I didn’t make it out of the door in time. I could see our parents were already walking toward us. My father’s broad frame filled the space in the foyer, his heavy steps making the floor creak. My tiny, dark-haired mother was close behind him, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
Marcusstepped in front of the half-open door, blocking my way out.
“You’re not walking away from this,” he muttered under his breath.
I braced myself for the bullshit about to come out of their mouths.
They never liked Jordin. They didn’t hate her, but she didn’t fit into their ideals of what a wife was supposed to be. My mother had raised two kids, been a stay-at-home wife for over forty years. She cooked, cleaned, and planned every holiday dinner. She enjoyed taking care of her husband and her kids. My father had drilled that image into me since I was a kid—what a wife should be. And Jordin, with her career and her independence, never quite fit into that box.
“Oak,” my mother started, her tone calm but firm. “We know you are going to see her tomorrow. You need to sign the divorce papers and let her go. This isn’t healthy.”
“I’m not signing shit,” I bit out, my jaw tightening.
“You’re being ridiculous,” my father said, stepping closer. “You’ve been separated for months. She’s not coming back.”
“You don’t understand,” I shot back. “There is no moving on without Jordin. She’s mine. She’s always been mine.”
My mother’s brow furrowed, her hands clutching the edges of her cardigan. “You need to let her go. She was never meant to be for you.”
My father’s voice cut through. “No man is supposed to love a woman more than she loves him. That’s why it was so easy for her to walk away while you’re falling apart.”
The words hit like a slap, and I snapped.
“She wassupposedto walk away!” I shouted, my voice echoing through the foyer. I could hear feet moving. My other family was coming to watch the spectacle.
My father’s eyes narrowed, his jaw ticking, but I didn’t stop.
“That’s what she was supposed to do. She’s supposed to leave when I fucked up. She’s supposed to protect herself, her sanity. And I’m supposed to fix it. That’s how this works!”
“You sound crazy,”Marcusmuttered, but I ignored him.
I turned to my mother, my chest heaving. “You didn’t leave, and look what it got you. How many times did Dad step out on you? How many times did you stay, hoping it would change? You think we don’t know you still cry over it sometimes?”
Her eyes filled with tears, her face crumbling.
“Don’t you dare,” my father barked, stepping in front of her. “Don’t you fucking dare talk to your mother like that.”
Marcusshoved me hard, forcing me back a step. “Apologize,” he demanded, his voice cold.
I laughed bitterly, brushing him off. “Fuck that. I’m not apologizing for telling the truth. She deserved better, and sodoes Jordin.” It was the truth. For years he fucked who he wanted while having our mother cater to his every need. Jordin didn’t do that. She walked away and even thought it hurt me I respected her.
My father pointed a finger in my face. “You’re lucky you’re my son,” he growled. “You ever speak to your mother like that again, and I’ll knock you on your ass, boy.”
I stared him down, my fists clenched, my breath coming fast. But I didn’t say another word.
Instead, I turned and walked out the door, not looking back.
The cold night air hit me as I stepped onto the porch, but it didn’t cool me down. I didn’t care about their judgment, their disapproval. They didn’t understand.
Jordin wasn’t just my wife—she was my life. And tomorrow morning would be my chance to get her back. I wasn’t about to let anyone—or anything—interfere with that.
fifteen-Jordin
The mediator’s office was suffocating. Oak had requested this. He wanted to try to talk through our problems. I wanted to leave and avoid them. This was the kind of place that seemed deliberately designed to crush your spirit with its beige walls, dim lighting, and uncomfortable silence.
I adjusted my burgundy sweater dress. It hugged my curves and ended just above my knees. My hair was slicked back into a bun. For Oak, I needed to look put-together, unshaken—even though I felt like crumbling inside.
Oak sat across from me in one of the leather chairs that seemed too small for his broad frame. His crisp white shirt stretched across his chest, the top button undone. He wore dark jeans like he was trying to be casual, but the second our eyes met, I saw it—the storm brewing underneath.
