I finally got around to updating. More sadness I'm afraid, but oh well. It is going to be happy at some point.

Kitajaye- Yep it made sense and hopefully I did it in this chapter

Ashleigh- You got my attempt at a sweet story, no more of those for a while- just want to see if I can make this one happy.

S.O.S1- Thanks

What was he sorry for? He saved me. Because I was stupid enough to get caught in the first place, he's sat there, on the other side of a glass wall, the same wall that he's going to spend the rest of his life behind. And it's my fault. So what is he sorry for?

I can feel tears beginning to escape me. I'm usually pretty good at keeping them back, but then again, I never had any self control around him. My eyes want to rush up to his, to tell him that he's being stupid, that he hasn't done anything wrong. But I keep them focused on the floor, where they can't betray what I'm about to do.

What am I supposed to tell him, how am I supposed to explain. The divorce papers I had before any of this even started. I didn't want it to be like this, neither of us did, it was just so hard. How am I supposed to tell him that I'm giving up on him.

I finally look up, his fingers are still trapped against the glass as his eyes are brimming with tears. I know it won't be long before they spill. I'd forgotten the strange gnawing pain that watching him cry brought. Normally we're both pretty controlled, but sometimes, what else can you do? And his tears hurt me far more than mine ever could.
And these tears, these tears are my doing. I'm doing this to him. How long will it be until I turn around and leave him here, alone? The tears that fall then, they'll be my fault as well. All of this is my fault. But how am I supposed to undo it. I can't spend the rest of my life tied to a memory, something that doesn't exist. Even now, after barely a month in prison, he's already different. There's a hollowness in his eyes that wasn't there before, a pain that he's drowning in, and I know I can't save him. It's easier if I just let go, it wouldn't be fair on either of us for me to keep coming here, to keep pretending. If I let him go now, neither of us will have to spend the next god knows how many yeas pretending that we're ok, that this doesn't hurt like hell. We can move on, I have to move on, I can't keep living this charade, its hurts too much.

Suddenly I can't do this any more, I can't draw this out any further, its already gone on for too long, I just need leave. "I'm sorry," my voice is hard, empty of the frantic waves of despair that are shooting through me, creating the impression that I don't care. Something inside of me recognises that this is the impression that I need to create, but mainly I just feel horrible. He'll think that this is easy for me that I don't care.

The papers are on the table in front of me, my fingers want to cover them up but I clench them in my lap, teeth close to drawing blood as they sink further into my lip. His eyes flicker with understanding. He knows what this, what I'm doing. The tears that had been welling in his eyes spill, but I know he's oblivious to them, his focus is on the piece of paper I've placed between us.
Eventually he realises that I'm still there. His eyes flutter up to mine, thick with a pain that tears me up, and for an instant I can't breathe. His fingers wander across his unshaven face as he tries to compose himself enough to speak.

When he does his voice is hoarse, wracked with emotion; I know he's trying to keep it level, but pain pours from it. "I'm so sorry Michelle. I understand..."

Was that just it, was that all he was going to say? Where were the protestations, the insistence that I at least wait until after he's been sentenced? Was he not going to say anything? I'd hoped he'd be like this, that he'd understand, but now I just want him to react; to say something, anything.

He rose, jolted movements indicating that I should give the papers to one of the guards. "I'll get them to you." His eyes avoided mine as he walked away, even his walk had changed, he was subservient, the confidence that used to echo about him gone.
I rose with him, my fingers reaching towards him this time, but stopping before they hit the glass. I was going to let him go, to let him move on. That was the point of this. I could taste the bitter warmth of the blood in my mouth from where my teeth had penetrated my flesh, but the pain this caused was lost in the agony that coursed through me as I watched my husband being led away.

As if sensing my thoughts, he turned to face me. But instead of the declaration that I expected, the anguished, desperate attempt to change my mind, he smiled. That smile said so much, and I realised that he did understand, that he would do this for me, that he would do anything for me. It wasn't him that the fault lied with, it was me who was holding on, not him.
"Have a nice life Michelle." I knew what he meant. Have the life that he could never give me, even if he wasn't in jail. A pretty house in some nowhere town with a bunch of kids and a nothing life. Enjoyable, but meaningless. The type of life that I'd never wanted.

I wanted to run to him, to tell him that I would wait for him, that I would be here when he came out, even if it took the rest of my life. That I wouldn't let go, that I loved him.
But I didn't. Instead I stood rooted to the spot as he left, unable to move. After all, wasn't this what I wanted?