Page 17 of We Drank the Dawn

My teeth clenched at his insinuation that he needed an apology from me. As if I was in the wrong by advocating for him.

“Why don’t you go home? We’ll try to talk again when both of us have calmed down.” His levelheadedness pissed me off sometimes. Why wouldn’t he just fight with me on occasion?

“I’m calm!”

“Sarah—”

“I’m serious. This is the calmest you’ll ever have me. So I vote we go home and argue so loud that the neighbors call the police and then have even louder make up sex. Doesn’t that sound fun?.” I reached down and tugged on his hand. “Let’s go!”

Peter stood off the couch, but his hands curled around my wrists, capturing them by his chest so I couldn’t pull away. “Sarah, listen to me.” He took a hard swallow. “If you think what’s going on in our marriage has nothing to do with you, you need to take a long, hard look in the mirror.”

“You sound insane. None of this is my fault.”

He puffed a breath of disbelief. “But not all of it is my fault either.”

“Yes, it is, Peter. If you would just stop feeling sorry for yourself, all of this would go away. It would disappear overnight.”

“But I can’t just snap out of it.”

“That’s the biggest load of bullshit. It’s just an excuse to not have to try.” I tried to pull my arms away, but he held me tighter.

“You don’t think I’m trying, Sarah?” His voice broke a little. “I’m so exhausted. Most days, it takes everything I have to just keep breathing. This is as good as it’s going to be for a while. Maybe even forever. And if you can’t be patient with me while I struggle, then leave.”

Patient while he struggles.

The temptation to slap him twitched in my palm.

My eyes flicked to the ring on my finger. The one I waited years for. I’d done my time with patience, and for him to suggest otherwise proved how out of touch he was.

“Peter Thompson.” I spoke through clenched teeth, cursing the tears welling in my eyes. “I wish you could see how that hurt me.”

He gave a bitter huff. “Well, I can’t.”

“I know. And that’s the problem.” When I jerked my hands, he let go and the sudden release caused me to stumble backward a step. With emotion gathering in my throat, I croaked. “Hang out with Mommy. I’ll be here to get you in the morning.”

And without a backward glance, I beelined for the front door.

I arrived home like a raging storm—tearing through the house and furiously cleaning—catching up on all the housekeeping I’d let slide. Moldy leftovers soured in the refrigerator, soap scum lined the bathtub, and a spill in the oven stunk up the house every time I preheated it. So I blared music and threw my soul into tasks. At 10:30 p.m., I was still wearing my scrubs and tennis shoes and hadn’t eaten dinner.

My hands cramped every few minutes. As did my feet.

Nutrition and hydration were next on my list. And a shower. Then sleep because I had to go to work in the morning. Tomorrow was Saturday, but I started working seven days a week months ago. Peter’s boss at Summit Financial, Chip, was the kindest, most patient man in the world. He had tried to bring Peter back after rehab, and even let him work remotely, but it didn’t work out. Peter lost his passion for everything. And it showed.

Thankfully, I had a steady flow of repeat clients for my massage therapy and I made enough to keep us from tapping into our savings too hard. Peter was able to get on disability, and that helped a little, too. But, even after Peter’s great insurance paid thousands to cover the damages, there were still out of pocket things to pay for that stretched us thin.

Peter’s cautious personality required him to have a plan and a safety net for everything which was why I patiently waited for every life milestone we achieved. Before we got married, he had to have a house, a good income, and a little nest egg. Before we had a baby, he had to have a big nest egg. I’d work three jobs and never sleep again before touching that savings.

Because without it, Peter would have one more excuse to delay starting our family.

“If you can’t be patient with me while I struggle, then leave.”

He had some nerve.

Peeling off my sweaty clothes, I stepped into the shower, trying to emotionally dodge the awful thoughts cropping up in my heart.

The accident destroyed my marriage.

Not just Peter’s eyesight.