I heard him say the words, but thirteen weeks of work and forgiveness wouldn’t allow me to believe it. I sat on a chair in his Colorado Springs hotel room, the beige carpet and drapes mirroring my blank expression.

Taylor sat on the bed with his head in his hands. He wore only a white towel around his waist, his skin still glistening from the shower.

“You checked in two days ago,” I said.

He nodded.

“You’re going to give up now?” I asked.

He looked up at me, frustration in his eyes. I knew then that I’d lost him. Gone was the longing, the guilt, and the patience.

I stood up, crossing my arms. “What happened to things getting better? To making this work? To forgiveness and loving each other?”

He didn’t answer.

“You love me,” I said.

“More than I could ever explain to you.”

“Then I don’t understand!” I said, my volume surprising both of us. My eyes filled with tears. “I’ve worked on this. I’ve spent hours and weekends trying to make things better, working it out in my own head that you’ve had your hands … and other things … on another woman. I’m here, taking a chance on everything, ignoring the images in my mind that haunt me every single time we’re in bed. And you’re just going to quit on me? No,” I said, shaking my head, realizing that I was pacing but not stopping myself. “You can’t just say it’s over. It’s not over.”

“I didn’t,” he said, amused. “But this … this is good. I’m liking this.”

I stood in the middle of the room, narrowing my eyes at him. “Then what were you talking about?”

He sighed. “I haven’t brought up the commute because … well … we were dealing with bigger things, and I was chickenshit.” He stood up, cupping my shoulders. “But I still want that, everything we talked about before. I can’t keep living apart. I want to at least be in the same city.”

I fell to the bed, holding my middle. “I thought you were ending it.”

He knelt in front of me. “Fuck no. After the weeks I’ve been killing myself, trying to make it up to you?”

I shot him a dubious look. “Killing yourself?”

He interlocked his fingers behind the small of my back, smiling. “I didn’t say it wasn’t enjoyable.”

He kissed my cheek, tender and sweet. I leaned into his lips, giggling.

The landline rang, and after a moment of confusion, Taylor hopped up and held the receiver to his ear. “Hello? Yeah, that’s me. Who?” When recognition lit his eyes, all the color drained from his face. “I’ll, um … I’ll be right down.” He hung up the phone.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“The desk clerk said that a woman is waiting for me in the lounge. Alyssa Davies.”