I let him pull me close and hold me while my skin crawled and my mind raced. His fingers traced lazy circles on my hand, the same fingers that had tangled in her hair five minutes ago.
“Love you,” he murmured against my neck.
“Love you too,” I whispered back, the words tasting like ash.
Friday morning, I called in sick to work. I couldn’t concentrate on spreadsheets and client meetings when my marriage was crumbling in five-minute intervals every night.
I sat at the kitchen table with my laptop, opening a new email account.
Then I researched divorce lawyers and read reviews like I was shopping for a new dishwasher instead of dismantling my entire life.
Dave came home with flowers that evening. Red roses, my favorites.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked, arranging them in a vase.
“Can’t a man surprise his wife?” He kissed my cheek, and I wondered if Betty liked red roses too.
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