Chapter 8: The Man Who Wanted Two Futures
Eric called me on a Thursday evening.
I was sitting at my kitchen table, reviewing the latest documents my attorney had sent, when his name appeared on my phone.
I watched it ring twice before answering.
"Hello.""
"Vanessa.""
His voice sounded tired.
Not angry.
Not defensive.
Just tired.
"What do you want, Eric?""
He exhaled slowly.
"We need to talk.""
"We've talked.""
"Not properly.""
I almost laughed.
For four months, he had avoided honest conversations with me.
Now he was insisting that we had never had one.
"Then say what you need to say.""
He hesitated.
"Can we meet somewhere?""
I considered refusing.
Then I remembered my attorney's advice: keep communications measured, avoid unnecessary confrontations, and don't let emotion determine the next step.
"If there's something important you need to tell me, you can tell me now.""
Another pause.
"All right.""
I waited.
"I think things have gotten out of control.""
I looked down at the papers in front of me.
"Things?""
"The party. The investigation. The way everyone is reacting.""
I closed the folder.
"Eric, I didn't announce your affair at my anniversary party.""
"I know.""
"I didn't tell Natalie to take the microphone.""
"I know.""
"And I didn't move money between accounts without explaining it to you.""
He was silent.
I continued.
"So tell me what you think has gotten out of control.""
His breathing grew heavier.
"Vanessa, I made mistakes.""
"You keep saying that.""
"Because it's true.""
"Then why do you keep talking about the consequences as if they're something I did to you?""
He didn't answer.
For several seconds, I heard only the faint hum of traffic on his end of the call.
Finally, he said, "I never wanted you to find out this way.""
I leaned back in my chair.
"How did you want me to find out?""
"I don't know.""
"Before or after you had finished moving money? Before or after you had decided what you wanted from the divorce? Before or after Natalie announced the pregnancy?""
"Please don't do this.""
"Do what?""
"Turn everything into an interrogation.""
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
Whenever I asked a question he couldn't answer comfortably, he treated the question itself as the problem.
"Eric, I'm not interrogating you. I'm asking you to take responsibility for your decisions.""
"I am trying to.""
"Then start by being honest.""
He went quiet.
I waited.
Eventually, he said, "I didn't know what I wanted.""
I looked at the ceiling.
"You knew enough to have an affair.""
"That's not fair.""
"Isn't it?""
"I was unhappy.""
"Then you should have told me.""
"I didn't want to hurt you.""
I let out a slow breath.
"You keep saying that as though secrecy was a kindness.""
He made a frustrated sound.
"I know how this looks.""
"No, Eric. You know how it feels to be caught.""
The silence that followed was so complete that I wondered whether the call had dropped.
Then he spoke.
"I did love you.""
The past tense struck me harder than I expected.
I gripped the edge of the table.
"Did?""
"I don't know how to explain it.""
"Try.""
He took a long breath.
"Over the years, things changed. We wanted a family. It didn't happen. We kept trying, and every disappointment became another thing we couldn't talk about without hurting each other.""
I stared at the papers.
"That's not entirely untrue.""
He sounded surprised.
"What?""
"Our struggle to have a child was difficult. For both of us.""
He exhaled, almost as if he were relieved that I had acknowledged it.
"But you turned that pain into a reason to betray me," I continued.
"I didn't.""
He went quiet again.
"I know.""
"Do you?""
"Yes.""
I waited.
Then he said something that changed the direction of the conversation.
"Natalie thought I was going to leave you immediately.""
I sat up straight.
"What?""
"She thought that once everyone knew about the baby, I'd move out and we'd start our life together.""
I stared at the wall.
"Didn't you tell her that?""
"I told her I was considering divorce.""
"That's not what she announced.""
"I know.""
I could hear the frustration in his voice.
"She kept pushing me to make everything public. She wanted people to know we were together. She wanted me to tell you I was leaving.""
"And you didn't?""
"Not until the party.""
I thought about Natalie's expression when Eric had hesitated.
