Jenna: June
The kids are at the beach with my mom. I’m standing at the sink, cleaning dishes again. Same motion, same soap, same plate in my hands. But everything feels different now. Like someone flipped a switch and drained the world of its color. No more bright hues. No laughter. Just unbearable numbness.
I glance out the window mid-scrub and see a flock of birds flying in a gray, dull sky. Then it hits me. A wave of emotion so powerful, I drop the sponge into the dish water, sending bubbles of soap into the air. I’ve been frozen for so long, telling myself everything’s fine. But I’m not fine. I want to let go. I have to. My fingers ache from years of clinging to hope. To breadcrumbs. To something that never comes.
A sob rips out of me as I sink to the floor and clutch my chest.
Jane’s voice echoes:“Sometimes, the hardest part isn’t deciding. It’s learning how to let go.”
The front door creaks open. Jacob’s heavy footsteps enter the kitchen. I turn around, forcing myself to meet his eyes.
My heart races. My mind spirals.
I have to spit it out before I lose all courage. Before I break down and die. Because that’s what it feels like. Dying. I’m killing our marriage. I’m throwing away years of memories, love, and the life we built.
“I think we need to separate.”
The air between us goes still. Jacob stares at me like the words didn’t register, like they can’t be real. Then his voice lowers, and I hardly recognize it. “No, Jenna, please. We can’t do this to the kids,” he pleads. “We can’t. We just can’t. I can fix this. We can fix this.”
“I can’t.” My voice trembles. “I can’t do this anymore. I need space to figure things out… on my own. We’ve tried therapy for months. Nothing’s changed.”
“Please, Jenna,” he begs, tears welling in his eyes as he inches closer towards me.
It twists something deep inside. I’ve never seen him this vulnerable. And I hate myself for making him cry. For not doing this sooner.
“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.” I wipe my cheeks and grip the counter.
“You love him?” he asks, the words ripping my heart right out of my chest. “It’s Dylan, isn’t it? Or someone else at work? There’s someone else, Jenna. There has to be. All the late nights, sneaking off with your phone, ignoring my calls… never wanting sex with your damn husband.” He slams his hand on the counter.
Tears threaten to fall. “It’s not about another man. I promise.”
“Stop lying. Just tell me the truth,” he demands, sitting on the bar stool. “That’s the least you can fucking give me.”
“It’s not about cheating,” I say, avoiding eye contact. “I swear. It’s about years of wondering if we’re right for each other. Begging you to give me more. Begging you to see me. To let me see you. Feeling like we’ve just been pretending, trying to be perfect,” I breathe out, shaking my head. “Well, I’m not. I’m exhausted, Jacob. Done pretending. Therapy won’t fix everything. It’s supposed to guide us. But you don’t want guidance. You want to be told you’re right.”
He looks at me like he already knows. Then exhales, shaky and slow. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I pause, searching his eyes. My heart races. Every fiber of my being screaming for me to take them all back.What if I’m making a mistake?
“I’m exhausted too,” he mutters. “What about the girls?”
“We have to figure out a way to share time with the girls equally, while I stay at my mom’s. They need you as much as they need me,” I whisper, my voice unsteady. “We can talk to the girls tonight. Come up with a story.”
He nods slowly, barely looking at me, and I walk away.
In our bedroom, I start stuffing clothes into my bag, hands shaking. Then I stop to take it all in. The memories. The photos. The nights we cuddled and expressed our love to each other…
And I crumble.
Chapter 35: Mind Games
Jenna: June
It’s been a few weeks since I left my husband. A few weeks of hell living at my mom’s like I’m a teenager again. Shuffling the girls between houses. Crying into my pillow so no one hears. Wondering if I fucked up all our lives.
And Dylan? It’s been six months since I ripped my own heart out. Six months of aching for a man I was never supposed to love. Six months battling an addiction I may never kick—because you can’t unlove the one person who made you feel something real.
Every day, it’s a battle inside, not to reach out, not to think about his touch. His kiss. God, his kiss. Every day, I draft messages I’ll never send. Silent screams of everything I wish I could say. Desperate to fill the emptiness he left behind. But Inever hit send. I just stare at the screen, praying the pain will finally fade. It never does.
