You Won't Find This by Renee
featuring Unknown

An uneasy fear settled over her as she stared at the bedroom door, battling with herself over whether or not she should go in.

It was ridiculous, really. This was her home. She shouldn’t feel like a stranger, an intruder, when she was here. This was a place where she could be whoever she wanted to be, do whatever she dreamed of doing.

But somehow, she knew it wasn’t unreasonable to fear what she might find here.

Her usual place was in California, running their primary home over on the west coast. She ruled the roost, mostly because he was frequently on the road. Her hands were all over the warm, sunny house, her decorating choices obvious in each and every room. The time and care she’d taken in the process showed how she loved being there, living there with a man who had promised undying love until death do they part.

Here in Florida, things were different. This was a vacation home, his place to stay whenever he had to be on the east coast for whatever project he was working on. The only real traces of her would be found in the bedroom – the one room that she was scared to go in, terrified of what she might see when she opened the door.

The cars had been in the garage, a sure sign that he was home.

But was he here alone?

That eternal question nagged at her, making her fingers itch to touch the smooth wood of the door, pushing it open to either confirm or disprove her fears.

The curiosity was overbearing and she knew that she needed to see for herself, so she screwed together all the courage she had and reached out, a trembling hand pressing firmly on the wooden barrier. The crack of an opening she’d been staring at for nearly ten minutes widened in slow motion, the whisper of the bottom edge of the door moving over the carpet the only sound she could bring herself to focus on.

All the air in her lungs flew out in a quiet whoosh, leaving her to fight for her next deep breath.

There, in the middle of her carefully chosen, cream-colored carpet was a black leather miniskirt, unzipped and lying in a rumpled mess, as if the owner had been in a rush to take it off. Or, more likely, the person helping her hadn’t given a care as to how it landed when it finally came off.

Bare feet moved silently into the room, carefully avoiding stiletto heels, underwear and the heap that appeared to be one of his favorite dress shirts. As she came closer to the bed, she could feel her heart slamming against her ribcage, beating as if it was about to jump right out of her chest and into her hands. Then she could feel it calm, the pulse throbbing through her body slowing dramatically, quickly.

And then she could feel it shatter into a million pieces.

That familiar lump formed in the back of her throat, the same choking sensation that came around whenever she forced herself to see reality. Only this time, she was literally seeing it, had a front row seat to the festivities that he made no secret of enjoying. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she sank onto the chaise lounge she’d placed in the corner of the room, giving her the best possible view of what she’d never wanted to see.

A pool of light spilled in from the hallway, illuminating the bed and its resting occupants. The covers were pulled up to their shoulders, keeping their naked bodies from her sight, but she could see that they were facing away from each other, curled in opposite directions in a fashion that proved neither was familiar with their partner, unable to seek out a comfortable touch even in the trusting darkness of sleep.

Her hand came up, covering her mouth and masking the sob that was fighting to come bursting forth.

It wasn’t always this way. She wouldn’t have been able to convince herself to stay with him if it was. Or maybe she would have stayed with him, just for those times when everything was absolutely perfect.

When they were together, life was more wonderful than she could have imagined it to be. His expression as he smiled at her, the look in his eyes when she walked into the room, the tenderness in his touch, the way he held her at night . . . it was all evidence of how he loved her. She could hear it when he spoke to her, feel it when he kissed her. When she was around, there was no one else. If they were in the same city, in the same house, he turned to her.

It seemed that there were two versions of him, like Jekyll and Hyde, as if he were a coin with two sides, flipping constantly.

On the one side was the loving, gentle husband who gave her all the attention and affection that she could ever hope to have. On the other was the superstar player, free to have whichever woman struck his fancy on any given night.

When he was away from her, it was like she didn’t exist. He did whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted, completely disregarding that there was someone depending on him to be committed to a relationship. Promises, vows and morals all went flying out the window so that he could get what he thought he needed.