The way she had demanded that he leave with her.
The way she had accused him of breaking a promise.
I had assumed she was simply being impatient.
Now I understood that she might have been waiting for a commitment he had never actually made.
"Why didn't you leave?"" I asked.
He hesitated.
"Because I wasn't ready.""
I felt a cold clarity settle over me.
"You weren't ready to leave your wife, but you were ready to tell another woman you loved her.""
"I know how that sounds.""
"It sounds like you wanted to keep both options open.""
He didn't answer.
I waited for him to deny it.
To insist that I had misunderstood.
To explain that he had been confused and frightened and unable to think clearly.
Instead, he said, "I didn't know how to make everyone happy.""
I closed my eyes.
There was the truth, stripped of every excuse.
He hadn't been trying to protect me.
He had been trying to avoid the consequences of choosing.
He wanted the security of our marriage while he explored a relationship with Natalie.
He wanted to decide when to leave, how much money would be available, and what story everyone would hear.
He wanted time.
And when Natalie forced the issue, he had allowed her to announce their affair in a room full of people who had come to celebrate me.
"Eric," I said quietly, "you don't get to make everyone happy by letting everyone else pay for your indecision.""
"I know.""
"Do you?""
"Yes.""
I rubbed my forehead.
"Then what are you asking me for?""
He hesitated.
"I want you to slow everything down.""
I stared at the phone.
"What does that mean?""
"The financial review. The lawyers. All of it. I want us to discuss things privately before they go any further.""
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Are you asking me to stop protecting my interests?""
"No.""
"Then what are you asking?""
He exhaled.
"I need time.""
I almost felt sorry for him.
He had spent months taking time for himself.
Time to meet Natalie.
Time to move money.
Time to discuss divorce.
Time to pretend our marriage was fine.
Now that the truth was out, he wanted more time.
"Eric, I can't give you the kind of time you're asking for.""
"Why not?""
"Because I don't trust you to use it honestly.""
He said nothing.
I continued.
"We can handle the divorce discussions, financial questions, and any other necessary matters through our attorneys. If there's something you need to explain, you can do it through that process.""
"You're really going to end our marriage?""
I looked at the wedding photograph on the shelf across the room.
I remembered the promises we had made.
I remembered how certain I had been that we would grow old together.
"I didn't end our marriage when I hired Grant," I said.
"I hired him because I suspected you were lying to me.""
"I know.""
"I didn't end it when I found the photographs.""
"I know.""
"I didn't end it when I learned you'd been discussing divorce.""
He was silent.
"You made choices, Eric. I'm responding to them.""
He breathed shakily.
"I never thought we'd end up here.""
"Neither did I.""
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he asked, "Do you hate me?""
The question caught me off guard.
I had expected another demand.
Another explanation.
Another attempt to make me responsible for his feelings.
Instead, he sounded like a man who had finally realized that the woman he had taken for granted might never look at him the same way again.
"No," I said.
He released a breath.
"But I don't trust you anymore. And I don't know whether that can be repaired.""
He began to speak, but I continued.
"That isn't a punishment. It's the truth.""
He fell silent.
I looked at the clock.
"I need to go.""
"Vanessa, wait.""
"What?""
"There's something else.""
I closed my eyes.
"Go ahead.""
He hesitated long enough that I almost ended the call.
Then he said, "Natalie is furious with me.""
I stared at the table.
"Why?""
"Because I told her I wasn't ready to move in with her.""
I said nothing.
"She thinks I promised her a future. She says I used her.""
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because I had spent years believing Natalie could never understand the damage caused by treating people as solutions to her problems.
Now she was accusing Eric of doing exactly that.
"What did you tell her?"" I asked.
"I told her things were complicated.""
"That isn't an answer.""
He sighed.
"I told her I needed to settle my marriage first.""
I sat very still.
"And what did she say?""
"She said the baby was going to change everything.""
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Did she tell you that she was pregnant before you began discussing divorce?""
"Yes.""
