Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
He drops his gaze, exhales through his nose. “Holley…”
My stomach drops. That one word is enough. The way he says it: weary, guilty, like I’m something fragile he’s sorry to break but not sorry enough not to have done the breaking.
“How long?” I manage.
He rubs a hand over his face. “It’s not— I mean, it’s not what you think.”
I laugh, short and incredulous. “Well, please tell me what I think. Better yet, what is it, exactly? Neighborhood earring fairy? Traveling jewelry salesman? Spontaneous ear accessory manifestation?”
He bristles. “Jesus, you don’t have to be a bitch about it.”
The world tilts. There it is. I almost expected an apology. Groveling. Tears. How stupid am I to think he wouldn’t turn this on me somehow. Everything is always my fault somehow.
“Answer the question,” I order, and I hear ice in my own voice. “How long?”
His eyes flash with that defensive anger I’ve been seeing more lately, the kind that looks for reasons to stay in the fight. “What difference does it make?” he challenges.
“It makes a lot of difference to me,” I snap. “Was it a one-time thing? Is she someone you work with? Is she—”
“It’s not serious,” he blurts. “Okay? It’s not… it’s not like that.”
A cold, clean fury slides into place where the shock used to be. “So you cheated on me and I’m supposed to feel better because you don’t have feelings about it?”
He scoffs. “Like you even care anymore. Maybe if you paid more attention to me, I wouldn’t seek it somewhere else.”
The words land like a slap. My hand tightens around the earring until it digs into my skin. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re never here,” he fires back, unleashing on me. “You’re always working late, always tired, always stressed. You don’t want to go out, you don’t want to have sex, you don’t want to talk about anything except bills. Do you know how depressing that is?”
I throw my hands up in frustration. “So I drove you to cheat? Is that really what you’re saying?”
“I’m not saying that,” he says, which of course means he is. “I’m just… we haven’t been happy for a long time, Holley. You aren’t happy so how can I be?”
I stare at him. At the man I thought I would grow old with. At the man I’ve been breaking myself in half to support while he figured things out. This was his mid-life crisis I told myself.
“And instead of talking to me,” I mutter slowly, “you brought another woman into our home. Into our bed.”
“Look, it just happened, okay?” he remarks, frustration bubbling. “I didn’t plan it. I didn’t, like, go out looking—”
“Stop.” I hold up my hand. My chest is tight, my eyes burn, but I’m not crying. Not yet. “Just stop. I don’t care about the details. I don’t want to know her name. I don’t want to know what you told her about me.” My voice trembles on that, and I swallow it down. “I’ve heard enough.”
He shifts, suddenly uneasy. “Holls, can we just talk like adults? I’m here, we can go to counseling, we can—”
No, there is no more we can anything. “You need to leave.”
The words hang in the air between us.
He frowns like he misheard me. “What?”
“You need to leave,” I repeat. “Now.”
He barks a laugh. “Come on.”
“I’m serious.” My hands are shaking but my voice isn’t. “Pack a bag and go to… wherever she is. Or your buddy’s place. I don’t care. But you don’t get to stay here tonight. Not after this.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “This is my house too.”
Rage flares, hot and sharp. “My name is the only one on the mortgage. My paycheck covers every bill that’s actually paid. You’ve been between jobs for eight months, so forgive me if I don’t feel generous about supporting you one second longer.”
His face hardens. “Low blow.”
“You slept with someone else in our home,” I state my voice cracking. “That’s the low blow. You brought another woman in my sanctuary. This is self-respect.” I don’t recognize myself anymore. I’ve been swallowing things down for so long, smoothing, fixing, apologizing for both of us. Now the words are just spilling out, sharp and clear, and part of me is terrified but another part feels…released, almost clean.
“Holley, be reasonable—”
“I am being reasonable,” I state. “Reasonable is not throwing that bottle at your head.” I nod at the liquor bag on the table. “Reasonable is not screaming until the neighbors call the cops. Reasonable is telling you to pack a bag and leave before I change my mind.”
He studies me like he’s trying to decide if I’m bluffing.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” he tries.
“No. I’m done sharing space with you.”
“Come on, baby, we can—”
“Do not call me that.” The word feels like acid now. “Go. Get your stuff for tonight. I’ll give you a window tomorrow to come pack for the long term. Tonight figure out where you’re staying because it won’t be here. After that, we talk about lawyers.”