Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 36691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 183(@200wpm)___ 147(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
“I guess I didn’t realize you weren’t together when you moved here.”
“I didn’t move here . . .” His words give me pause. It wasn’t necessarily what he said, but how he said it. “What do you mean?”
“Just that I’m surprised she’s engaged. She came into the office the other day, flashing a ring around. From what Jokoba says, they’ve been together for a year now.”
Everything in me dies. Every. Single. Part.
“Nick?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t know she was engaged?”
I clear my throat. “Kirk, up until a few weeks ago, we were still fucking. Hell, technically, we’re still married until the divorce papers are finalized. So no, I didn’t know my wife was having an affair.” I hang up. Talking to him isn’t going to get me anywhere. Only after, do I realize I should’ve left my dirty laundry in the hamper and not shared it on the clothesline.
I’m pretty certain I pace a hole into the floor of my apartment. The downstairs neighbor probably wonders what I’m doing to make the floor creak. I know I’d be fearful that the ceiling was going to fall in with how rickety everything feels.
The alarm on my phone sounds, it’s time to pick Amelie up from school. On the days I have her, I like to give Talisa time off. She’s still paid, but I want to be more hands on. On my drive, I think about how life is going to be when I leave here, how things are going to be for Amelie. Will she solely depend on Talisa or will Aubrey be as present as she was back in Beaumont. I really want to know what she’s thinking or if she thought I’d find out.
Should I say something to her?
Every fiber of my being wants to ask her what the fuck is going on. I feel as if I’m owed an explanation. Do I want to hear about her affair? No, I don’t. I don’t need the details. Just the why. Why not just leave me? Us? Why the big song and dance?
I slam my hand against the steering wheel in aggravation. The more I think about the situation, the angrier I become. What’s the point? She’s likely to lie or tell me it’s none of my business when I think it is.
Did this man come to Beaumont?
Was he in our home?
Our bed?
Around our children?
Amelie comes toward the car, with a bright smile on her face. I know I’m going to tell her before I can even think about the pros and cons. She has to know, mostly for my own peace of mind.
“Hi, Daddy,” she says as she climbs into the back. “How was your day?”
“Hey, sweetie.” I steer the car back into traffic and turn toward the apartment, thankful it’s a five-minute drive. “How was school?” I ask, avoiding her question.
“Meh,” she says shrugging. I catch the act in the rearview mirror and smile. She’s animated, adventurous, and temperamental. The latter comes with age and I know she’ll grow out of it. Damn it, I’m going to miss her, and hate the idea of leaving her. I don’t care if I have months left, leaving her behind is going to destroy my soul.
Amelie catches me staring and gives me a wide, beautiful toothy smile. I love her more than my own life. Her and Mack. My pride and joy. The best parts of me.
I park and help her out of the car, carrying her backpack. She leads us upstairs and waits for me to unlock the door. For everything she’s going through, she’s managing well.
“Can I watch TV?”
“How much homework do you have?”
“Some reading and spelling words.”
“Let’s do that first, and then you can watch TV while I make dinner.”
“Can we call Mack?” she asks as she empties her backpack onto the table. I look at the calendar app on my phone and see that he has a game.
“Probably not,” I tell her. “He’s got a game, so he’ll be busy after school.”
“I miss him.”
“I know. Me too.”
Beyond measure. Being separated from him is the worst feeling in the world.
I help Amelie with her homework. We run through her spelling words, mastering them by the third try. She sets off to the living room to watch her show while I whip us up something to eat. After dinner, she showers and then joins me on the couch.
“I want to talk to you about something,” I tell her. She sits crossed legged in front of me, with the most serious ten-year-old expression she can muster. “It’s adult stuff.”
Her nose crinkles. I can’t say I don’t blame her.
“You know Mom and I love you very much, right?” She nods. “And you know we’re not going to live in the same house anymore, right?” Her happy-go-lucky expression changes. The sadness in her eyes breaks my heart.