Chapter 14 - The Echoes of Betrayal
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Daniel followed me home that night.
Not because I asked him to, and certainly not because I wanted him there. But legally and practically, it was still his house, and my lawyer had advised me not to engage in illegal lockouts.
We drove in separate cars. When I pulled into the garage, I sat in the driver's seat for five minutes, gripping the steering wheel, trying to find the energy to walk inside.
When I finally entered the house, Daniel was standing silently beside the dark Christmas tree in the living room.
For years, I had watched movies and read books where the betrayed wife delivered brilliant, devastating monologues to her cheating husband. In my imaginary confrontations, I was sharp, witty, and profoundly articulate. The husband always collapsed under the sheer weight of my perfect sentences, begging for mercy.
Reality was far quieter, and much sadder.
I took off my wool coat and hung it in the hallway closet.
“I’m sorry,” Daniel said to my back.
I pushed a stray hanger aside. “Okay.”
He stared at me as I turned around, visibly baffled by my lack of yelling. “That’s it? Just... okay?”
“What do you want me to say, Daniel?”
“I don’t know!” he threw his hands up in frustration.
“Neither do I.”
I walked past him toward the kitchen to get a glass of water. He followed me like a lost dog.
“I never meant to hurt you, Emily,” he pleaded, leaning heavily against the granite counter.
I filled a glass from the tap, watching the water cascade. “Then what exactly did you think would happen when you started sleeping with another woman?”
“I wasn’t thinking!”
I took a slow sip of water. “That isn’t better, Daniel. That’s actually much worse.”
He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes aggressively. “I know. I know it is. It just... it started as talking. We really were just friends at first.”
“Until you weren’t.”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“When did it become physical?” I asked, leaning against the sink, bracing myself for the impact.
He closed his eyes tightly, hating himself for having to say the word. “August.”
Four months.
My mind instantly reeled backward, cataloging the last four months of my life. Four months of cooking dinners together. Doing laundry. Sunday grocery store runs. Watching movies on the couch. Having sex. Celebrating his birthday. Planning our holiday travel.
All of it happened while another, secret relationship grew like a cancer right beside mine.
“Did you love her?” I asked softly.
“I don’t know.”
I scoffed. “That seems to be your favorite answer lately.”
“Emily, please.”
I looked at him, feeling a sudden wave of total exhaustion wash over me. “What do you want from me tonight, Daniel? Truly.”
“I want you to understand why I did it,” he begged, tears finally spilling down his cheeks.
“No.”
He blinked, stunned by my refusal. “No?”
“I spent eleven years understanding you, Daniel,” I said, my voice never rising above a conversational tone. “I understood when work was too stressful and you snapped at me. I understood when your father had bypass surgery and you barely slept or spoke to me for a month. I understood when you needed weekends away with your friends to decompress. I understood when you forgot our anniversary dinner because a client had an emergency.”
Daniel looked down at his shoes, unable to meet my gaze.
“I understood you,” I continued, the tears finally coming, “until understanding became the unpaid job you expected me to do while you lied to my face.”
He lunged forward, grabbing my hands before I could pull away. “I don’t want to lose you, Emily. I swear to God, I don't want to lose you.”
May you like
I gently, but firmly, pulled my hands out of his grasp.
“You should have thought about that before you created a version of our marriage where I already knew it was over.”
