This was what it felt like to get punched in the stomach. My Stef had walked away from me, tears in her eyes and I done that. I felt like she'd walked away from me forever. I couldn't run to her, because what could I say to make this better? I didn't know what to say to her. I'd convinced myself that I hadn't done anything wrong, that this had been the best course of action. It hadn't meant anything. Stef didn't need to know. In reality, she countered my well-constructed arguments in seconds. I didn't have the answer she needed, why had I kept this from her? I hadn't bothered to find the answer in all these weeks. Why should I have? I'd done the right thing after all, hadn't I?

I felt the tears seep out of my eyes, I couldn't keep them in like I usually could. They slid stealthily down my face. I was losing Stef. I hadn't thought this was even a possibility. This had been an unwanted kiss. I knew she'd be upset, but quiet hurt Stef was not what I had been expecting. What had I done? And why? I think I'd convinced myself that the secret would never come out, I'd never have to tell. So I stopped thinking. I should have known better, all the advice I'd ever given my kids, "this is what happens when people don't think." Except this time, I'd put the metaphorical bullet in my wife.

I felt the desperation hit me, and though I wasn't equipped with the answers, I ran upstairs. I needed to talk to her. I had to try explain some more. I needed to make her understand that all I've ever wanted is her. I was fighting for my life. Each step up the stairs was an eternity. And for the first time in my life I couldn't keep my composure. It wasn't sophisticated Lena running up the stairs, just a desperate woman. I don't ever remember taking two steps at a time in this house and still I couldn't get there fast enough.

I practically ran inside, but stopped with a jerk, she was sitting on the bed, lost, confused. She didn't turn when I came in, she didn't react to my gasping breaths. I didn't even know what I was going to say but it didn't matter. I had to reach her, "Stef."

"No," was all she said, never moving from the bed. She stared at her hands, playing with her ring.

"But, Stef, we have to talk. I have to explain." I tried to come closer and she put her right hand out, symbolically, if not physically stopping me.

"Perhaps, probably. Just not now." She was still looking at her hand, still fixated on the silver ring, our bond, twisting it over and over.

I felt a desperation I'd never felt. She didn't know my heart. She didn't know that it's only ever been filled by her. So I had to try. My voice trembled with my tears, "I love you. I don't want anyone but you."

And now she looked my way and it was not any gaze she'd ever directed at me. She's looked at me before in frustration, and in anger. This wasn't that, it was rage mixed with hurt and regret. She started to speak, but she stifled the words, shoving them down her throat. She was struggling to not say something. Finally, a blunt "Don't" escaped forcefully.

I sighed, I wanted to respect her wishes, but I felt like I couldn't let this go. "I am sorry Stef." If I could only say those two things tonight, then that's what I would settle for. I loved her, more than anything. And I was sorry, I was so terribly sorry for what I'd done, for letting this happen.

She was still crying. I saw her wipe a tear carefully as it fell off her chin. I could see a wet spot on the thigh of her cream colored pants. The tears were falling fast and free now and I don't think I'd ever seen her cry like that. And that feeling came back, the one in my stomach. It was inching up my heart, chocking me with its despair. She'd been my rock for so long, but I knew well that it was a façade. Underneath that tough exterior was a very soft heart. Now, it appeared that because she'd long ago let me in, I had easy access to rip it to shreds. And I could feel my own heart tear as hers poured out of her. I had to go to her, so I tried to sit near her and she'd sprung out of the bed. She'd never denied my touch, not even when she thought she was straight and I'd put my hand on hers. Tonight, I'd felt her rejection twice. The first time, I wasn't aware of the reason, but right now I was painfully aware that I'd brought this on myself. I never knew what this could feel like. The woman I loved did not want my touch. My wife couldn't be close to me. And I did it. I had done this. "Stef, we need…"

This time she would not let me speak. She finally looked my way and said, "I am going to sleep downstairs. Please don't follow me. I need to be alone."

I had to stop her, so I ran to the door. This was my fault. "NO." I yelled out.

She looked confused for a second. I could see the challenge in her eyes.

