He slowly nods, staring down at his hands. “We’re having a really hard time getting pregnant, and it’s taking its toll on us. She’s been taking hormones, and we’ve been having sex like clockwork, taking all the romance out of it because now we’re pinned to a calendar of ovulation.” He pulls his hand over his face. “And I thought that maybe being here, getting a chance to reconnect, would help but, uh, it doesn’t seem like it’s working.”

Stunned that he’s even divulging this to me, I say, “I don’t want to sound rude, Chad, but given our history, are you being serious? Is this a real confession?”

“I can see where the skepticism comes in, since we haven’t had the best camaraderie since being here or in the office for that matter, but yeah, I’m being serious. She told me last night that she’s no longer happy, and I honestly don’t know where to go from here.”

“Once again, not to be rude, but why are you telling me this? Aren’t you closer with Brad or Finky? Or even Duncan?”

“I am,” he says. “But you’re the one who I admire. You’re the one that seems to have turned it around with your husband. You seem like someone who could give me some good advice.”

And just like that, guilt consumes me. So he didn’t think we were faking it? He really believed me and Wilder?

How?

He made it seem like he was on to something.

And now he wants advice?

How can I sit here and give this man advice when I’m the one with a failed marriage?

I’m the one who couldn’t turn it around.

I’m the one who couldn’t muster up enough interest from her husband to even try.

“I know that we haven’t really gotten along, and I know it’s because I’ve been frustrated, and I took that frustration out on you unjustly. I was jealous. I was out of my mind, trying to hold it together, and unfortunately, you were the one I decided to take my anger out on. I’m really sorry, Scottie. I’ve been…hell, I’ve been incredibly shitty to you.”

More tears well up in my eyes, and I let them fall, hitting my shorts, because I know that feeling. I know what he’s going through, those thoughts of helplessness, yet he’s coming to me for advice.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Scottie. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

I shake my head. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

This is all on me.

“Are…are things with you and Wilder not going well?”