Marissa stopped as she heard Bridget's voice, looking up to see the redhead outside the doorway, hidden from view of the neighbors by the strategically-planted shrubbery.  "Ask him?" she asked a little blankly.  Ask him what, exactly?  Why he'd chosen a life of debauchery instead of her own love?  The fact that Bridget had followed her outside instead of Cyril wasn't lost on her.  Did he care so little that he chose to stay with his mistress instead of coming to her?<br/><br/>Every insecurity she'd had in the last months came back, flooding her with emotion that made her want to scream.  Cyril had made choices that hurt her, and he continued to do so even now.  They had resolved to put one another first, and he was already rescinding that vow.<br/><br/>And yet, she knew deep inside of herself that she wasn't being fair.  Underneath the emotional layers, when she peeled away the pain, she knew that Cyril wouldn't be here with her if he wasn't trying to prove to her that she was important to him, that she was worth letting into his entire life.  And he'd assumed he would have to give this up.  He'd been willing to do so.  It had been Marissa's idea to contact Bridget.  She'd been the one to decide that she needed to understand this and be whatever Cyril needed so that he wouldn't have to seek it from elsewhere again.<br/><br/>"I've asked a hundred times, and he's not really given me an answer.  This has been hard for us," she responded finally, her throat tight around tears she wouldn't allow to fall.  "I'm here to get the answer, though.  I told you I was strong enough for this because I thought I was, but I'm not as sure now.  What's keeping me here is how much I love him.  I want my marriage back, Bridget.  He's worth it."<br/><br/>She met the other woman's eyes and stepped forward, wondering if Cyril had heard the conversation between his wife and his mistress.