She’d been aware of his sleeping around while they were dating and engaged, but some part of her had just known that marriage would calm him down, make him grow up and see that she was the only woman who loved him enough to commit herself to him, for better or worse. But when she’d begun to find stray hairs, lipstick marks and odd perfumes on his clothing, she’d had to rethink herself.

It’d been a real blow to her pride to find that he was simply incapable of being faithful, but she’d taken it in stride, still convinced that they weren’t a fluke. There wasn’t another man out there who would love her like he did, make her feel the way he did . . . or break her heart as readily as he did. Frequent pain had become normal in her routine, as did hiding it from everyone she came in contact with.

Every day, she put up the strongest front she could manage, hoping beyond hope that she was convincing as she played the part of happy little wife, following her daily pattern of working all day, then coming home and patiently waiting for the man of the house to fly in and say that she was the only one for him.

It was a fairy tale, something that hadn’t existed beyond the first month of marriage. The very first time he’d been called away, she knew that he’d shacked up with someone – she’d simply let her heart do the thinking, turning the long red hair into one of his PA’s strays. It probably had been, it just hadn’t gotten on his shirt in the way she preferred to imagine.

Her gaze was moving over them once again when a crinkling noise from her pocket grabbed her attention. Shifting slightly, she struggled to get her fingers inside the fabric, the new tightening of her jeans making the task more difficult than it should be. All of her clothing was quickly becoming too small, sending her on sporadic shopping trips as she tried to keep up with the extra weight that she knew would become noticeable just as quickly.

And it hadn’t escaped her attention that he’d been home last week, touching her, holding her, taking every opportunity to notice that there was something majorly different about her figure . . . but he hadn’t said a word. It was painfully obvious that his hands would no longer fit around her waist, but he hadn’t given one questioning glance, raised eyebrow or even a surprised widening of the eyes.

Finally, she was able to pull the folded print out of the pocket, more tears gathering as she considered that he probably wasn’t the least bit interested in knowing about the new life they’d created. His son or daughter – the precious, innocent little person that she already cherished more than life – wouldn’t be enough to change his habits. She knew without a doubt that the dream of having him magically transform into the monogamous father type was simply that – a pipe dream that would have no chance of ever coming to fruition.

There would be a child, a baby that she would love with all her heart, but the family that she’d dreamed of and prayed for was never meant to be.

Sniffling quietly, she let her thumb move over the print, a visual representation of the gift she was so willing to give him, if he’d only accept it.

But she couldn’t afford to let herself hope that he would.

Her hand turned, intending to fold the print once again, to push it back in her pocket, but her wedding rings caught the light, glimmers and sparkles dancing all around as the bright metal reflected in the darkness. Sitting back, she considered them, paid close attention to how they felt on her finger. The smooth gold was cool, the fit tighter as her fingers went through the same changes that were happening to the rest of her body.

She never took the rings off, wore them everywhere, knowing they represented the commitment she’d made to him, the promises that she’d do everything in her power to keep.

Sharp teeth worked over her bottom lip as she looked down to where his left hand was hanging over the side of the bed, just visible beneath the edge of the comforter. The naked ring finger glared at her, taunting her in the muted light, rubbing salt in a wound that had no hope of ever healing.

Carefully, she pulled the rings from her finger and forced her eyes up and away from him, the pain twisting even harder when she saw the framed photo still displayed on the nightstand. One of their wedding photos – her favorite of the ones taken during the reception – had been given prominence on the small table as she’d decorated the bedroom, allowing her to give this room a touch that was more hers than his. She’d gotten comfort from the photo, loved looking at it, remembering the day.

On the other hand, he held no respect for the memory, or the meaning behind it.

Somehow, it didn’t surprise her. If he couldn’t be decent enough to wear his wedding band, how could she possibly expect him to have the courtesy in him to keep his extracurricular activities away from their home turf?

His audacity still managed to send her for a loop, though.

She’d known it was happening, but it was one thing to find the evidence on his clothing when he came home. Walking into her own bedroom – decorated with their wedding photos, her favorite furniture and the silk cranberry comforter they’d chosen together – to find a blonde woman sleeping in the place that was meant to be hers alone . . . was something on a completely different level.

