The following morning, Ashton left earlier than usual.
He said he had an appointment before work and would call me later.
I wished him a good day.
He kissed my forehead and paused beside the bedroom door.
“Don't spend the whole day worrying, okay?”
“I'll try.”
He looked as though he wanted me to promise more than that.
Then he left.
I listened until the front door closed.
I waited for his car to pull away before going downstairs.
The first thing I did was make tea.
The second was to put Daniel's card beside the phone.
I wanted it somewhere I could find it without searching through drawers.
The third was to sit at the table and think.
I had spent so much time wondering what Ashton might be planning that I had almost forgotten to ask what I needed.
I needed to understand the documents.
I needed to know whether my signature had been used without my permission.
I needed to understand what the approaching date meant.
And I needed to make sure that any decision affecting my future was one I understood before agreeing to it.
Those needs were simple.
The fear surrounding them was not.
I opened the notes I had made after speaking with Daniel.
The words were written in large letters.
KEEP ORIGINALS SAFE.
DO NOT SIGN WHAT I DON'T UNDERSTAND.
ASK QUESTIONS.
I ran my fingers along the edge of the paper.
I had written the list because I was afraid I would forget something important.
Now I read it aloud to myself.
The sound of my own voice made the instructions feel real.
At noon, Ashton called.
“Hey, how's your day going?”
“Quietly.”
“Good. Did you eat lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Are you resting your eyes?”
“Yes, Ashton.”
He gave a small laugh.
“Sorry. I know I keep asking.”
“You do.”
There was a pause.
“I just worry.”
“I know.”
He cleared his throat.
“Listen, I've been thinking about what we talked about last night.”
I straightened in my chair.
“About our future?”
“Yes.”
“What have you decided?”
“I haven't decided anything yet.”
I felt the brief sting of disappointment.
“Then what did you want to tell me?”
“That I want us to be prepared. Things may need to change.”
“What things?”
He exhaled.
“Sutton, I can't explain it all over the phone.”
“Then explain it when you come home.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“Tonight, if I can get back at a reasonable time.”
I looked at the clock.
The date was drawing closer.
“Can you promise you'll make time?”
“I promise I'll try.”
I closed my eyes.
That was not the same as a promise to talk.
“All right,” I said.
He asked whether I needed anything from the store.
I told him no.
When the call ended, I put the phone down and stared at it.
I had once found comfort in his voice, even when we were separated.
During his long workdays, he used to call to ask whether I had eaten, whether I wanted him to pick up groceries, and whether I needed him to read a letter when he got home.
Those calls had helped me feel connected to the world.
Now I listened to the questions and wondered which ones were meant to care for me and which ones were meant to keep track of what I knew.
I hated that I had begun to think that way.
I hated it even more because I could not make myself stop.
That afternoon, I went upstairs to look at the photograph from our early years together.
It stood on the dresser in a simple wooden frame.
The picture had been taken outside a restaurant on a summer evening.
I could make out our faces now, though the details were still soft.
Ashton had one arm around my shoulders.
I was smiling at the camera, my hair blowing across one cheek.
He had looked so certain of the future then.
I remembered that evening clearly.
We had argued over where to eat because I wanted somewhere quiet and he wanted to try a crowded new place.
In the end, we had gone to the crowded restaurant.
He had held my hand under the table when the noise became too much.
After dinner, we walked home slowly.
He stopped beneath a streetlight and told me he wanted to build a life with me.
I had laughed because he made it sound like a grand declaration when we were both tired and carrying leftovers.
“You already have a life with me,” I had said.
“I want the next part, too.”
I remembered those words as I stood beside the dresser.
I wanted to believe that the man who had said them was still there.
But I could not let an old promise answer a new question.
I returned to the kitchen.
A little later, Daniel called again.
He said he had confirmed that the documents required closer examination before anyone could safely draw conclusions about their effect.
He was still checking the status and the significance of the date.
“Have you spoken to your husband about them?” he asked.
“No.”
“Has he given you any new information?”
“He keeps saying we need to make practical changes, but he won't explain what he means.”
“Have you asked him directly?”
“Yes. He says he'll tell me soon.”
Daniel was quiet for a moment.
“You can ask him for a clear explanation without accusing him of anything.”
“I know.”
“And if he asks you to sign something, you can request time to review it.”
“I will.”
He told me he would contact me when he had verified more details.
After we hung up, I felt steadier.
Not because I had an answer, but because I had stopped treating every unanswered question as something I had to solve alone.
Ashton arrived home before seven.
He carried no groceries this time.
He set his keys in the ceramic dish near the door and came into the kitchen.
“You look tired,” he said.
“I've had a lot on my mind.”
He pulled out a chair.
“About your eyes?”
“About us.”
He lowered himself into the seat.
“All right.”
I folded my hands on the table.
“You said you wanted to talk about our future.”
“I do.”
“Then please tell me what you've been planning.”
He stared at the table for a few seconds.
“I've been trying to work out what will be best for both of us.”
“That doesn't tell me anything.”
“I know.”
He rubbed his palms together.
“There's a lot to consider.”
“Then let's consider it together.”
He looked up.
I could see the strain in his expression.
For the first time, I wondered whether he was struggling because he did not know how to tell me what he had done or because he was still deciding what to do.
“I don't want to make things harder for you,” he said.
“Keeping me in the dark is making things harder.”
He flinched at that.
I immediately felt the old urge to soften my words.
I almost apologized.
Instead, I waited.
He looked toward the hallway.
“Can we talk about this another time?”
“When?”
“Tomorrow, perhaps.”
“The date on the papers is almost here, Ashton.”
The sentence escaped before I could stop it.
His head lifted.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
“What papers?” he asked.
My heartbeat grew loud in my ears.
I had not planned to say it that way.
I had wanted to wait until I understood more.
But his face had changed, and I could no longer pretend that I had said something ordinary.
I kept my voice level.
“The things you've been keeping to yourself.”
He stared at me.
Then he looked away.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
I had expected denial.
I had not expected how quickly it came.
“All right,” I said.
He looked back at me, perhaps surprised that I did not argue.
“I think we should stop for tonight,” I continued. “But I need you to understand something.”
“What?”
“I won't sign anything I don't understand.”
His mouth tightened.
“I would never ask you to do that.”
I thought of the signature.
I thought of the papers bearing my name.
I did not answer.
He pushed his chair back and stood.
“I'm going to take a walk.”
“Okay.”
He picked up his coat and left.
I remained at the table.
The ceramic dish was empty where his keys had been.
The room seemed unusually still.
I had not revealed everything I knew.
But I had finally told him that I was no longer willing to be guided by vague promises.
And when he returned, I intended to keep that boundary.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: I Finally Mentioned the Date Out Loud, and Ashton’s Reaction Told Me That My Questions Had Come Closer to the Truth Than He Expected
I Had Learned to Recognize My Husband by His Footsteps, but I Was Beginning to See Things He Thought Were Hidden
Part 14 of 20
