Chapter 4: The Cherry Pit

I spent a week in Savannah with Aubrey.

We did all the things we never got to do—long walks on the pier, greasy brunches at diners, late-night drives with the windows down, laughter spilling into the humid air.

A week later, I returned home.

The drive from the airport felt longer than usual. My heart thudded as I pulled into our driveway, my suitcase thumping against my knee as I climbed the porch steps.

When I opened the door, I was greeted by laughter and warmth.

The smell of home-cooked food, cartoons blaring from the TV, my mom’s familiar voice—all of it hit me at once.

My mom had already been discharged from the hospital. She was holding my son, watching cartoons.

They were snuggled under a fleece blanket, my son giggling at some slapstick gag on the screen, my mom looking years younger than she did in the hospital photo.

Natalie had prepared a table full of dishes. The kitchen smelled like fresh-baked rolls and rosemary chicken, the kind of meal that said "welcome home" without a word. “Mom, come eat! Honey, you’re back!”

Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, flour dusted on her cheek. She flashed me that same bright smile from our first date.

“Daddy!”

My son ran over and hugged my leg, beaming.

He nearly knocked me off balance, his little arms squeezing tight. I ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head.

I bent down to pick him up, carried him to the dining table, and asked my mom how she was feeling.

She grinned, patting my hand. "You worry too much. I'm tougher than I look."

“If it weren’t for Natalie running around taking care of everything, I wouldn’t have been discharged so soon. You really need to thank her.”

Mom's voice was firm, her gratitude obvious. She always gave credit where it was due, and Natalie had certainly earned it.

Natalie smiled as she served me mashed potatoes. “We’re all family, no need to thank me! Honey, go wash your hands and eat. You probably didn’t eat well while you were away.”

She scooped another helping onto my plate, her eyes full of warmth and concern. For a second, I wanted to confess everything, but the words stuck in my throat.

Suddenly, I felt a wave of guilt.

It crashed over me—memories of candlelit dinners with Aubrey, the taste of wine on her lips—none of it belonged in this home.

These past few days, I’d taken Aubrey out for all kinds of expensive meals.

Every receipt burned in my pocket, a reminder of the lies I was living.

Aubrey messaged me: [Did you talk to her about divorce?]

The notification made my stomach clench. I tucked my phone into my pocket, dreading the conversation.

I put down my phone and said to Natalie, “Honey, I have something I want to talk to you about.”

My voice was too soft. She barely looked up from her plate, but she nodded.

Natalie washed a bowl of cherries and brought them into the study.

She’d always been thoughtful, never missed a detail. She set the bowl on the desk and motioned for me to sit.

As soon as I sat down, she popped one into my mouth. “My best friend’s family grew these themselves. Aren’t they sweet?”

Her laughter danced in the air, easy and light. For a moment, I forgot what I’d meant to say.

Yes, very sweet.

I chewed slowly, letting the taste fill my mouth, feeling the sweetness and the guilt twist together.

Looking at her smiling face, I just couldn’t say the word ‘divorce.’

The words dried up, shriveled by the weight of her trust. I looked away, ashamed.

“Sweet, very sweet.”

It was all I could muster, my voice thick.

She ate cherries while reaching for the pit in my mouth. “Come on, open up. I’m not letting you choke on a cherry pit, mister.”

She grinned and held her hand under my chin, waiting. I obeyed, feeling like a kid again, desperate for approval.

I wrapped my arms around her waist and rested my chin on her shoulder. “Honey, I love you.”

I buried my face in her hair, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, wishing I could erase the past week.

She giggled, “So mysterious just to tell me that! Alright, alright, I know! If that’s all, I’m going to help our son with his homework. You must be tired from your trip—go take a nap!”

She kissed my forehead before slipping out the door, leaving me alone with my conscience.

Aubrey messaged again: [?]

The notification glared at me. My head pounded. I tossed the phone onto the bed, wishing I could silence my thoughts as easily.

Annoyed, I tossed my phone aside, my mind in chaos.

The walls felt like they were closing in. I paced the room, desperate for someone—anyone—to listen.

I couldn’t tell anyone about me and Aubrey.

Confession wasn’t an option. It would wreck everything good I still had.

But I really wanted to vent, to talk to someone.

The loneliness pressed down on me, heavy and unrelenting.

I thought of my buddy Marcus.

He was the kind of friend who’d seen me at my worst and still answered my calls at midnight.

I asked him out for a drink.

We hit up this dive bar off Route 8, neon signs buzzing, the bartender pouring whiskey like he was doing me a favor.

I told him everything that happened in Savannah.

He listened, eyes wide, not interrupting until I’d spilled every detail.

I asked, “Should I divorce my wife and be with my ex-girlfriend?”

The question sounded pathetic out loud, but I needed to hear it.

Marcus said, “Here’s the thing, man—if she cheated once, she’ll cheat again. You want to spend the rest of your life playing the fool?”

He leaned back in his chair, that familiar smirk creeping across his face.

“What?” My eyes lit up with hope.

I was desperate for any answer that would make the choice easier. My hands shook as I waited.

Honestly, if someone gave me a little push right now, I’d probably make a decision.

I was that close to the edge—just needed a shove, one way or the other.

He slapped the bar, nearly spilling his drink. The bartender shot us a look, but Marcus just grinned wider.

But I couldn’t laugh. I could only rub my forehead helplessly. “Can you not jinx me? Sigh, I really owe her in this life.”

I ran a hand through my hair, wishing the world were simpler. Maybe Marcus was right.

“So you divorce your wife, then what? Marry her? She’s got twin daughters—are you planning to leave your own son behind and go raise her kids?”

The image made my heart sink. I hadn’t even thought that far ahead.

“It’s not like I can’t afford it.”

The words sounded hollow, even to me.

“Good for you. You’re a real fool. From now on, don’t invite me to any dinner that costs more than five bucks.”

He shot me a look, half serious, half teasing. I shook my head and drained my glass, feeling more lost than ever.