The weight of the rings in her palm seemed heavy enough to pull her arm down to the floor and she felt the anger that she’d learned to suppress burning under her skin. She imagined herself straightening her shoulders, waking him up and going into a rage, slapping him across the face and screaming about the torture he was putting her through before throwing her rings in his face and storming out.

Despite the wonderful vision, she wasn’t one to put up a fuss, no matter what the situation. She took every punch lying down, only to spring back up, teetering precariously on her feet until the next round of blows came raining down on her.

Most people would look at her and see a weak woman, desperately clinging to an adolescent dream of happiness with the only man she’d ever really loved.

They were right. She saw the same pathetic weakness every time she looked in the mirror. But even that knowledge wasn’t enough to convince her that she’d find something better with another man, that there was someone else out there who could take his place. She didn’t think there was a man alive who could bring out the craving, loving and blind contentedness that she’d experienced with him.

She stood from the lounge, careful not to make a sound as she shoved the rings and paper back into her pocket and left the room, pulling the door back so that it was opened a crack, just as she’d found it.

If she left now, she could catch an early flight back to California, be home by noon. He’d never even know that she’d been there. It wasn’t like he would call, anyway. He hated hearing her voice on the line when he’d just spent an entire night with someone else whispering his name.

Swallowing hard, she walked slowly down the hallway, her eyes moving over the portraits lining the walls, memorizing each one as if she’d never see them again.

When she came to the photo of them exchanging vows, she stopped in her tracks, her stare riveted to the glassy image.

The biggest smile was on his face as he slid the ring on her finger, promising her everything he was and everything he ever would be. He’d sworn to be faithful to her, to honor her and to cherish her, through the good and bad.

He’d lied straight to her face. Maybe he hadn’t known it then, maybe he’d had the best of intentions – but in the end, there was absolutely no value to any promise he’d ever made to her.

Every last word of devotion he’d ever spoken to her, whispered at night as his hands moved over her – they were all lies. Mountains of lies that she’d tried to keep hidden underneath her heart. But a heart was only so big and hers just wasn’t large enough to cover everything he’d done any longer.

She’d learned to never take his word for anything. His word was worthless, not even worth the breath he wasted to speak the sentences out loud. Trust wasn’t a luxury she could afford to give him. It was in too short supply to begin with.

But if she couldn’t trust him, then why was she even bothering?

The rings she’d taken off her hand – the exact same rings that were gracing her finger in the portrait – strained against the fabric of her pocket, cutting into the material as if they were trying their best to break free.

If she was honest with herself, she really shouldn’t bother taking them with her. The rings didn’t mean one thing to him, so why should she waste her time trying to believe that wearing them would make everything okay? They weren’t magic. They couldn’t fix any kind of problem whatsoever.

They were simple circles of metal that symbolized this endless cycle of events – always ending with her hurting and him getting his way time and time again.

Her pulse pounded painfully as she stepped away from the photograph, her fingers trailing over the glass for what she realized was quite possibly the last time.

He’d loved her. She was sure of it. He wouldn’t have married her if he hadn’t loved her.

But he didn’t love her nearly enough to compensate for what he’d done.

She had no choice. If she wanted to save what little bit of herself was left, then she had to end it.

With a shaky sigh, her eyes turned back to the bedroom door, various memories of happier times flashing through her mind.

He’d never find anything like what he had with her, she knew it for a fact. He could sleep with a different woman every night for a year, but none of them would be able to give him the kind of love that he needed. That deep, sure love that only she knew how to give. There was only one of her in the world and she was about to walk right out the door.

On the same token, she knew that she wouldn’t find anyone like him anywhere on the earth . . . but maybe she could convince herself to try.

Her hand came down, resting on the slight bump that pressed tightly against her clothing, and a tender, trembling smile spread across her lips.

