He'd expected the refusal, and expected her to pull back. He put his hand back on the floor, still looking up at her. "I'll prove it," he promised earnestly. "Just — stay. Don't give up on me yet. Be here, tonight, and tomorrow, and give me a chance to prove it to you."
It seemed like the pair of them had spent half their marriage with one party or another disengaged, which might have been why it had taken him so long to come to this realization. He'd always known he cared about her, but he'd never been willing to admit to this label for it — because if he loved her, so what? It didn't change the facts, or the baggage, or the other feelings that clouded every conversation he had with her. And somehow, he supposed, it would have only served to make him more disappointed in himself. Because of the circumstances under which their marriage had begun he'd always had a ready excuse for why it wasn't working: he hadn't chosen this; he didn't want this; he didn't love her. He could check out whenever he didn't want to deal with it any more, and it was her fault, not his. Because if he admitted that he loved her, he would have had to come to terms with the fact that he just wasn't very good at this. Even with sentiment on his side, he failed her repeatedly. It was easier not to try at all, or at least not to really try, than it was to face the possibility of failure.
Well, failure wasn't an option anymore. They had a child to care for, or they would soon. They had a tiny life that would depend on them for love, and guidance, and look to them for an example of what life ought to be. They had to do better — Ben had to do better. It was time to grow up. He needed Melody on his side. He needed the two of them to be on the same team, so that they could fix things. He could take the initiative, but she had to be present and engaged if they were going to make any real progress — if they had any chance of being a real family. And he knew what would get her to stay present, because he knew her: that label he'd resisted for so long, but which described the feelings he'd been harboring for years so well. He loved her.
They could do this.
MJ made this <3
It seemed like the pair of them had spent half their marriage with one party or another disengaged, which might have been why it had taken him so long to come to this realization. He'd always known he cared about her, but he'd never been willing to admit to this label for it — because if he loved her, so what? It didn't change the facts, or the baggage, or the other feelings that clouded every conversation he had with her. And somehow, he supposed, it would have only served to make him more disappointed in himself. Because of the circumstances under which their marriage had begun he'd always had a ready excuse for why it wasn't working: he hadn't chosen this; he didn't want this; he didn't love her. He could check out whenever he didn't want to deal with it any more, and it was her fault, not his. Because if he admitted that he loved her, he would have had to come to terms with the fact that he just wasn't very good at this. Even with sentiment on his side, he failed her repeatedly. It was easier not to try at all, or at least not to really try, than it was to face the possibility of failure.
Well, failure wasn't an option anymore. They had a child to care for, or they would soon. They had a tiny life that would depend on them for love, and guidance, and look to them for an example of what life ought to be. They had to do better — Ben had to do better. It was time to grow up. He needed Melody on his side. He needed the two of them to be on the same team, so that they could fix things. He could take the initiative, but she had to be present and engaged if they were going to make any real progress — if they had any chance of being a real family. And he knew what would get her to stay present, because he knew her: that label he'd resisted for so long, but which described the feelings he'd been harboring for years so well. He loved her.
They could do this.
MJ made this <3