Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
He brought more women over and escorted them out in the mornings in broad daylight. One time he did it while Miley and I were eating breakfast. He’d made himself and his one-night stand a cup of coffee, they laughed in the den as they drank it, and then she was gone five minutes later. All the while, Miley was sitting right across from me, avoiding my eyes, her head turned slightly to the side so she could hear their conversation, but it was all muffled, minus the laughter. I didn’t miss the tears building up in her eyes and that made my heart ache for her because I didn’t know what else to do. I could have given her another apartment, but I worried that if she was alone again, she’d do something terrible. I had to keep an eye on her as much as possible because this was all my fault. Her pain was because of me. It’d always been because of me.
* * *
Shortly after getting my shed, Roland wanted to surprise me by taking me to Hawaii. It was a quick vacation. He was going to meet his agent and publicity rep to discuss making his return a big one, and after their meeting was finalized over drinks and expensive dinners, we had five days to ourselves before we had to go back home.
But during those five days, something didn’t feel right between us. There was a disconnect that I hadn’t felt before, but while we vacationed it was both potent and devastating. We went out, had dinners, walked the beach, bathed in the sun, and swam in the ocean and the pools, but during it all, Roland no longer felt like my husband, and I didn’t know why. It was a strange feeling. I watched him the entire time, spent all this alone time with him, and he felt like a stranger to me. He was still Roland, and I was still Melanie . . . but our connection had changed. Or maybe I had changed.
It hit me one night while we were lying in a bed that I was sure thousands of other people had lain on, that I was no longer in love with Roland.
I thought I still was, and that I would want him every day for the rest of my life—but as I looked at him, watched him sleep, watched him stir and snore, I came to the conclusion that I was absolutely wrong.
He was just a man lying next to me, one I didn’t know anymore and one I didn’t want to learn about again. Our marriage felt so empty lately, our arguments masked with gifts and surprise trips. Roland wasn’t good at clearing up an argument or making things better. He just buried it with money, and I was sure he’d gotten that from his mother. I’d met her once. Cathy Lewis. Lewis was her maiden name. She wasn’t a pleasant woman. She was rude and she despised me, but she tolerated my existence for Roland because he was her only son.
To Cathy, no one was good enough for her son. But I noticed Cathy always wanted to buy things for him. Or she wanted Roland to buy things for her. She’d send him gifts, like new golf clubs or tees or shirts. But in her notes to him, never did she say that she loved him. Her love was shown differently, through material things. Little knickknacks during her travels that would prove she’d been thinking of him when she bought it.
Roland’s love was empty. Our love was empty. But I couldn’t play a victim in this. I’d married him, knowing he showed his love this way—with gifts and material things. I’d married him, knowing damn well we probably wouldn’t last. Not because of anything he’d done, but because of who I am as a woman. Always unsatisfied. Always wanting more. Always wanting attention from anyone who will give it to me. Always wanting to be touched, even though Roland wasn’t much of a touchy person. Always wanting to talk, even though Roland wasn’t much of a talker.
I went into this marriage knowing it would fail.
And the sad thing is, we could have tried to salvage it. I could have told him that I wanted to work on falling in love again, restoring what we had. But I’d cheated, and not with just any man—with his own fucking cousin. His favorite, most trusted cousin, of all people. I was worthless, and he deserved better. He really did.
“Roland?” I called. It was still dark, but the moon was shining through the double doors across the room that led out to a wide balcony. “Roland?”
“Hmm?” He turned over, sighing. “Yeah?” One of his eyes peeled opened before slowly closing again.
“I think . . .” I swallowed hard, the words suddenly lodging in my throat.