felt the injustice, and the bitterness in my own heart was overwhelming.

Rick took Jenny's body, collapsing in grief over her casket.

The newspapers ate it up.

Everyone was touched by their fifty-year, unconsummated love story.

No one cared that I was her husband.

Later, Rick, dressed in mourning clothes, knelt before me, begging me to publicly declare that Jenny and I had been divorced.

He was a war hero, back from Arizona with medals and accolades. Everyone expected me to agree.

It was a cruel power play, a way to flaunt his place in Jenny's heart.

His performance sickened me.

He said, "Peter, if I hadn't been in Arizona, Jenny and I wouldn't have lost all those years."

"Please, give her to me. I couldn't have her in life, let me at least have her in death."

Each word was a dagger, twisting in the wound of my wasted years.

Steven stood behind Rick, tears in his eyes, seemingly moved by his words.

That's when I noticed it: Steven's almond-shaped eyes, so like Rick's.

The pieces clicked into place.

Steven wasn't an orphan. He was their son.

Steven. A constant reminder of Jenny's longing for Rick.

I'd been so blind. The woman I loved had deceived me from the start.

And Steven, he must have known all along. But with Rick in Arizona, he'd needed me.

Now, reunited with his father, I was expendable.

I laughed, a hollow sound. "As you wish."

Relief flooded Rick's face, but I didn't let him savor it. "Not only do I not want Jenny anymore, I don't want your bastard son either!"

Rick stared at me. "He's the child you raised for years. You'd give him up?"

Still playing the part. I spat, "The child *I* raised? Or the child *you* fathered?"

Rick's eyes widened. "You knew?"

Steven looked between us, then sided with Rick. A decorated war hero father versus an aging, heartbroken man in a small town. An easy choice.

I ignored Steven's look of guilt. "Get out."

I left the house and walked to the river, memories flooding back.

On our wedding night, Jenny told me she'd fallen through the ice as a child, rescued by a childhood friend.

It had left her with a condition that made intimacy difficult.

I'd felt so much guilt, so much regret for not being there to protect her.

For fifty years, I'd been patient, understanding. Our love had been…platonic.

She knew my desires, my needs, and she lied.

It wasn't that she *couldn't*, it was that she wouldn't *with me*.

I remembered her naming Steven, the effortless way she'd chosen his name.

A wave of nausea hit me, and I coughed up blood.

Fifty years, longing for another man.

I should have hated her, but I couldn't even cry.

My life, a wasted devotion. A pathetic joke.

I remembered our wedding night, my blushing confession: "From this day forward, forever and always."

Now, all I could think was, "If I'd known then what I know now, I never would have crossed your path."

Then, I woke up. Back to the year we were married.