With every blink, I see him with her. Static clips of him undressing her, kissing her, touching her, pushing into her play in color the whole drive home. I move in a haze through the home we’ve made together, up the grand staircase where he made love to me the first time he brought me to this house, and through the French doors of our bedroom. There isn’t a single room that is untouched by the burning love we once shared.
Now, I stand and stare at our bed in dead silence. A room that used to be filled with laughter and passion is now filled with cunning jabs and insults, lies and deceit. In a crashing instant, the overwhelming feeling of loss sends me to my knees, and I wail my pain out, loud and ugly. My cries echo through the house as I sob and sob until I eventually wear out and force myself to my feet. Needing to distract myself, I move to the kitchen, grab a glass of wine, and bury myself in work until the sun sets and the night closes in.
Hours have passed with no word from Tripp—not that I want to hear from him. When I decide to turn in for the night, I lie in bed and curl into myself. There’s no concept of time as I brood in the darkness. My mind is a labyrinth of agonizing torment. I laze in it because, what other choice do I have? I give in, allowing it to fester and create the fuel I need to find strength, hardening my softest parts and sharpening my once-smooth edges.
The stairs creak under Tripp’s feet, and my stomach churns in disgust at the thought of what he’s been doing that has kept him out till nearly one in the morning. I pretend to sleep as he makes his way into the closet and strips out of his clothes. When he finally comes to bed, I fear this marriage is over. That very thought makes it impossible for me to think about anything other than the memories of how our marriage began.
“What are you doing in here? You’re not supposed to see me! It’s bad luck.”
“Fuck luck,” Tripp says when he closes the door behind him, turning the lock so no one can barge in.
I stand in nothing but my undergarments, uncomfortable with my flaws even though Tripp worships my body as if it were a shrine built solely for his worship.
He walks across the room, which is one of many in his parents’ home. The home in which he grew up. The home in which I will marry my love today.
Knowing that his language only turns crude when lust ignites in him, I grow tense when his hand touches the bare skin of my hip.
“Stop. Your parents are downstairs. What if—”
“What?” he interrupts. “What if someone catches me making love to the woman I’m about to marry?”
“Well . . . yes.”
His smirk is devilish. “That’s what locks are for.”
“Tripp.”
“Mmmm, say my name again.”
The way he’s teasing me is sweet. I give into the comfort of knowing he craves me and wrap my arms around him, whispering, “Tripp.”
“Don’t make me wait until tonight, baby.”
And I don’t. We’re like two sex-crazed teenagers with each other, living in bliss, eager to love beyond our ability. Professing our devotion and making promises of eternity before friends and family isn’t enough, so we love even harder.
After, when we’re both spent, I rest my hand upon his chest so I can feel the life pumping inside him.
“It’s yours, you know,” he confesses.
“What is?”
“My heart. It’s always belonged to you.”
I relish in the tenderness my soon-to-be husband openly displays to me. It’s a stark contrast to the cutthroat prosecutor he is in the courtroom. His track record for wins is more than respectable—it’s impressive, and his trajectory is set. It’s the future his parents had groomed him for, and Tripp only has one more case left before he will officially announce his candidacy for Maryland’s Attorney General.
I know his goals well and will support him and encourage him. Together, we are powerful as we move forward to achieve our dreams.
When Tripp falls asleep, I stare up at the ceiling, knowing I need to take control of my situation. I won’t confront Tripp about what Emma and I saw at the coffee shop. What would be the point? He would simply deny whatever accusation I made. All I can do is pick one of two options: stay or leave.
Taking my time, I think through both possibilities and consider them carefully. If I stay, either I will have to confront him and hope that, through therapy, we can rebuild our marriage or I will stay quiet and remain as I have been—the good wife. I mean, it isn’t uncommon for wives of politicians to do, and maybe I could if he would keep it under wraps the way he used to. But now he’s flaunting his indiscretions, and I have more self-worth than to let my husband treat me like this. It’s a life I refuse to live no matter how prestigious this life might be.
So, that leaves only one choice—leave.
But it won’t be that simple. I’ve created a world that revolves around my husband, and I’ve lost myself along the way. If I leave him, I’ll have nothing to call my own. All because I signed that stupid prenup out of spite for Eloise. Not that I want to get my hands on the Montgomery money, but I do want what is rightfully mine from everything the two of us have built together over the years.
My thoughts and emotions run rampant, and I grow even more frustrated. Rolling onto my side, I listen to Tripp’s breathing as it evens out.
I’m already doubting myself.
Maybe I’m reading too much into things and all my suspicions are in my head. My mind fumbles between so many conflicting thoughts that it has me questioning the things I already know to be true. Before I know it, I’m slipping out of bed and quietly making my way into our closet. I close the double doors quietly behind me, and then flick the lights on. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, but once they do, I look around the large room and spot his suit and tie that are crumpled on the floor, the clothes he wore today.
I pick up his button-down dress shirt, look it over, and then bring it to my nose. My heart roars when I inhale the unmistakable sweetness of perfume. My hands clench the shirt with hostility, causing my knuckles to burn and strain before I sling the shirt across the small space. Fire ignites rage; my palms tingle as I hold in my hysterical screams.
I hate him.
In this moment, there’s no denying how much I hate him.
The deceit brings me beyond tears and drops me right into white-hot fire, scalding me from the inside out. How dare that bastard lie, cheat, and destroy the life he promised me? The life I’ve clung to and relied on to keep me safe. The life that’s nothing but a cover for his own selfish gain while he has his cock buried in everyone but me.
Taking in deep, steady breaths, I affirm my conclusion: I will leave him.
Emma
“You can’t spend Christmas alone, Em.”
“I’ll be fine. Plus, I need to unpack and settle in.”
“You have three boxes,” Luca says, clearly annoyed by my stubbornness. “You’ll be unpacked in thirty minutes, so stop being a brat and come home with me. My mother keeps asking to see you.”
I look around my new room, the room I had no other choice but to take. As soon as I knew I was being kicked out of the dorm, I went to my boss to see about switching over to a full-time position but was told that none were available at the moment. Broke and desperate, I took Luca up on his offer to move in with him.