I stay locked in the bathroom for hours. I'm pretty sure I even fall asleep at some point—my head resting on the rim of the bathtub and my butt numb with the lack of movement. Seth had banged and pleaded at the door for nearly forty minutes, until exhaustion set it. I could hear it in his voice, a sense of hopeless defeat. Maybe he'd given up trying, or maybe he'd realized that he'd finally lost me. Whatever the reason, the small cottage has finally grown silent.

I have no idea where he could be, and though I'm tempted to take a peek out the door, I don't dare. When did I become such a coward? I feel stupid for my own behavior over the last few weeks. It's as if I've shriveled into this shell of the person I once was. I'm empty and spineless. I hate it. And yet, I feel stuck.

I know I've waited far too long, but I also know that the time to talk has gone far passed its limit. It might even be too late, but I also have a smidgen of hope left that's telling me that the only way we'll ever get passed this disaster and move onto the next phase is by hashing everything out. He has to confess his infidelity now or we'll just be stuck in this endless swirl of misery.

Taking in a deep breath, I pull my head away from its resting place and stretch out my muscles. My stomach is angry at me now; I haven't fed it since lunch and it's definitely passed dinner time. I almost feel like I should have some level of pity for Seth—I mean, I did just ruin his birthday beyond repair—but I don't. He deserves to be feeling whatever he's feeling right now, whether that be guilt, or sorrow, or anger. I honestly don't care.

A knock at the door has my eyes darting towards the sound as my body stiffens. For some reason I expect him to just turn the knob and walk right in, but I know he can't. The only way he's getting in here is if he breaks the door down.

"Mercy," he mumbles through the wood barrier, "I brought you some dinner."

I can almost feel him waiting with eager anticipation for me to swing the door open and gladly accept his peace offering... but I don't. I wait, expecting him to elaborate. Maybe I'm too gutless to step up and hear him out, but that doesn't mean I won't happily listen from behind the door. This thin sheet of wood separating Seth from entering is my only protection from him. If he sees me right now, he'll be watching as his own words nail my coffin shut.

I'm a fool.

Who knew that the most passionate moment of our lives could turn into such a disaster? This is not what I had planned for this weekend. We were supposed to find love again. I never expected to find myself giving up on us. It's like ripping a decaying tooth from your gums—painful but necessary. I need to start training my mind on ways to survive without him. As long as we're alone in this cabin we can easily pretend that hope exists, but the moment we get home, reality is going to drown us like a fire hose washing out an anthill. I need to be ready for that.

"I know what you think about me," he suddenly says, gaining my full attention. "Your face says it all. I've lost your trust and faith in me, and I have no idea how that happened. I swear to you, Merc, I'd never cheat on you. I would never do that. I know you don't believe me, but I want to prove it to you."

He pauses and I scoot slightly closer to the door, waiting to hear more, and then I realize how stupid all of this is. I'm not some nine-year-old hiding from a fuming parent. It's time I step up and be the adult that I should be. With a deep breath, I push myself up off the floor and swing the door open.

"I'm ready," I say with more boldness than even I expected. "I want to know everything."

Relief cascades across his face as he runs a hand over it.

"Finally," he says with a heavy exhale of air, as he sets a plate of steaming Mac N' Cheese on the bedside table. He nods for me to take a seat and then wisely settles himself down on the opposite end of the bed from me.

I watch as he digs his phone out of his front pocket, and then without a word, he flings it towards me where it lands with a soft thud next to my thigh. I peer at him curiously before carefully sliding my fingers over the small device. I don't pick it up because I'm not really sure what he's wanting me to do with it. I just search Seth's face for answers until he finally explains.

"I want you to look through it," he tells me, lifting his chin toward the phone hidden beneath my hand. "I want you to read all of my texts, my emails, my calls... everything."

"Wha—"

"I swear, I'll come over there and read them to you if you don't," he says, his voice stern, almost angry. "I'm not taking no for an answer this time."