I quickly relaxed my posture, "No, I mean, I will go downstairs. You stay in the bedroom." She looked like she was about to object so I added, "Please." And for the first time today, Stef gave me the one thing she'd always given me: she let me have my way. She nodded. We'd never actually slept apart because of a fight. Ever. We'd had the kids from the very beginning. I remember one night early on, Stef was so mad, she slept on the chair in our bedroom. We were always mindful of the kids. We trusted that our fights would resolve themselves. The next day, Stef had woken up with a stiff neck and her bad mood had lasted well into breakfast. Finally, when I handed her some ibuprofen, she smiled and we were in bed together by that evening. Tonight felt different. We both knew the kids weren't around, therefore no one would see it. I knew with certainty that this would not resolve itself. I had no idea if Stef would ever forgive me.

I looked around our room. I remember the night, earlier this year, when I took the covers and insisted on sleeping downstairs. She stopped me then, but I knew it wouldn't happen tonight. I couldn't claim conviction and outrage as I had that day. I went in the closet where we kept the extra blankets. I took the one she loved, the one she would use on that occasional afternoon off. She wouldn't want to undo the bed so she'd throw this blanket on herself and nap underneath, curled up, safe and sound. It was summer, and I very much doubted it would smell of her, but at least it would remind me of her. I took my pillow from the bed, my sleep pants and in the corner of my eye I spotted her gray sweatshirt. I took it without her noticing, she'd quietly gone to sit by the window, staring outside. I couldn't read her and it scared me. I kept my eyes on her as I headed out the door, but she never once looked my way. I deserved that.

I felt each creak of the steps echoing in the house, emptier than it had ever been. Ten years in this house, each day the noises of children, and later adolescents, covered each and every corner. Tonight the silence was compounded by the emptiness I felt in my heart. I wasn't afraid of the discomfort of sleeping on the couch. I'd done that before, on trips to visit friends. And I had slept alone in hotel rooms, while on conferences. Somehow that was easier than on those nights when Stef was pulled away for duty or her own conferences. I'd always found it difficult to sleep on those nights, staring at the space where Stef should be. I took no comfort in knowing she'd struggle with this tonight too.

So I took my place on the couch, quickly changing out of this dress. I needed it off me, it reminded me of my wrongdoings. I felt no desire to sleep, but I tried. Each time I closed my eyes I'd see her face, the hurt in her eyes, the tears on her cheeks. I couldn't imagine what she was thinking. She was probably imagining the kiss, torrid and passionate, lips crashing repeatedly. I wish I could get into her head and change the image, but that probably wasn't a good idea. Any image was a bad image. That thought shouldn't be in my wife's head. I put it there. I never wanted her to have that idea. Maybe that's why I didn't tell her. That's too easy though, isn't it? She didn't let me get away with it tonight. She needs a better answer, not an answer where I take no responsibility, where I am acting noble, as if this was about sparing her anything. She's right, my gut tells me she's right. The kiss meant something, but what?

I looked around the room and I am surrounded by my things, my house, my family. There are pictures everywhere, our wedding hung on the walls, it sat on the mantel and end tables. I remembered buying most of the things surrounding me. I knew where we picked out the very couch I was sitting on. I also recalled that I brought some things with me and she did as well. The lamp closest to me belonged to Stef's grandmother. The more I looked, the more my heart ached. Each item reminded me of what I was losing. It wasn't a material loss I was mourning, it was her, my life, Stef. I knew that if a disaster took our home, we'd be ok because I would have had her. And yet now, all these items meant nothing without the shelter of our love, the knowledge that we could get through anything together. Where had that gone? Could we get through this? If I wanted that, I'd have to do better. Since I wasn't sleeping, I decided that I had to think this out.

First the hard part. Lena Elizabeth Adams Foster, daughter of renowned professor Dana Adams had in fact messed up, big time. It was time to own it. This entire time, I'd refused to accept that I'd a hand in this. This had happened to me, Monte had kissed me. I had been surprised and then pulled away. Yet, all those things could be true and still not be the whole truth. So I had to really ask myself those questions.

Was I having an affair? Without a doubt, NO. I had no desire to sneak around with someone behind Stef's back for quick gratification.

Was I in love with her? No, and I knew that I had only ever been in love with one woman and that was Stef. I'd never felt that pull towards another human being like I had felt when I met her. I thought back on that kiss, her first kamikaze kiss. I had been surprised then too. One night after one of our dinners, she'd come to my door and swooped in. No warning. One moment we were saying our goodbyes like any other of our other outings, our eyes met as they always did, but instead of kissing my cheek as she usually did, she planted one on my lips. I had been so surprised, and had just begun to process what was happening, when she pulled away. I didn't get the taste her lips for a while after that, but I dreamed of it every night. It was what had led me to break up with my girlfriend. I knew that I'd never feel the burn of a kiss like that again. And I haven't. Stef marked me that day and she marked me as hers for life. This regretful kiss had that in common, surprise. Stef had surprised me only because I believed she was straight and could never possibly be into me. I already had feelings for her. Feelings that I was subjugating to keep from a broken heart.

