The room was dark and bathed in shadows as he stood over the sleeping form below him. His son, who was named after himself, lay nuzzled against a blanket, resting in the crib he built for Maureen so many years ago. God, had it been that long?
He thought of his wife, the mother of his children, asleep in the next room. They had been together for so long; he could scarcely remember anyone who came before her. She had been his high school sweetheart, he had pledged his life to her when she became pregnant with their first child. For better or worse they had vowed to be together, but they hadn't. She'd left him; he knew the reasons, and he had understood, but here he was back in his home, looking down at his new son. Just like twenty sum years ago, he had obligations to this child and to Kathy.
But were the obligations enough reason to stay? He wasn't sure they even loved each other anymore, not like they had before, when just the sight of her had sped up his heart, when one look from her could make his stop. When her smile could light up the darkest night, make him forget all the horror he saw everyday. Now those feelings were inspired by someone else, a woman who knew him more than he knew himself, and still loved him regardless.
He felt torn between the world he knew and the world he longed for.
Not that he didn't love his children; he did, he loved them more than life itself, and would do anything to protect them. Coming home to his family, he wanted to be here every moment of the day, at least he told himself that he did. But the evidence screamed at him, told him he was a liar, that he was lying to himself and everyone else. He awoke every morning longing to be at work just to see her face, hear her voice. He left later and later each day to stay close to her, and to avoid the artic temperatures that had invaded his marriage.
The initial joy that came with the birth of their child had passed and now all that was left was resentment. Kathy resented his work and the hours he kept, which had been their initial reason for separating, and she resented becoming a lonely parent again, and he understood that. She was tired, had gone through the motions with four other children, and knew the premise. How the story would go, how it had always gone. He worked and she resented him for it. So why had she come back to him, hell, she had begged him to come home. He knew the answer, understood her fears, what choice did she have? What choice did I have?
She knew what she was getting in to, maybe she thought he'd change, quit or transfer, but he never could. His job had been his life as long as any of his children, and he was bonded as such. And she was part of that bond.
"El…?"
Startled, he turned towards the doorway, where Kathy stood basked in moonlight.
"When did you get home?" Her voice was filled with sleep.
Quietly, careful not to wake his sleeping child, he answered. "Just a few minutes ago."
She had approached him, standing on his left; she rested her hands on the crib's railing and stared down at their son. "Big case?"
Guilt flooded him, he suddenly felt sick. "Paper work, too much of it."
She sighed heavily. "Elliot, I can't keep doing this."
He turned, meeting her eyes. "What?"
"Waiting for you to come home at night, or sometimes not at all. I have done this before and barely survived it. The late nights of worrying, caring for a screaming child alone." Her voice remained steady, so quiet he had to strain to hear at times.
"Kathy, it's my job, it's what I do." He dropped her gaze and stared at his sleeping son's face.
"I know that Elliot, don't you think I know that?" Her voice remained low, a strained whisper.
"Yes." He leaned forward over the railing, touched his son's face gently. "I know you know that. That's why we're at an impasse."
She watched him with his son. "What now?"
"I don't know. I have no answers." His eyes remained fixed on his child.
"Tell me when you do." She turned and moved towards the door. Over her shoulder she whispered to him. "Are you coming to bed soon?"
"In a while." He needed more time to think, more time alone with his guilty conscience. Tortured by a decision he felt incapable of making. Searching for answers, answers he owed them both, the women in his life.
She left the room without a sound.
The answer he had always known, that had been ingrained in him since birth, was the laws of the church. Marriage and vows, honor and faithfulness, which he had already broken. But never had these laws conflicted so much with his own heart, with his notion of faithfulness, the church chose his wife, his heart chose Olivia.
A sacrifice was on the alter, the knife poised, ready to strike. Which do I sacrifice, my family or my heart?