Chapter 2
I paused with the water glass halfway to the dishwasher.
I was utterly baffled.
He blocked my number yet blamed me for not contacting him.
I waited two hours, barely home five minutes, yet he claimed to have searched for an hour.
I couldn’t stomach exposing his lies.
“Want me to call?” My voice frosted over. “Unblock me first.”
His jaw muscle t This book had been added on your bookshelf.
Storming to the living room, he slammed a rain–sodden cake on the counter – no box, just plastic wrap clinging to matcha frosting.
“Shops were closing. This was the last one.”
My phone lit up with Valda’s new post: a pristine blueberry cheesecake.
Caption: “Blessed by an angel boss by day, cherished by my love by night.”
The irony tasted like battery acid. My lips refused to twist into anything resembling a smile.
“Thanks.” I pushed the soggy dessert away. “Trash it.”
His eyes burned crimson.
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“You’re fucking insane! I drove through hell for this!”
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“Throwing a tantrum over birthday bonuses? I’m the CEO! And you DMed Valda like some jealous-”
I massaged my throbbing temple. Rainwater still chilled my bones.
“Not jealous. Just… tired.”
“Bullshit!” He smashed a fist against the fridge.
“You’re thirty–fucking–two! Acting like some clingy college girl! Fresh meat’s everywhere—”
We’d danced this waltz before.
In the past, I would’ve begged him to say, “You’re my only.”
But now I knew better.
Why the hell should grow–ass adults waste breath on love that needs interrogation?
“Think whatever.” I stood. “Your delusions aren’t my responsibility.”
Then I walked to my bedroom.
He hurled the cake into the bin.
Snickers leaked as he scrolled.
When bathroom pipes groaned twenty minutes later, I hauled spare bedding to the guest room.
He blocked the hallway, damp hair dripping on my pillow
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stack.
“What’s this bullshit? Separate bedrooms now?”
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“I’m tolerating your disgusting hospital stench, and you pull this? Think you’re still some nubile twenty–year–old?” His laugh turned jagged. “Wouldn’t touch you with hazmat gear!”
“Insomniac freak. Don’t text me at 3 AM again!”
The deadbolt clicked.
In the past, every midnight he strayed, I would toss in sweat- soaked sheets, bombarding his phone until dawn.
He’d slammed a prescription bottle of Ambien on the breakfast counter the next morning.
Then, I learned to swallow those little white lies nightly.
Now, fearing drug interactions with the divorce attorney’s antidepressants, I discovered sober sleep.
The monsters under the bed turned out to be paper tigers.
Dawn found me reviewing divorce attorney profiles.
Antonio’s company page was updated simultaneously – a victory reel.
Champagne geysers.
Valda’s delighted shriek as he shielded her from the spray.
The soaked navy suit was last year’s anniversary gift from me.
This year’s planned gift – a Patek Philippe – now sat in a
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returns warehouse.
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Chapter 3
