On The Mend

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” is the first thing Brody says to me when my parents and his leave the room.

I woke up about an hour ago to a room full of people. Not a single one of them was Adam. I was treated like a sick child by my mother, given condescending glances by my father, and thoroughly ignored by Brody's parents. It was through their behavior that I knew they knew where I was last night. And, clearly, nobody was happy about it.

“A lot of explaining,” Brody repeats, taking a seat next to my bed. The doctor came in a few minutes ago and said health wise I'm good to go, the baby is fine, but they're keeping me another night just to be safe. Apparently all I needed was sleep, so much so that I didn't even realize I was exhausted enough to sleep for as long as I did. One day and six hours is a long time to be out cold.

“Just...why, Soph? Why? Why him? Why would you...I don't understand.”

I am not ready to have this conversation. I am not ready to deal with the fact that I am in love with my husband and carrying my fiance's child. When did my life become a soap opera?

“When did it start?” he asks. Angrily, he adds, “Did it ever end?”

“Brody, I...”

“Were you fucking him behind my back? Is that why you went to Dallas? Is that even my baby inside of you?”

The truth is, I don't know what to tell him. I don't know if Adam and I ever really ended. I don't know if sleeping with Adam while engaged to Brody means that I was cheating on Brody. If anything, I think I was cheating on Adam. And I shouldn't feel like shit about it but I do. I shouldn't. I was the one hurt by Adam. I was the one who had to find out that the love of my life, the man I thought I would be with forever, was playing around behind my back. But somehow, for some reason, I feel like the bad guy. Because while Adam may have slept with other women, he didn't fall in love with them. At some point, I fell in love with Brody. That makes me worse than Adam. And I don't know how to handle that information.

“It's yours,” is what I come up with. Because according to Adam, we hadn't slept together. At least not seven weeks ago. I just woke up naked next to him in a bed with our bed set in a room that looked exactly like ours had looked. “We didn't...I didn't...it's yours, Brody. I promise you.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?”

His head is in his hands. We haven't made eye contact since I first woke up to see him staring at me with a sorrowful expression in his eyes.

“I am not that person, Brody. You know that.”

But I was two nights ago. Two nights ago, I was that person. I was Brody's Adam, minus thirty seven. Somehow I think it hurt him even worse.

“I'm not...I don't...All I can say is I'm sorry,” I continue. “Had I known that things would have ended up this way, I never would have...I truly, honestly thought,” at this point there are tears in my eyes, “I thought I was done being in love with him. But I'm not. I love him...he's my one. I was so ready for it to be you. Never once did I question our relationship until...until after I saw him again. I quit him cold turkey; I wasn't prepared to ever see his face again. But then it happened and everything came back. I tried to forget it, tried to lose those memories and replace them with thoughts of you. I couldn't.”

The tears flow freely down my cheeks, staining my flesh with watermarks like I've been branded by my own guilt.

“What you and I had was real, too. It was. I loved you. I will always love you. You were there for me when I needed someone, you held me together when all I wanted to do was fall apart. I gave you my all, I gave you my heart, but now...I need to take it back. My heart wasn't mine to give. It's always been his, it will always be his.”

Finally, Brody looks up and our eyes connect.

“So that's it?” he asks. His cheeks are wet from his own tears. I will always admire Brody's willingness to show emotion. It's one of the things I will miss the most about him. “This is how it's going to end? You're going to go back to him—the one who hung you out to dry and left you with nothing but broken pieces of yourself? You deserve better than that, Sophia. And I deserve better than you.”

Brody stands, running a hand through his hair leaving it messy and untamed, a far cry from the professional look he always wears.

“I will never forgive you for this. I should have...I never should have taken this seriously. I mean, I should have known better.” He starts pacing at the foot of my bed. “I should have known that something like this would happen. It's always the assholes who win. Well you know what, Sophie?” He stops pacing to look me directly in the eye. “If what you said is true, and this baby is mine...,” he pauses and a smile that goes from ear to ear forms on his face, “I'll see your ass in court.”


Three days later, I'm back in Chicago curled up on the couch with Abby and Alisa combing through the apartment looking for anything I may have forgotten to pack. It's my last day in Brody's apartment, and I'm here to gather the last of my things. I came back to Chicago the day I was released from the hospital; Brody stayed in Wisconsin with his family to allow me time to get my shit together and haul everything back to my place. I was also in charge of removing his clothes from my closets and returning all of his expensive wines and the jewelry he had bought me.

I will never forgive you for this is the one thing that has not left my head for three days. Maybe it's the truth of the statement—because someone as great as Brody does deserve better than me and has every right to hold my actions against me for the rest of his life—but mostly it's because I clearly remember saying the same thing to Adam. I have done the worst thing imaginable: I have broken someone's heart.