She wasn’t even sure if it was out there, but she deserved a chance to look for something better for herself and her baby. And if that meant spending the rest of her life alone, then so be it. No matter how it played out, she’d still have his child, the one piece of him that she could hold onto for at least a few years more.

With fresh tears in her eyes, she pulled the sonogram from her pocket and ripped it in half before flipping it over to scribble quickly with a pen from the hall desk. Even as she was staring at the finished lines, she knew that if he were to call and ask for yet another chance, she would more than likely cave, so desperate for him that she’d do anything to keep him.

If he cared at all about her, he’d be man enough to let her go, to free her from the pain that was making her spirit die so slowly and painfully.

But she knew him, knew that when he saw the papers he’d be struck speechless, dumbfounded, or with flat-out denial. She knew that he’d try to contact her at some point or another, more than likely hours after that morning glow had worn off and he’d had an opportunity to have the blonde once again before sending her on her way.

Just the thought made her cringe and somewhere deep down inside, she prayed that he’d be so focused on finding his next conquest, he would never even consider picking up the phone, that he would be satisfied that she was gone and not bother trying to get her back.

Minutes later, as she pulled the front door closed behind her, she was struck with fear, wondering how she would handle it if he came to her as he always did – putting forth an effort, proving her wrong on everything she thought she knew for as long as he needed to get her back. Would she be unable to do anything other than welcome him back with open arms, like she’d always done? Or would she have enough strength in her heart to keep walking away as his pleading voice followed behind her?

Only time would tell.

******************************************

He breathed heavily, turning over to bury his face in the pillow when he felt the mattress shifting, the blonde from last night silently getting out of the bed. Pretending to be asleep, he listened as she moved around the room, gathering her clothes.

A small smile escaped, hidden by the pillow.

There wouldn’t be an awkward morning after this time. No “Please call me” or forced pleasantries. Whatever her name was, she wasn’t expecting anything more than what had already happened. That was exactly the way he preferred it.

The sound of sliding fabric was followed by the quiet hiss of a zipper. Her footsteps moved slowly across the floor and out the door, the wood making a slight squeaking noise as she pulled it behind her, only leaving a small crack of an opening.

Minutes later, she was gone, the thud of the front door closing carrying all the way up the stairs and into the bedroom.

He chuckled, rolling over on his back and stretching, the muscles in his neck popping as he reached up to rub the sleep from his eyes. With a yawn, he blinked, the stark white ceiling slowly beginning to come into focus above him. When he was sure that there would be no hangover to deal with, he sat up, his knees bending over the edge of the mattress as his feet sank into the luxurious carpeting.

The sun was already shining brightly behind the lined curtains, beams of sunshine dancing around the edges of the fabric to send a soft light around the room.

Running his hands through his hair, he let his eyes wander to the nightstand, curious to see what the time was.

Only when his gaze fell upon the golden bands lying on the corner of the smooth wood did he realize that something was wrong. Her rings shouldn’t be here. Not when she was at home in California.

Fighting the confusion, he picked up the pieces of polished metal, cool as they moved over his warm palm. Then he looked back up, finding the white square of paper tucked in the corner of their wedding photo, between the lamp and the alarm clock.

Something in his mind clicked, and a wave of fear washed over him as he tried to convince himself that it wasn’t what he thought. Licking his lips, he ducked his head and pulled the paper from the frame, swallowing hard as he let himself read.

You can hold any girl that you like
Fall in love when it’s easy at night
But you’ll wake up wondering why
She ain’t ever something better

When you’re lost and you’ve run out of road
Find what I already know
In the end, close is all there is
But you won’t find this

His heart thumped forcefully, irregularly, then twisted in his chest, the pain spreading all the way down into his soul.

Nervously, he turned the note over, revealing the image printed on the smooth paper. All the air in his lungs whooshed out immediately, his entire body going numb as he processed the meaning, the depth of what he held in his hand.

A sonogram. Of his child. Their child.

The amazement forced him to stare at the small human shape, read the notations around the image. Three months old, vitals normal, movement normal. His fingers traced over the jagged edge of the ripped sheet as it continued to sink in.