I'm stunned. Truly stunned. I'm suddenly feeling nauseous again. Guilt is already creeping up my spine and spiraling into the pit of my stomach. I already know that something isn't right, because if Seth was truly responsible for doing what I'd accused him of, then he'd never allow this.

My worried eyes trail down towards my hand, tentatively picking up the plastic-encased object as if it's going to explode at any moment. My gaze flickers to Seth's again quickly, and all he does is lift his brows in question, a silent way of urging me to get on with it.

I tap in Seth's password, surprised when it actually works. So, he clearly hasn't tried changing it in hopes that I won't be able to find the secrets he's been hiding. As shame skitters between the cracks of my heart, I find another emotion coming back to life: hope.

I check his messages first, eager to figure out why this Tracy chick would be asking about me. I click her name and then scroll up through the textboxes until it reaches the top.

August 27:23 PM

Tracy: I ran the numbers by Frank. He seems pleased. Remind me again when our meeting is tomorrow?

Seth: 6:30 at Rodger's Crab House

August 72:13 PM

Seth: Ed had a family thing come up. Dinner has been postponed 'til tomorrow 6:30.

The conversation continues on—all of it business talk—until this week; just two days ago.

September 145:22 PM

Seth: Ed's busy all next week, so Tuesday's going to be just the two of us.

Tracy: That's fine. Just let me know when and where.

Yesterday 4:13 PM

Seth: Since it didn't work out for you to meet my wife last time, how do you feel about burgers on the grill at our place? We can talk business afterward.

Today 2:37 PM

Tracy: Sounds good

Today 2:38 PM

Tracy: Does your wife know?

Today 7:01 PM

Seth: Haha. I'll make sure she knows you're coming this time.

I can't breathe. The innocence that's woven into these written conversations has me feeling like a complete fool. I've been so stupid. I'd been so wrong about Tracy. From the looks of it, things were all business between them. There weren't even any flirty or suggestive messages to unveil. They were just straight and to the point. Seth even went out of his way to ensure they wouldn't be having dinner 'alone'.

Deciding to take a step further, I open up his Gmail and sift through emails, not really seeing. There are thousands of names and dates, it'd be impossible to read them all. But, just the fact that he's willingly allowing me to do so proves his innocence. With a quick skim, I find nothing that jumps out at me as suspicious.

Slowly, I let the phone drop into my lap, not bothering to lift my eyes away from the device. I can sense Seth watching me, his gaze hard.

"Firstly," he begins, breaking the silence, "I'd like to know where I went wrong. Clearly, I screwed up somewhere or you wouldn't be pushing me away constantly."

"Me?" It's difficult to reign in my astonishment at his words, but I remain halfway calm. "Excuse me, but I'm not the one doing the pushing."

His brows scrunch together in scrutiny, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Really?" he mutters, clearly not believing me. "Because it seems you've been finding ways to keep yourself occupied away from me for nearly two years. It was like the moment you got that stupid job, suddenly I was pushed to the side. You basically lived in that workshop of yours when you first started out. You'd put conversations aside to answer phone calls and texts from Steve." I just listen, enthralled to finally be hearing this side of Seth's struggle. "At first I didn't mind. Actually, I supported it. I understood that we'd have to sacrifice time in order for you to make a name for yourself. Well," he shrugs, "you certainly accomplished that, and yet, things didn't change. I'd make dinner, but you'd choose work over joining me. I'd come home early, hoping we could spend even an hour together, but you'd be shut in your workshop with Steve. It was like nothing I did could compete. You were completely absorbed in your own world?"

"But you were always busy too," I argue. "Your schedule was so packed with activities and work that there was never a spare moment for me."

"Yeah," he acknowledges, "because I was bored out of my freaking mind. I finally decided I'd had enough. I wasn't just going to sit around waiting for you to emerge from your other life. So, I found other ways of staying busy..." he pauses for a moment, "and sane."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" I ask. It's the only thing I can think of to say because I'm so blown away by Seth's admission that I'm in a slight stupor.

