The Fourth and Final Chapter of The Isabella Chronicles
"I'm sorry," she said again. I could feel the wetness of the tears on her cheek as she rubbed her face up against mine, as her lips kissed my skin with her tiny gentle kisses.
"It's OK." I managed, my voice a little hoarse.
"This isn't a fairy tale" I continued.
"I never expected a happily ever after ending."
But that was a lie. The sick feeling, clenched into a ball in my stomach, was testament to the fact that I HAD expected a happily ever after ending, that I had not expected Isabella to ever leave me.
"So this is really what you want?" I asked again, hating myself for being so obviously vulnerable, desperately wanting her to say no.
"It was my dying mum's wish, it's what my dad and brother want. He does love me, desperately, you know. And I hate failing at anything, let alone something as big as a marriage. I just think I owe it to both of us to give it one more try before I walk away from something that is supposed to be forever."
It wasn't the first time she had explained it to me. It was an imposing set of circumstances. You can't fight a dying mum's wish and it's futile to try. And I was standing in the foyer of his house, talking to his wife, dressed casually in his over-sized t-shirt, if my guess was correct.
She had told me what was happening only the day before. She had been under an awful strain with her mother's death and now with her father's illness. No wonder that on the balance she felt safer in her rocky marriage than facing the death of both of her parents, alone.
"But, I thought you hated him touching you, that you aren't in love with him anymore." I said, despising myself for the weakness in my voice, searching desperately for a way to hold her.
"Oh Pablo," she said into my shoulder, her face buried against my shirt, "you know I was dead, sexually, for such a long time. But you changed that, made me feel like a woman again, made me feel desirable, wanted, needed. I will always love you for that, for so many things. I just have to try with him. Please try and understand."
I could feel the small hiccupy sounds of her sobs against my chest again. And suddenly, I realized that there was nothing more to say, nothing that would help. Anything I said to try to convince her not to stay would only make her resent me more.
I won't pretend that a part of me wasn't jealous, angry, frustrated. Part of me wanted to say hurtful things, wanted to make her feel as sick and lost as I felt.
'Was it all a lie?' I wanted to scream.
'Was I just a diversion? Did the amazingly sexual moments we shared mean nothing? Just another root while you were teaching him a lesson?'. If I was honest, then I had to admit that a part of me felt as if I had just been compared to the other guy, and had somehow lost the bet.
'You'll never find another person who will do the things to you, for you, care about you, the way that I will?' I wanted to say. But I knew that I wouldn't.
Partly because I did care for her so very much. She was a beautiful flower, but her petals were delicate and easily crushed. I did not want to see her suffer.
Partly because I knew she was not hurting me intentionally, that part of her wanted to be with me too.
Partly because this side of me seemed distant, like a voice perched on my shoulder.
The real me, the strongest voice inside of me, was sadly, quietly, but insistently telling me to walk away.
"OK, OK, I'll go," I said softly. I hugged her tightly, feeling her body contoured against mine. I never thought I'd be doing this for the last time. I could feel tears welling in my eyes and fought to suppress them.
I straightened, held her head in my hands, looked down into her teary eyes.
