“We’ll get through this, Oak. You’re not alone.”
I nodded as tears started streaming down my face. The pain was a constant ache. Marcus sat beside me, not saying a word while I cried like I’d never cried before, and I appreciated him for that.
The next morning, Marcus was still there. He had crashed on the couch, not wanting to leave me alone. I appreciated it more than I could say. I got up, showered, and dressed, feeling like a shadow of my former self.
We went out for breakfast. He cracked jokes, talked about work, and tried to distract me. It worked, a little. I managed to eat without feeling like I was going to throw up.
When we got back to the house, he dropped me off. I found an envelope waiting for me in the mailbox. My stomach dropped, but I forced myself to open it. It was a letter from Jordin’s lawyer, outlining the terms of the divorce she wanted.
I read through it, my hands shaking. She didn’t want anything from me. She deserved it all. Seeing the end of us in black and white made it real. It made it feel final.
I crumpled the letter and threw it in the trash, then grabbed a bottle of tequila from the bar. I couldn’t deal with it right now.
seven-Jordin
They say grief comes in stages—denial, anger, bargaining. I didn't know which one I was in, and frankly, I didn't give a damn about a textbook explanation. All I knew was the hole in my chest,from the cold, heavy fact of being with the same man for almost twenty years and losing him—not to fate, but to a two-bit secretary.
The leather of Leyani’s couch squeaked under my thick thighs as I shifted, but the sound was muted by the blood pounding in my ears. I was seated cross-legged, gripping my phone so tightly the muscles in my right hand hurt.
I swiped through my phone gallery again, a ritual of self-torture. My lip caught between my teeth every time Oak’s face flashed on the screen.
This picture was of him smiling like the perfect husband on our trip to Miami, his arm slung over my shoulder like he owned me. I liked that possessive shit he did. It made me feel like I was his whole world. Like nothing else mattered but me.
Which is funny, considering he cheated—like I was just another thing he thought he owned, not someone he actually respected.
I stared at his face, my heart twisting like I’d just found out all over again.
“Fucking liar,” I muttered, swiping again, my thumb moving faster now. Another photo came up—his birthday lastyear. He’d been grinning, holding up a glass of whiskey like he was some kind of king. “You really thought you were better than everybody else, huh**?**”
“Oak, a fucking cheater with a God complex,” I said, my voice sounding louder and more bitter. “You really got me out here looking stupid.” I was being ridiculed all over social media. The secretary bitch sold the story. I was either an angry Black woman, a jealous Black woman, or a bitch who deserved to be cheated on, according to half the internet.
I leaned back against the couch, the tears still falling as I scrolled through the photos faster. “Look at his ass. Always up under me, at every party. Anti-social, narcissistic ass.”
I clicked on a video. It was from that time we went to a karaoke bar, and he’d gotten up to sing some off-key version of Luther Vandross. His cocky, pale ass had thought he was killing it, and I’d laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. I smiled for half a second before the pain came rushing back.
I put the phone down on the sofa, telling myself I was done, then picked it right back up, swiping again, even though I knew I shouldn’t. I landed on a picture from our anniversary dinner. Oak had been all dressed up, his tie slightly crooked, that smirk on his face that used to drive me crazy. I stared at the photo until my vision blurred, a lump forming in my throat.
My hand tightened around the phone. I wanted to throw it. Smash it. Burn it. But I couldn’t. I just sat there, staring at his face, the tears spilling over before I could stop them.
“How could you?” I whispered to the empty room, my voice trembling. “How the hell could you?”
I sniffed hard, swiping at my cheeks. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t the woman who sat around crying over a man. But here I was, on my best friend’s couch, no makeup, no pride, just a mess of emotions I couldn’t get a handle on.
“This is your fault, Oak. You aren’t even all that to be acting like this over,” I snapped, wiping my nose on my sleeve. “So much shit I let slide. Your temper, your little mood swings, the way you always had to be right. I let it go because I loved you. But you—” My voice broke, and I tossed the phone onto the table, burying my face in my hands.
“You were selfish,” I choked out, my voice muffled by my hands. “You were so fucking selfish, Oak. And I let you be. I let you think it was okay to make everything about you.”
I sniffled, reaching for the wine glass on the table. The alcohol burned as it went down, but it didn’t burn enough. Nothing was ever enough to make this shit hurt less.
“I should have cheated on you first. You ruined us,” I whispered, staring at the ceiling, the tears spilling over again. “And for what? A secretary with a bad sew-in? God, I hate you.” I couldn’t believe this motherfucker had me out here talking to myself. I wished Leyani would bring her ass home.
My phone buzzed on the table, pulling me out of the spiral. I reached for it, wiping my eyes to see the screen clearly. A message from Ciarán lit up the display.
Ciarán:How are you feeling, J? I’m sorry for your grief,mamma. I’m in your city and was thinking about you.
I stared at the message, my heart thudding. I shouldn’t respond. I knew I shouldn’t. But then I thought about sitting here alone with these pictures, these memories, this pain that wouldn’t let me breathe.
My fingers moved on their own.
