Page 11 of His Naive Wife

“And why would I do that?” Dylan asks.

“If you do that, then I can get an annulment, and we can get married. He just wants to hear that you love me.”

“But I don’t.”

“But you have to! You do love me. We made love, you called me your baby, and you said you wanted to be with me.”

Dylan laughs. “Yeah, baby. Because that’s what guys do to get some pussy. I thought you would put in the good word with your dad and get me some extra pay. It would’ve been worth putting up with you.”

“Putting up with me?”

“Fuck, you’re such a clingy bitch.”

“But I thought?—”

“Don’t you get it? It doesn’t matter what you think,” he scoffs. “All that matters is what I get. Can’t believe I have to spell that out to you.”

“But Dylan…”

She steps closer to him and puts her hand on his arm.

“Get the fuck away from me,” he says.

He slaps her hand, then gives her a push. Emilee stumbles backward, but I catch her.

“Are you okay?” I ask, letting her go.

“Alex?” she whispers, then nods.

I’ve seen enough. I take two steps towards Dylan, with my hand balled up, then punch him on the nose, breaking it. Dylan falls back off the bench. His hands fly to his face and cover his nose as blood begins to gush.

Standing over him, I look down at him, wanting to hurt him even more.

“Don’t you dare talk to my wife ever again,” I say. I reach for my wallet, pull out a few hundreds, and throw them at him. “Get yourself cleaned up. You’re an embarrassment.”

As I leave, Emilee follows. I stop at the limo and open the door for her.

“In case you didn’t hear me earlier, I’m going away on a business trip for a few days,” I say before walking back to my car and leaving.

A few days later, I came home late after the business trip. She’s been on my mind constantly, and I thought about reaching out to her, but with how little she speaks to me, I didn’t see the point.

While I was gone, I heard from Reggie, who informed me that Emilee seemed a little different since that day. She started visiting her father again and no longer wanted to drive around like she had that day.

As I head upstairs, I hear Emilee crying. I’m torn for a moment as I stand in the hall. I can continue to the right, towards my bedroom, or I can go left to where her suite of rooms is.

I continue to my room, thinking about how she doesn’t want me around. I can’t get the sound of her crying out of my head. I return to the hall, wondering why she’s so upset and how long she’s been feeling this way. Is it because of Dylan? Is this from what happened the other day? Or is there something else? Can I do something to help her feel better? Does she even want my help? I need to try.

Heading down the hall, the sounds of her crying become louder. They’re not constant, but she sounds miserable.

As I reach her door, I wonder if I should knock. Maybe this is the wrong time for me to push myself on her. Maybe I should continue leaving her alone.

“Emilee?” I say, then knock on the door. “Are you okay?”

The door swings open. Emilee has her long hair pulled up into a messy bun on the top of her head. She’s wearing oversized, boxy pajamas with watercolor hot pink ribbon bows on them. Her eyes are red and swollen.

She throws her arms around me and buries her head in my neck. I breathe her in, finding her vanilla scent intoxicating. I hold her close as she cries.

After a few minutes, she sniffles and takes a step back from me. She wipes her tear-stained face and forces a smile.

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