He hadn’t known she was pregnant, hadn’t given her the time to tell him. If she’d even wanted to tell him.

The metal of her rings seemed to burn through his hand, the guilt nearly choking the life from him.

Through everything, Natalie’s love for him had never faltered. He’d never doubted that she loved him. Even when she was looking up at him, clutching an article of his clothing with tears in her eyes every time she found evidence of the other women . . . he’d still been able to feel the love whenever he held her or kissed her.

Over and over – knowing he was breaking her heart, but unable to stop – he’d told her that they meant nothing, were just a release for him whenever he was away from her. He needed to know that there was someone beside him at night and when she couldn’t be there . . . he had to find a bed warmer.

She’d never argued the fact, just straightened her shoulders and pushed on, refusing to discuss it further. He’d mistaken her resignation for strength, her silence for acceptance.

His thumb moved over the image, caressing the proof of the baby he hadn’t known existed.

The print was reason enough for her to come here, to finally tell him that he was going to become a father.

“I love you, but I won’t put up with this forever. You have to see that it’s killing me.”

The words echoed in his head, short phrases she’d uttered after he’d sweet-talked her into staying with him. Her arms had wrapped around his neck, the lipstick-stained shirt draping over his back as she whispered into his shoulder.

“Don’t break my heart again. Please.”

Swallowing hard, his eyes skipped over to the photo on the nightstand, of the two of them dancing at their wedding reception. All smiles, she was looking up at him, obviously content to just be in his arms. Her eyes had shone brightly that day, sparkled with a happiness that he hadn’t seen in her for a while now.

In his selfish stupidity, he’d slowly killed the lively, loveable spark that had made him fall so hard for her in the first place. But even now, after everything he’d done, she still would’ve moved mountains for him, still loved him enough to fly clear across the country to show him the child she was carrying.

Nat had walked into the house and through the bedroom door to find that he hadn’t respected or loved her enough to keep from sleeping with yet another woman, in their home, in the bed he was supposed to be sharing with only her.

Imagining what that must have done to her made his head throb.

Every other time had been in hotel rooms, condos, or some nondescript apartment. This was the first time he’d ever brought his indiscretion onto his home territory and it had felt miserably wrong from the second they’d stumbled through the front door. For a nanosecond, he’d considered sending the blonde back out, but at the reminder of a lonely night in the large house he’d quickly reconsidered.

Still, they could’ve gone to a guest room, the living room, the basement apartment . . . anywhere but the master bedroom, the only room where Nat had taken a hands-on approach to decorating, leaving her fingerprints all over what was supposed to be her comfort zone. Instead, he’d disregarded every last ounce of decency left in him and went ahead to have sex with a blonde who wasn’t even worth remembering in their bed, right next to one of their wedding photos.

If that wasn’t adding a twist to the knife he’d already plunged into her back, he didn’t know what could.

Running his fingers through his hair again, this time out of frustration, he allowed himself to mentally switch their roles.

For the first time, he put the situation in perspective. What if she’d been a chronic cheater, making no secret of needing a male body beside her while he was on the road? What if he’d been the one to fly across the country, only to find another man having sex with his wife, in his bed, under his roof?

The very idea of someone other than himself touching her, making love to her, was enough to make him want to jump out of his skin with anger. A peculiar urge to punch something flowed through him, but he fought it off, reminding himself that it was just a scenario, not reality.

Cheating had never been an option for her. Entirely devoted to him, she hadn’t been able to do anything more than stand back and try to be brave as he tore her world to pieces over and over again. While he’d turned his vows inside out and upside down, she’d held hers in the highest regard, staying faithful to him no matter how badly he hurt her.

She’d loved him almost more than life itself, had put him before herself innumerable times.

And knowing that made the whole thing worse.

Shaking his head, he got up and pulled on his discarded jeans, clutching her note in his hand as he moved to leave the room, considering any possibilities he might have left.