I know what it's like to feel the rug ripped from beneath your feet, how your world starts spinning on a tilt and you don't know whether to throw up and cry or laugh from the adrenaline. I know how upsetting it is when the first option wins. Better than anyone, I think, I know what it's like to be cheated on. How literally nothing else matters except getting revenge on that person until you realize how that makes you worse than them, because you don't need to do anything to prove you're better, prove your worth. I know what it's like to have love taken away. But I also know what it's like to get that love back, to fall into it again like nothing happened because you love that person so much, care for them so deeply, that even the worst sins, the worst actions, can be forgiven.

I can only hope one day Brody chooses to forgive me in the way that I have chosen to forgive Adam.


Please come over.

The knocking comes two hours later. I assume he took one hour to open the text and another to decide whether or not to give me the time of day. Luckily he complied with my wishes.

I open the door and there is Adam in all of his glory: a pair of dark wash jeans and a simple black v-neck, sunglasses looped through the opening of his shirt. His appearance reminds me of the way he would look when coming home from a road trip, what with the stubble on his face and tired eyes. I step to the side and let him enter, my eyes looking down to avoid his.

My appearance does nothing to hide the mood that I'm in: an old, ratty pair of yoga pants and a hoodie I stole from Adam's parents house the first time I ever went there. It's a size too small, one of Adam's from high school, but I wear it anyway because it smells like him and reminds me of us. My hair is in a sock-bun on top of my head and I'm not wearing any make-up. I look as dead as I feel.

“What's up?” he asks, breaking the silence. He's acting like he owns the place, leaning against the island that separates my kitchen from my living room with his hands resting on the countertop.

I still stand by the door, too afraid of myself to move. The ball is in my court. I can do this. I can do this.

“I broke up with Brody.”

“You broke up with him or he broke up with you?”

“Does it matter?”

Adam laughs. “It matters, Soph. Because if you broke up with him that means that you're the one who wanted it over. If he broke up with you, it means he found out that you still love me.”

My eyes instantly fill with tears and I lift my gaze to meet his. It's no surprise that his baby blues have been on me the entire time he's been here.

“What if it's both?” I ask, my bottom lip quivering and turning into a pathetic pout.

“It can't be.”

I think about my dream, where Adam poured his heart out to me only to be left behind as I left with Brody. I think back to when I woke up in the hospital to find a room full of people, none of them Adam.

“Where were you?” it comes out as a reflection of how I feel: angry and confused. “Where were you? Why weren't you there when I woke up?”

Again he laughs, but this time it's more of a hurt chuckle instead of the hearty sound I'm used to hearing from him.

“I was the first one there, Soph. I was with you for the first thirteen hours before they actually looked at your records and found Brody on the contacts sheet instead of me. The only reason they called me was because I'm your husband and still share your insurance. I left our house and I didn't leave your side. How could I? The woman I love was laying in front of me looking like she was about to meet her final days. I was the one to talk to your doctor, to find out about what happened. And then that asshole Brody showed up, demanding that I be removed from the premises because you wouldn't want to see me. I left your room at the request of your doctor but I stayed at that fucking hospital until you woke up. I dealt with your parents, your fucking father looking at me like I shit on his dinner plate, and I waited until I knew you were awake. When nobody came to get me, I left thinking that you didn't want me there. But trust me, Sophia, if I had any idea that you wanted me there, you wanted me in that room with you, I would have clocked the fucker who replaced me square in the jaw and stayed.”

“He could never replace you,” I whisper.

“What?” Adam asked with a shake of his head. Unsure of whether he did it because of disbelief or if he honestly couldn't hear me, I instantly regret my words. But the regret doesn't stop me from repeating them.

“I said he could never replace you.”

“Sure doesn't seem that way.”

It's my turn to shake my head. “What?” I ask, the tears beginning to fall.

“Think about it, Soph. You left me and less than four months later you meet some chum who makes more money than I do, one that makes your parents happy. You come to me in Dallas with a ring on your finger and demand a divorce, knowing damn well that what we have here is not over and will never be over. You made me realize how shitty I am, how much I fucked up, and then you left again and came back to the same guy who knocked you up. Do you really think I would sleep with you, take advantage of you when you're drunk? I may be an asshole, Soph, but I would never do that to you. And as for a few nights ago, I thought that maybe things were turning around. I've missed your body, baby, but I've missed you more.”

It hits me that I've been thinking more about Brody's forgiveness than Adam's. I did a shitty, shitty thing to him and I've never apologized for it. I swallow my pride and speak.

“I'm sorry,” I tell him honestly and with my whole heart. “I'm sorry if I made you feel that I don't love you, or if me being with Brody was the worst thing ever.” Because I know what it feels like to have love taken away. I know that it's the worst, and knowing I did it to not only Brody but Adam fills me with dread for my actions. “I'm sorry that I'm such a horrible person that I fell in love with someone else when my heart clearly only has room for you. I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that you are my one and only. I'm sorry I couldn't forgive you, but I do now, and I'm sorry for--”

Adam's lips land on mine, cutting me off. We kiss for what feels like hours but in reality it's only a few seconds. He pulls away, his thumbs pushing the tears off of my cheeks.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says. We're so close that I can feel the words against my skin and before I can overanalyze the situation, his lips are on mine again.

