This confession, this conversation, was a long time coming. To her husband. About her past:
"And it was so… so stupid." She stared at the flames as they danced around the burning wood. "He was intelligent, you know. He thought everything through – every single decision he made was like a move on a chess board: always planning three steps ahead." She paused. "But not that time. No. He was so invested in trying to prove he was changed... he didn't think ahead."
The light from the flames reflected off the walls, causing the shadows to dance. Nothing was still but everything was still.
"He came to my room, did you know?" No, I hadn't known that. I could not, however, say that I was surprised. "He tried to speak to me, but I couldn't find it in myself to listen. I thought I knew what he was going to say. I thought we would have more time. Everyone always thinks they'll have more time."
There was a long pause where she didn't even move. She didn't blink. She didn't seem to breathe.
"I think he died for me."
And my own heart stopped.
I wasn't sure if it was because I was finally learning the truth or because I was finally accepting it. I'd known. I'd assumed. But now… now it was for certain. And now I had to face the truth that had been in the back of my mind since the day we first confessed our love: perhaps I didn't love her quite as much as he had, and perhaps she didn't love me quite as much as she loved him.
I saw her eyes, dry, replaying scenes of the past, reliving a regret that was beyond mending.
"I wonder, sometimes, if I could have saved him." Her voice surprised me, as I hadn't been expecting any more from her for the night. "Not save in the sense of life and living, but saved his soul from the agony it may have in death."
I wasn't sure why she was telling me this. I didn't want to hear this. I needed to hear this.
"I wonder, too, if we would still be sitting here, in this house, with our children, with our friends." She looked away from the flames and her brown eyes met mine.
I couldn't speak. I waited for her to speak again.
"I think we would. I think that, despite his love and despite his need to prove himself, it would have been us in the end. I won't deny that I loved him in return because I did and part of me always will... but it was a love of passion, not a love of sense – not the love of a lifetime."
I told her that I would love her for all my lifetime. It was true, very true. I would love her until the day that I died. Beyond, if I could.
I told her that I believed we were meant to be together, and that I believed even if the other man were still living we somehow still would have found one another. I told her I believed that we would still be sitting here.
She believed me, I hoped.
A sad smile appeared on her lips and she thanked me.
Disclaimer: "I think he died for me" originates from James Joyce's story The Dead. The story and quote, which I heard about on an episode of Criminal Minds, inspired me to write this.