"Because..." He pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated, "I didn't realize it until it was too late. It was so gradual, and because I'd allowed it to go on so long—supported it even—I didn't feel like I had sufficient reason to complain."

"You're an idiot." The words leave my mouth with an almost hesitant sigh. I rub a finger over my bottom lip, contemplating where we should go from here. "Have you not noticed how hard I've been fighting for us over the past few weeks?" The moment the question is out of my mouth, I know I've said something wrong.

"Excuse me?" His entire body actually rears back slightly, like I've just insulted him. "What, you mean throwing yourself at me one minute and then going on lunch dates with Steve the next? How does that prove anything?"

"They were innocent," I shoot back, but I know my argument is weak.

"Oh," he says, his words sarcastic, "business-meeting kind of innocent?" He frowns at me. "So it's okay for you to have client meetings at a restaurant, but if I do it then I'm having an affair. What the heck, Mercy?"

He's clearly perturbed by my accusations, and though his words spark an instant desire to defend myself, I can't deny the truth behind them. I'm in the wrong. I've blamed him for things that have been my fault all this time. I'm a freaking hypocrite.

"And you keep saying that I'm rejecting you," he starts to say, his eyes narrowing with disbelief. "Let's talk about that for a minute, shall we?"

I don't respond because I know he's not looking for an answer. I just sit, waiting for him to destroy all my suspicions.

"I've been denying myself from you because it doesn't feel right," he confesses. "It felt like I'd be using you if I used those moments to satisfy my own needs. I wasn't willing to make our sex life just a moment of fun when our marriage was a wreck. I needed those moments to mean something to you, because if they didn't, then it'd be pointless and selfish."

I stare at him blankly, stunned, until I finally find my voice.

"So, what," I begin hesitantly, "you were willing to use me today?"

"Come on," he groans. "I tried, okay. I'm sorry if I want my wife. I'm sorry if my emotions became too overpowering to turn off. Can you really blame me? It's been months, Merc. Months!"

I try to answer, but my frazzled mind must be on delay mode because Seth cuts in before I get a chance to mutter anything but a jumble of indistinguishable stammering.

"You remember when I asked you if you regretted us?" The question comes out soft, like he's hesitant to bring this topic up again.

"Yeah..."

"Do you remember your response?"

I ponder this for a moment before remembering the conversation. It'd taken place just yesterday, right? Or was it the day before? I honestly can't remember because it feels as if so much has happened in just that short span of time.

"Yeah," I tell him. "I thought the question was preposterous. I questioned why you'd even ask something like that."

"Right," he agrees, nodding his head once, "and then you proceeded to not answer the question at all."

"But—"

"And then earlier today," he interrupts, clearly not interested in my weak attempts to defend myself, "I asked if there was anything going on between you and Steve. Do you remember that?"

"Of course." Like I could forget that question. It was the question that shocked me the most because it felt like it came out of nowhere.

"And again," he says, "you never gave me an answer."

He shakes his head slowly and I'm not sure if it's out of disappointment or frustration, but I remain quiet.

"What was I supposed to think?" he asks, tension causing him to bite out his words. "I ask you two of the most important questions that I can muster up and you don't answer either one. How could I not be suspicious? How could my mind not instantly jump to the worst conclusion? I mean, you have to at least understand why I'd do it. It seems we've both been jumping to conclusions these past few months, right?"

Again, I remain quiet. I feel like a child being scolded for something I know I did wrong. I have no words because I know everything he's saying is true. I should have spoken up. I should have said something, but, at the time, I'd just been too shocked to realize how important an answer would have been.

"We need help, Merc," Seth says, his brows dipped and his words soft. "If we're going to make it, we need to work on us."

"Yeah," I agree, a sudden bout of adrenaline kicking to life as his words spark a memory of marriage-destroying papers sticking out of the pocket of his briefcase. "I'm all for that, but first, I have a question for you."

"Ask away."

I eye him, taking in the openness in his expression. It's as if he has nothing to hide—and maybe he does—but I have to ask. I have to be sure.

"When were you planning to reveal those divorce papers?"