On the other hand, I had never even considered Monte's sexuality or what her kiss might taste like. It surprised me because it was literally the last thing I thought would happen. So what had led her to think she should kiss me? With Stef, we had been sharing this back and forth flirtation, our hearts had been yearning for the other since that electric moment we met. I hadn't even liked Monte as a person for a long time. She was really not someone I even respect, a corporate puppet. So when had that changed? Why did things change? I thought back to her reacting to me. She had started making changes based on what I thought. She even hired Timothy back. Did I flirt with her? Was I attracted to her? I was embarrassed to even think about this, but I can't recall a single instance where I thought of her in that way. I don't remember consciously flirting. I just couldn't figure this out. I do know I had shared too much with her. I just never felt remorse about it till the kiss. Stef had warned me and I had kept it up. I just felt so awful and she listened, made me feel worthy, important. She made my opinion matter. I felt liked. Shit.

I liked that, I liked the attention she gave me. I liked the feeling of forgetting that my life was a mess. I liked being right. I love being right. And yet, I was so wrong. So very wrong. So was that it? Was that need for attention enough to draw this person in, someone I'd thought was a friend? And I finally remembered, Monte must have told Jenna about the kiss. How else would Stef know? She knew I had been keeping it a secret, why would she tell? I thought she was a friend. She insisted nothing was going on, that the kiss meant nothing, but if it was nothing why did she tell Jenna as they were breaking up? Why was my name even in that conversation? So I had to admit, she did like me. That kiss meant something to her. In spite of my denial to Stef that Monte was in love with me, I was realizing that it might not be true. She had wanted to kiss me. How could I miss that and why did she do this to me? Why didn't Jenna or she tell me before divulging it to others? For the first time tonight, I felt anger. Then, I quickly I realized that none of this would have happened if I'd told Stef the truth myself. They weren't to blame. I was.

So I was right back to that question, why didn't I tell Stef? Did I have enough of the answers? Was I afraid of her reaction? I didn't want to tell Stef all these things going through my head and maybe that was part of the answer. I didn't want to talk to Stef. When had this all changed? We had shared everything before all this started.

My thoughts continued in disarray, soon the sun was up, and sleep had escaped me for much of the night. Shortly after sunrise, I could hear rattling upstairs. Stef was taking a shower. I couldn't even think of that right now. I just needed coffee. I needed to think. I needed to clear my mind.

There I sat, till Stef came downstairs. She looked more beautiful than ever. Her eyes showed the same disdain as the night before, but now they were weary. I hope she slept better than I did and I felt the pain of what her night must have been like. I wondered if she would be staying or leaving me. I didn't know. At least she was looking at me.

She shuffled over to the coffee and I could see relief on her face after seeing the pot had enough coffee for her. "Rita is coming over."

Without purposely hurting my feelings, this was her way of telling me that she wasn't hanging around for me. We had company and we had to pretend. I looked at her and decided I'd take that. I'd hold on to that as hope because if she wanted to pretend, it might mean she was going to stay at home. That's really all I wanted right now. I'd sleep on the floor if she'd ask. The laundry room. Right now? I'd take anything. I nodded and let myself admire her. She was wearing one of my favorite shirts. I don't think I've told her enough, how much I like her style. It's like that plumber said, strong and feminine. We're a bit butch and femme, she and I, ying and yang. What the hell did I do? I felt misery wash over me, till I settled my sites on her neck. There it was, my necklace on her beautiful neck, still there. She wore my necklace. I quickly looked to her wrist, my bracelet, still there. And then impatiently my eyes ran across to her other hand, my ring, still there. The relief I felt almost overwhelmed me till the door bell rang out. Rita was here. I quickly checked myself and realized that I never took off my bracelet and that I was still wearing my sleep clothes, including her gray sweater. My hair was a mess and for the first time in my life, I didn't care if I looked presentable.

With a quick intake of breath, I walked up to the door, "I'll get it." It was my responsibility to face the world, to deal with whatever life had in store for us today. And by some miracle of life and love, Stef was still facing it near me, if not exactly by my side.