Where do broken hearts go?
Heather’s weeklong vacation had been approved, the house had been scrubbed from top to bottom, Lisa had gone to stay with a friend for the night despite Heather’s many blushing attempts to convince her that wasn’t necessary, and a whole sampler of Mathieu’s favorites had been prepared and plated, warming in the oven for his arrival. She went through the mental checklist again, making sure everything was perfect - the right beer at the right temperature, the music he likes on the background, the scent that he preferred at the right density through the rooms, her hair pinned back, his favorite dress on her … what was she forgetting? She changed the sheets to the high thread count he liked, the towels in the bathroom were warm, no candles in sight, everything was perfect.
Finally hearing the sound of tires coming up the driveway, she hurried to the door, double checked her outfit was modest enough, fixed her hair, and then swung the door open, standing off to the side to not block his way in as she waited. Her heart was racing, her skin pleasantly warming, so excited to have her boy finally home safe. If only for a week. Lisa was always cautioning her about her expectations, to know when to be there and when to give them space, to not expect the same man to walk through the door every time, but Heather knew Mathieu. They were different. They were forever.
Patiently, she waited as he walked up the stairs, his navy fatigues still a thrill to see even now, and the smile on her face couldn’t be brighter. At least, it couldn’t until she realized he wasn’t returning it. Dimmed slightly, she felt herself wondering about what he’d seen or what’d he done to take away his smile, but just pushed her own a little brighter. She’d help. Whatever was troubling him, she’d find a way to lessen his burden.
He’d finally made it into the house and Heather was quick to shut and lock the door behind him, reach for his bags - puzzled slightly by the fact he was without any - and just beamed up at him. “Hello. Welcome home. Dinner’s ready, beer’s on the table, I could run a bath for you if you’d prefer to wash up before we eat?” Usually by now she was crushed in his arms and he was finding any horizontal surface so she was a little rattled. This wasn’t how it usually went. Interest finally sparked in his eyes as he turned towards her, his gaze dropping to study her body before heading towards the kitchen again. “I see you’ve taken my advice to start working out. It’s an improvement.”
Heather flushed, adjusting her top, but nodding all the same. It was really her job had kept her on her feet and rushing around with little time to grab more than a granola bar and a coffee but he didn’t need to know that. For now, she just hurried to pulled his dinner out of the oven, setting it at his place and finding herself shocked when he reached out to grab her hips and pull her right down onto his hips. “You are a sight for sore eyes though,” he groaned, finally grabbing her chin and pressing a few deep kisses to her mouth. As eager as she was to reacquaint them like that (he got much more affectionate for a few hours), she pulled away from his mouth. “The food’ll get cold.” She protested. She knew from past mistakes that if she let this go the way he wanted it to now, she’d just get blamed for the cold food and carelessness after. So she slipped away, watched him enjoy the rice and beans, the jambalaya, the shrimp creole, and homemade biscuits. She had dessert for later, but for now, he was giving her that look again, so she giggled her way to their bedroom.
Three hours and a shower later, she was planning on heading back down the stairs to make a pot of tea and bring dessert out when he reached an arm out and stopped her. “Hey, babe. You know that blue shirt I like? And the photo album my Mom gave you? Could you find those for me?” Confused, but willing, Heather moved around the house collecting things for him and putting them in a box for him to take back with him, or at least, so she thought. He made a round of the house, trying to see if there was anything else he missed while he was away before he stopped in front of her.
“And your ring, please.”
Confused, Heather tilted her head slightly, her right hand protectively going to curl around it as she eyed him.
“Why do you want my ring?”
Most people took photographs, or old clothing, wearing someone else’s ring - well, that usually implied deceased and she was very much still alive, thank you.
“Oh, Heather.” Mathieu leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as he ran his fingers through her hair, “My poor naive barren little Heather.”
Flinching away from the words, she finally lost her smile, and opened her mouth to talk about the new things her job was allowing her to look into. Treatments and such that became affordable now that she was a hospital employee, but he had his phone out. A blonde woman with a huge belly, and a small toddler with their hands on it, both beaming at the camera. At her. “Why are you showing me this? I know you want kids. So do I. I’ll - “
Her voice trailed off as she realized she recognized that shirt. That was his football practice t-shirt he’d worn throughout high school. But why would she have one just like it? That was odd, wasn’t it?
“Why does she have -” Oh. “Those are - you - no.”
Just no. This wasn’t happening. Heather went to turn away from him, but he was much faster and much stronger, and it took just a hand wrapped around her bicep to pull her back and keep her in place.
“Her name is Jessica. I met her overseas. That’s Fiona and the one coming is Mathieu Jr. I - I love them so much, Heather. They’re amazing. Such perfect little people. You really can’t understand what it’s like to hold something in your hands that you created. Everything they say about paternal bonds is true - well, I suppose this is a wasted explanation on you. Basically I wanna marry the mother of my children. So I need your ring back. You understand. I’ll talk to your parents. It’ll be fine. You’ll go home with your honor still in tact, I promise.”
Heather stared at the picture, nothing was making sense. Mathieu was saying words, but they weren’t, there was no way they could mean the things she thought she was hearing.
“Heather? I haven’t got all day.”
Numbly, she worked the ring off her finger, pressed it into his hand, and then had the decency to walk to the door and hold it up for him as he picked up the box of his things, she’d literally packed for him - and walked out of her life. Not an I’m sorry, not an I love you, not I wish things were different. Just - sudden, overwhelming, awful silence.
On autopilot, she moved through the kitchen, cleaning up and putting away dishes, until the only trace of her meticulous meals were leftovers in the fridge, turned off the lights, shut the music off, and then crawled into bed, determined to not get out until Monday.