"Did you verify anything?""
He hesitated.
"What do you mean?""
"I mean, did you independently confirm the pregnancy, or did you accept what she told you?""
He was silent for several seconds.
Then he said, "She showed me a picture of a test.""
I waited.
"That's all?""
"She told me she'd made an appointment.""
"Did you go with her?""
"No.""
I closed my eyes.
I had no evidence that Natalie was lying.
A photograph of a test was not proof of deception, either.
But Eric's answer revealed something important.
He had made life-changing decisions based on information he had never fully verified.
He had accepted what he wanted to believe because it gave him an excuse to imagine a future beyond our marriage.
And now he was frightened that the future he had imagined might not unfold as easily as he expected.
"Eric," I said, "you need to discuss any questions about the pregnancy directly with Natalie and her medical provider. I cannot verify it for you, and I'm not going to become involved in that relationship.""
"I know.""
"Then why are you telling me this?""
He didn't answer immediately.
Finally, he said, "Because I don't know who else I can talk to.""
For a moment, the old instinct returned.
The instinct to comfort him.
To tell him he wasn't alone.
To help him untangle the consequences of his decisions.
Then I remembered the anniversary party.
Natalie's hand on his arm.
His silence.
The way he had watched me as though my pain were an inconvenience.
I could care about his distress without becoming responsible for resolving it.
"Eric, you need to speak with someone who isn't the wife you've betrayed.""
He inhaled sharply.
I continued.
"I'm not saying that to hurt you. I'm saying it because you need to take responsibility for your own decisions now.""
He whispered my name.
I ended the call.
For several minutes, I sat without moving.
The conversation had not given me all the answers.
But it had confirmed something I had begun to understand.
Eric had wanted to control the timing of our separation.
Natalie had wanted to force him into a commitment.
And the pregnancy announcement had become the weapon she used to make that commitment public before he was ready.
I still didn't know whether she was pregnant.
I didn't know whether Eric would ultimately choose to build a life with her.
But I no longer needed to know either thing to decide what I wanted.
I wanted honesty.
I wanted financial clarity.
I wanted a future in which I didn't have to question every explanation offered by the person sleeping beside me.
And I wanted to stop measuring my worth by whether a man chose to stay.
The next morning, I met with my attorney and explained the conversation.
She listened carefully.
Then she said, "Whatever Eric believes about his relationship with Natalie, the issues affecting you still need to be handled separately and properly.""
I nodded.
"Agreed.""
She reviewed the latest financial records and explained the options available for obtaining a clearer picture of our shared assets and obligations.
We discussed the next steps without making assumptions about the pregnancy or Eric's intentions.
When the meeting ended, I felt steadier than I had in weeks.
Not happy.
Not healed.
But steadier.
As I walked toward my car, my phone vibrated.
A message from Natalie appeared.
Eric told me you asked him whether I'm really pregnant.
I stopped walking.
Another message followed.
You have no right to question me about my baby.
I stared at the screen.
Then a third message appeared.
If you want the truth, maybe you should ask your husband what he promised me before he married you.
I read that sentence several times.
Before he married me?
Eric and I had been married for ten years.
Natalie had been part of our lives long before the affair.
What exactly was she suggesting?
I didn't reply.
I forwarded the messages to my attorney and saved them.
Then I put my phone away.
For the first time, I wasn't tempted to call Natalie and demand an explanation.
If she had something important to say, she could say it through the appropriate channels.
I wasn't going to let her drag me into another emotional confrontation.
But her final message stayed with me.
What he promised me before he married you.
I knew Eric had been hiding things.
I knew he had lied about his affair and his financial decisions.
Now I wondered whether Natalie was trying to imply that their relationship had begun long before the timeline I had uncovered.
If that was true, it would change my understanding of the betrayal.
If it wasn't, then she was using another accusation to provoke me.
Either way, I would not accept her words as proof.
May you like
I would wait for facts.
And those facts were about to arrive in a way none of us had anticipated.
