JENNIE

I meet Kai at the house we lived in for the past ten years. The house he built for us and where we were happy for a long time. Where we dreamed of having kids—at least two, three if possible—and living the kind of life we'd both believed we were destined for. Getting married. Building a house. Having children. All the traditional ingredients for a happily ever after. But, as it turns out, life can have vastly different plans than the ones you draw up for yourself. A bit like this house that Kai designed all those years ago and felt he had to rebuild, as though life, in the shape of this house, was giving him the chance of a do-over, of undoing the mistakes he made at the first try. As though knocking down a few walls and rearranging some rooms could undo all the pain we experienced here.

I let myself in, surprised but relieved his car isn't in the driveway yet, and sink into a chair in what used to be the dining room. What hasn't been covered with sheets is layered with dust. When Kai first started remodeling, there was never any talk of us having to move out, but everything got out of hand, as these things tend to do. We stopped talking. He started doing his own thing, making decisions without consulting me, and I let him do it because I believed it would help.

I hear his car pull up and I brace myself. Lisa said Kai looked much more resigned than angry, but these things can change quickly. His reaction to me, the woman who betrayed him, might be very different than to Lisa, who will always be his little sister first.

I stand as his footsteps approach. Something coils in my stomach as he opens the door, but it's not as grueling as I had anticipated. I don't feel completely crushed by guilt.

"Hey." Kai toys with his keys. "Thanks for coming. Sorry about the mess."

He looks skinnier, no longer filling his suit jacket the way he used to. His appetite's always been the first thing to go when he's stressed or sad.

"It's good to see you," I say.

"Is it?" He chews the inside of his cheek.

I nod.

"We should probably sell this place. It's nowhere near done, but I can't bring myself to finish it now."

"You don't have to finish it." I can't think of anything crueler for him to do to himself—finishing the house we'll never live in. "I can take over. Bring in some workers. Make it look good before we put it on the market."

Kai huffs out some air. "Do whatever you want, Jennie. I don't care about the house anymore." And this from a man who cared about nothing but this house for the past few months. "I'll be in D.C. for a few weeks or maybe even months, depending on how things go. It's a big project, something I can really sink my teeth into."

"That's good."

"Lisa can move back home. You can come around, have dinner with Mom and Nathan. Be one happy family." His voice is sharp, but his demeanor is deflated.

"You don't have to leave town, Kai."

"Oh, I do. I very much do." He takes his key ring and fiddles with it, removing one of the keys. He holds it up. "Do with the house what you want. I know you'll get a great price for it if you work your Jennie magic. We'll split the money and possessions then we'll be done." For a second, I think he'll throw the key at me, but he's not the type—never has been. He bridges the distance between us and gives me the key. "I don't have it in me to go through a drawn-out, messy divorce. Let's just get some lawyers on it and divide our assets evenly." He scoffs. "Good thing we don't have kids."

Even though I no longer want children with Kai, it hurts to hear him say that.

"Sorry," he says. "That was below the belt."

"It's okay." We've both said and done things that are unacceptable.

"There's one thing I don't get…" He shrugs. "Or no, that's not true. There are many things I don't get, but, the past few years, we put all our time, energy and money into trying to have a baby… and now suddenly you don't want that anymore?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought having kids was what you wanted most in the world."

"I can't have kids, Kai. It's about time I came to terms with that. We, you and I, couldn't have kids and our marriage didn't survive because, as you just said, we put everything we had, emotionally and physically, into reaching that goal, and it didn't work. But damn, we tried. I'll always be grateful to you for never giving up on my dream."

"It was my dream too." Kai's voice breaks.

"I know." Here we stand in our house of broken dreams. "I'm sorry it didn't come true." I'm saying sorry for so much more than that, but it's much harder to say that I'm sorry for falling in love with his sister. "Are you sure about this?" I show him the key he just gave me.

"Unless you want to live here," he says. "With my sister."

"I don't." This hasn't felt like my house since I was driven away from it. "I need to start fresh."

"This is it? No more Jennie and Kai? Just like that?"

"It was never 'just like that', Kai."

He nods. "I'm sorry for not being the man you needed me to be."

I shake my head. "Things… happened. Life happened to us, Kai." I pocket the key.

Suddenly, Kai reaches out his hand. "You," he says. "You were such an amazing thing to happen to me."

I take his hand, curl my fingers tightly around his. "We had a few really good years."

"Fuck, yeah." Tears stream down his cheeks. He pulls me close. "I love you, Jennie. I can't just stop loving you. I know I didn't treat you right, but it was never because I didn't love you anymore."

"I love you too." I let him hold me. I fold my arms around his waist and put my cheek against his chest, possibly for the last time ever. This chest I know so well. These arms that were my one true home for a decade. "And I'm so sorry for… for Lisa. But I'm—" I can't say it, not while he's holding me like this, that I love his sister too.

"Be kind to my sister," he whispers. "She's much more fragile than she looks." He's probably referring to himself. He looks plenty vulnerable today.

I nod, my chin bumping against his chest. I inhale his specific Kai scent one last time, before extricating myself from our hug.

"About you and Lisa…" He wipes the wetness from his cheeks. "I don't know how to deal with that. I just… don't."

"Of course." People are not meant to deal with something like that. "It's going to take the time it takes."

"That's what we said about us," he says.

"Yes, but, if we're being truly honest, I think we both know we were well on the way to being broken beyond repair, whereas with Lisa…" With Lisa, everything's new and fresh and exciting, I don't say. With Lisa, everything's still easy and thrilling and hopeful.

"I'm sorry too, Jennie. For all the things I couldn't be. I need you to know that."

"I know." I reach for his hand now. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I will always be sorry for that. You're such a great person, Kai." I wave my free hand about. "We had such good times here."

"I guess we'll be seeing each other." He actually manages a chuckle. "At Thanksgiving and Christmas."

"Maybe it's about time I spent some more holidays with my family in good old Iowa."

"Yeah." He gives my hand one last squeeze. "I'm not sure what's left to say at this point."

Maybe the fact that we don't have anything left to say or discuss or declare is more evidence of how we kept our marriage afloat on hopes and dreams more than based on something real, like a shared view of our future and realistic plans to try again. This is by no means easy, but it would have been so much harder if either one of us knew, in our heart of hearts, that we were still destined to be together.

"Bye, Jennie." His hand drops from mine. He gives me one final nod, then leaves the house.

I slump back into a chair and let my tears stream freely. I cry for my failed marriage, for the kids I will never give birth to, for hurting my husband in the most unacceptable way, for this house I will never live in again—for being human and doing what humans do. For trying and sometimes succeeding and lots of failing in between. Then I call Lisa.