Page 117 of The Humiliated Wife
And hungover. And completely overwhelmed by the realization that Dean had been taking care of her world even when she'd shut him out of it completely.
Fiona zippedthe second suitcase and sat back on her heels with a sigh. “That’s it,” she said, gesturing at the two modestly full bags beside her. “This is the grand total of what I’m taking back.”
Emma leaned in the doorway of the guest room, cradling a mug of coffee and raising an eyebrow. “You sure that’s everything? You’ve been living here for almost two months.”
Fiona smiled faintly, tugging at a loose thread on her sweatshirt. “It’s just clothes and toiletries. Everything else is already at the apartment.”
Marcy flopped onto the edge of the bed, narrowly avoiding the suitcase. “Well, we’re still here. Moral support and all that.”
“Also because Emma promised muffins,” Travis added from the hallway, holding up a Tupperware container. “Which, incidentally, are amazing.”
“Those are forafterthe heavy lifting,” Emma scolded, but her smile was fond.
“There is no heavy lifting,” Fiona reminded them, standing up. “Two suitcases. That’s it. This is a ceremonial move at best.”
“But it’s still a big deal,” Milo said from his perch by the window. “You’re going back. That’s not nothing.”
Fiona hesitated, her gaze flicking between the bags and the familiar walls of Emma’s house. Itwasa big deal. She’d toldherself it wasn’t—that it was just practical, just the next step. But her chest was tight in a way that had nothing to do with logistics.
“It doesn’t feel like I’m moving home,” she admitted quietly. “Just… toward something I’m not totally sure of yet.”
Marcy stood up and wrapped her in a hug without asking. “That’s okay. You don’t have to be sure. You just have to know you’re allowed to try.”
Fiona closed her eyes, breathing in the comforting scent of Marcy’s shampoo. “Thanks.”
“Plus,” Emma added, stepping forward and hugging her from the other side, “you’re not doing it alone.”
Travis and Milo exchanged a look and then stepped in too, awkwardly forming a mismatched group hug that somehow felt exactly right. Fiona laughed softly, caught somewhere between touched and overwhelmed.
Travis hoistedher second suitcase into the trunk with a grunt, slamming it closed with exaggerated flair.
"Jesus, what did you pack in here? Bricks?" he said, wiping his hands on his jeans.
"Two sweaters and a lifetime of bad decisions," Fiona replied, managing a small smile.
"Well, this should make Marcy happy.”
Fiona blinked. "Excuse me?"
Travis shrugged, leaning against the car. "Y'know. Moving back. Feels like progress. Maybe a new start. I don't know. Dean says if Emma and Marcy are happy, that makes you happy, and I think that means if you’re happy, Marcy's happy?—"
Fiona's eyes narrowed. "Dean sayswhatnow?"
Travis tilted his head, as he realized what he'd just said. He lifted his hands like he was surrendering. "Nothing. Just—guy talk. Not important."
"Travis." Her voice carried the same tone she used with her fifth-graders when they were caught passing notes.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, okay. He may have... strongly encouraged Milo and me to get our acts together. Gave us this whole lecture about treating our girlfriends better. There might've been threats. Or at least very intense eye contact."
Fiona felt something cold settle in her stomach. "He talked to you. For me."
"Look, he didn't yell or anything," Travis said quickly. "He just made it really clear that if we didn't treat Emma and Marcy right, you'd be unhappy. And he didn't want that. Hereallydidn’t want that.”
The breeze rustled the leaves around them as Fiona processed this. Dean had intervened in her family's relationships. Had sat down with Travis and Milo and essentially coached them on how to be better boyfriends.
She couldn't make sense of it—this Dean who orchestrated happiness behind the scenes and the Dean who had thought her job, her feelings, her whole philosophy of life were silly. Howcould the same person who had felt that way also care so deeply about her family's wellbeing that he'd intervene on her behalf?
"He did that?" she asked quietly.