She’d taken him back before. Maybe she’d do it again. If he offered time in therapy, committed to counseling sessions . . . he just knew he couldn’t give up. Not on this. She’d never given up on him, so he couldn’t let her walk away without trying something to keep her.

The thought of calling her flew through his mind, immediately causing an urgent need to hear her voice to flow over him, his pace picking up in a rush to get to the phone.

His head turned suddenly to the left, his eyes landing on another sheet of paper stuck in the corner of a larger wedding photo. They’d just exchanged vows and he was smiling down at her, nothing but care and want for her lightening his features as he slid the gold band carefully onto her finger.

There had been a time when he’d wanted nothing more than to shield her from any hurt that may have come her way. Taking care of her, protecting her had been his mission in life, what his entire world had revolved around.

When had he changed? When had it become so easy to hurt her, knowing that forgiveness was a pleading look away?

Was he the man in the photo, who’d loved someone enough to commit himself to her, pledging his devotion until the day he died, or was he the shell of a person standing in the hallway, who found it so easy to crush the woman he loved over and over again?

Or was he a mixture of both? Both of those men existed in him and each one took his turn, as if he had a different personality for when he was with her and when she wasn’t around.

He knew it was time to stop, to be the man she needed him to be. The baby she carried would need him . . . she would need him to be there as she went through the rest of her pregnancy.

And that meant saying goodbye to the bachelor lifestyle he’d been living for much longer than he should have. He was a married man, a father. It was beyond time to act the part.

Not that it’d be difficult. It was so easy to love her, would be so easy to love their child. He couldn’t imagine ever not wanting to love them both.

A warm, comforted feeling spread through him and he couldn’t help but smile, knowing that he was finally doing the right thing – not only for himself, but for his family as well.

But first he had to convince her that he truly wanted to change, that he was ready to give her everything he’d promised when he’d put that ring on her finger.

Blinking quickly, he forced his attention away from the burning image and to the familiar scrawl on what had to be the other half of the page clenched in his trembling fingers.

In the end, it’s me you’re gonna miss
’Cuz you won’t find this

With those short sentences, he knew that there was very little chance of his hopes coming to fruition. He’d pushed her too far this time, committed the one offense that was totally unforgivable . . . and she’d finally had enough. It was over.

Shakily, he reached up, removing the frame from its hanger. Hugging it to his chest, he stepped backward until his back was against the opposite wall and he could slide down to sit on the floor, the picture resting on his knees so he couldn’t help but look at it.

A fire began to lick at the back of his throat, making it impossible to swallow around the tears he was trying valiantly to fight down. In a flash, he remembered each and every time he’d made promises as tears ran down her face, always intending to keep his word to her, but never able to actually do it. The irony fell so hard, he felt as if it would push him straight down through the floor.

“You have to grow up one day. I just hope I’m still around to see it.”

It had taken him too long. He’d kept himself in superstar mode for so long – assuming that he could take whatever he wanted, doing anything to anybody – that she’d grown tired of waiting.

She’d walked out on him, probably never intending to step back through the door, taking his baby with her.

For a second, fear paralyzed him, the wonder of whether or not he would ever get to see, hold or sing to the baby they’d created together sending a cold chill skating down his spine.

No, that was impossible. Nat didn’t have a single mean, deceitful bone in her body. There was no way that she would separate him from his own flesh and blood. He knew that she would allow him to be there, take a part in the infants’ life, no matter how much it hurt her to do so.

Maybe not right now, but one day he’d be included, allowed to be the father he knew he was meant to be.

A relief set over him, but it wasn’t enough to make him forget that his once in a lifetime – the love of his life, the only woman who’d ever made him feel – was gone, slipping right through his fingers.

Carefully, his fingertips traced over the happy faces protected by glass.

The first tears escaped as he finally admitted that she was right. No matter how busy he was, how many albums he sold, how many women he slept with . . . he would never find this – or anything even remotely close to what they’d had together – again.

He already missed her.

And he knew he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself.

Inspired by and containing lyrics from You Won’t Find This as performed by Carrie Underwood

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