It feels good. It feels more than good, it feels like the rug is back and its become the cool sand beneath my toes on a hot summer day. The last time Adam and I had sex, I was too focused on the release, the feeling of him being inside of me again to pay attention to the truth. Our sex is the best sex. It's time to account for every detail.

Our lips break apart for enough time to allow my hoodie to be pulled over my head. In typical Sophia fashion, I'm not wearing a shirt or bra underneath. Adam looks at me with hunger in his eyes.

“That's my girl,” he growls and attaches our lips again, grabbing for my breasts like they're the two handles needed to pull himself up from the wreckage that has become our marriage. “So beautiful,” he says when we stop to gasp for air. “So fucking beautiful.”

I run my fingers underneath his shirt, tracing his abs and reaching around to comb them up and down his back. His skin goosebumps underneath my fingertips and I groan. I need this. I need him. I need to remember him.

I reach for the bottom of his shirt and remove it from his body. We back away from each other and stare. His eyes bore into mine. It's in this moment that I know we're okay. No matter what happens, we're okay. We will be together until the end. With a burst of spontaneity and pure I fucking love this guy adrenaline, I run at him at full speed and jump on to him, wrapping my lets around his middle as he catches me, his arms holding me up with their placement under my ass.

The next kiss is the one that the writers I teach about could only wish to be able to write. It is fire and ice, sleet and sunshine. It is the moment that night becomes day, when Spring is in the air and the smell of morning dew is the first to meet the senses. It's enough to take us both so off guard that we drop to the floor, Adam doing his best to make the fall gentle enough that the only hard thing I feel is the bulge in his pants. And Jesus Christ do I feel it.

His pants are off thirty seconds later and mine are soon to follow. Adam's face is at my ankles as he pulls off the last of my fifty dollar Victoria's Secret investment. He kisses his way up my legs and stops when he reaches my inner thigh. The whimper I give off is enough to make him laugh heartily.

“Missed me, didn't you, baby?”

“Yes,” I whisper as his kisses continue. And in typical Adam fashion, he stops again.

“What was that?” he asks, his breath hot against the fabric keeping my treasures enclosed. He's doing it on purpose and I know it, but I'm too flustered not to give in to his game. “Talk dirty for me, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” is what I give him. It's not enough. It's never been enough for Adam. He blows at my core once, making the wetness I can't help but produce become cold. I shiver and egg him on. “I want you to touch me, Adam. I want you to feel around my pussy with your tongue and make me – oh shiiiit.” The second I feel his tongue probe me, I let out a cry of pleasure so loud my neighbors will probably call the cops.

“That's it, baby,” he mumbles against me. “Scream for me. Tell me how much you missed me.”

I do just that. By the time I've come once, the toe curling, fingers in his hair kind of orgasm, Adam knows exactly how much I've missed him and exactly how badly I need this kind of release. Not giving me a minute to breathe and come down from the high, he slips fully inside of me with a single push.

“Holy...Soph, baby, you feel so fucking good,” he tells me but I'm too engrossed in the feel of him to respond in any way but another writer's envy-inducing kiss.

In all of our years together, Adam and I had never once had sex on the floor in the middle of an apartment. I've heard that there's a first time for everything; if every first time is as good as this one, Adam and I need to start having a lot more firsts.

We claw at each other, my nails scribing my mark on to his back. He used to tell me that the mark of my nails brought him more pride than the name and number on his jersey, that the guys in the locker room would see them as he showed them off boastfully. I am making it my mission to never leave his back bare again. This goes on until I feel the building of pressure in the pit of my stomach, arching my back as to give him better access to my center.

The truth is, I don't know what's going to happen between Adam and I. I know we will be together, I know we will be okay. But I don't know how we're going to make it happen, how I can leave Chicago to be with him in Dallas when I have a piece of Brody within me. I have never been one to take the road most travelled and my marriage to Adam Burish is proof enough of that. The only thing I know for sure is that here, with Adam, is where I am supposed to be.

Validation comes in the form of Adam releasing his pleasure inside of me, his chest landing on mine in exhaustion. I wipe the hair away from his face, he wipes the tears of happiness off of my cheeks.

“My one and only,” I tell him quietly.

“Forever,” he agrees, kissing my forehead.


I remember everything about the day I found out that my husband had been cheating on me with multiple women. I remember waking up and putting my rings on, snorting at Princess. I remember walking into the living room and seeing Adam asleep with ESPN still on the television, his Packers blanket barely draped over his legs. I remember his best friend Patrick telling me about the women, about the times my heart had been shredded into a million little pieces. I remember filing for divorce and letting go of the only life I'd ever known.

I remember trying to restart with someone else.

Above all else, I remember Adam. I remember him rear ending me, I remember our wedding day. I remember the petty fights that we took seriously because we didn't know any better. I remember his face in the morning, still tired from a game the night before. I remember being happier than I thought anyone could ever be. I remember what it was like to love him wholly, with no limitations and no regrets.

I remember. And I will never, ever, let myself forget again.