Page 84 of Unmatched

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying not to relive what just happened. “Oh, I’m there.”

She makes a sound I can’t identify. “Okay, um...shit, I was hoping to catch you before you left.”

I lean forward in my uncomfortable airport chair at the tone of her voice. She knows about the plan with Henry, why I’m going to Dallas, and what my hopes are for confronting Anton. If there’s a reason she wants to stop me, it’s probably bad.

“God, Lydia, I don’t know what else to tell you,” she says, blowing out a hard breath. “Anton’s back on Unmatched.”

My back hits the hard plastic seat.

Out the window, a Southwest Airlines jet barrels down a runway, taking off.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I was working on one of the follow-ups to the married-cheating article. I hadn’t logged into the site since the first one published, so I was checking to see what had changed. New policies, which guys were gone, who was brave enough to stick around, and...his profile’s back up. It’s active again.” Her voice gets quiet. “I’m sorry.”

I pull the phone away from my ear, staring at the screen like there should be something I can see. Something tangible. But it only shows the seconds of the call ticking by. What does this information mean? What do I do with it? I had about ten different plans in my head of various ways to move forward depending on how things went in Dallas, but Anton dating other women wasn’t one of those scenarios. Seth assured me my husband had been in a rut since he arrived, that he was miserable and would welcome my arrival. But...maybe not.

Maybe I’m too late.

“Lydia?”

“Yeah?” I bring the phone back to my ear, watching planes negotiate the busy runway. Trying to figure out if I’m coming or going.

“You want me to come get you?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Let me call you back.”

With shaking hands, I navigate my browser to the site with the sultry blonde woman peeking out at me from the screen, beckoning me—someone—for a hookup. I’d deleted the app weeks ago, after that terrible striptease, when Anton promised he wouldn’t go on it again. Of course, he said. I promise. Never again.

At least, not for thirty days.

But this is only day twenty-one.

My skin goes clammy as I log in, click over to “favorites,” and my husband’s profile appears. Smiling at me, smug, from that same idiotic cropped photo. The phone hits my lap as my face falls into my hands. How could I be so stupid? He’s made clear what he wanted for weeks. I don’t know why I ever thought it would be me.

Some announcement blares from a speaker overhead. Maybe about my flight. I don’t comprehend the words. I manage to raise one hand from where it sits like a stone in my lap, ready to take Caprice up on her offer for a ride. Anywhere. I don’t care. But just as I’m about to close the site that has unmatched my marriage in every way, I notice something. A small red dot in the corner of the screen, indicating I have unread messages.

Probably it’s just spam. Or unsolicited offers from other amoral men. Someone else looking to wreck their home. But something curls deep inside me as I stare at the notification, and I can’t bring myself to click away until I know for sure.

There are six unread messages. All sent over the last three days:

MountainMan3

You said I’m hard to read. That I never tell you how I feel. And now here I am, typing all the words I should have said into the app that ruined everything. Useless, maybe. But better than not saying them at all, I guess.

MountainMan3

Sitting here alone, watching my mom slip away is awful. But it’s worse realizing I’ve lost you too.

MountainMan3

I thought maybe if I learned the right skills, I could figure out how to fix us. It felt like we came close the other day. I should have asked if you felt it too. Instead I focused on all the wrong things.

MountainMan3

I can’t and WON’T ask you to give anything up for me.

MountainMan3

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