I laugh as if the possibility’s preposterous. “Sweetheart, she’s lying.”
“This was supposed to be our fresh start,” she says quietly. “How could you do this to us?”
She places a protective hand on her belly, her wedding ring glinting in the low light. My throat tightens.
“How long did you know about Halberd buying Branley, Gareth? How long have you been lying to me about everything?”
“I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve been so tired lately?—”
“And this woman? What about her? Who is she? Some airhead from work?” she hisses, rising to her feet. “What excuse do you have forthat?”
“It’s all a misunderstanding.”
“I’m going to my sister’s. For good this time.” She turns to our son. “Come on, George.”
“No… Chels… wait… please.”
But she’s already waddling upstairs to pack, refusing to look back.
For the next half hour, I follow her around the house, begging and pleading. Nothing lands. She marches out with George in tow and doesn’t even tell me when she’ll be back.
I doubt she will be; she said it’s for good this time.
They drive off into the evening drizzle, brake lights bleeding red across the wet tarmac, and I’m left behind in the silence they’ve condemned me to. I drop into the armchair with a groan, elbows on knees, hands cradling my skull like I can physically contain the noise. But it’s no use.
What the bloody hell am I meant to do now?
My phone buzzes from somewhere in the sofa cushions. Persistent vibrating like it knows I don’t want to answer. I fish it out and seehername flash across the screen.
Of course.
I answer with venom already coating my tongue. I don’t even try to hide it. I’m furious with her. And myself. And the mess we’ve made.
She swept in like a storm and tore everything to bits, and now she gets to just walk away while I’m left here in the wreckage.
“Yeah?” I bark. “You’re where? Outside? The garage? How the hell did you?—?”
I hang up without another word and shove myself to my feet, stomping out to the garage with dread pooling in my gut.
She’s already there, standing beside the car, damp from the rain, hair clinging to her cheeks, cardigan sleeves darkened from the drizzle. She looks small in the low light, like someone I might’ve pitied once. Not now, not after everything.
“You just missed her,” I say, nodding vaguely toward the drive. “But you can’t come in. Not while she’s not home. I’ll give you a lift and that’s it, alright?”
We climb into the car and the doors thud shut with the kind of finality that makes my skin crawl. I twist the key in the ignition. The engine stirs to life with a low hum, and I reach for the gearshift, but her hand comes down over mine, halting the motion.
“Let’s talk first,” she says gently. “I know this has all been... difficult.”
I let out a bitter laugh and shake her off. “It has to work out. Because I’m going to make sure Chels takes me back. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll walk through fire if that’s what it comes to.”
“You still love her…”
“I’ll always love her,” I mutter, eyes on the windshield. The condensation creeps in from the corners. “She’s my wife.”
The engine’s low purr grows louder in the enclosed garage, reverberating through the metal and brick. There’s already a faint sting in my nose, the toxic stench of carbon monoxide weaving into the air like a warning. I drag a hand across the top of my head and lean back with a sigh.
“Look... this ends, alright? I’ll drop you off. We’ll tell her together. Sort it like adults.”
But she’s shaking her head, lips tight and eyes glassy with something unreadable.
