Page 118 of The Humiliated Wife
"Yeah. But it wasn't about winning you back or anything like that. It was just… trying to make sure you were happy. In his weird, intense way." Travis studied her face. "Are you mad?"
Fiona stared at the ground, her thoughts spinning. All those improvements she'd noticed—Travis recording the game for dinner with Marcy, Milo being more attentive to Emma. She'd thought they were just growing up, becoming better partners naturally.
But Dean had orchestrated it. Had seen what would make her happy and quietly worked to make it happen, even knowing she might never find out it was him.
"I don't know," she said honestly, looking back up at Travis. "But thank you for telling me. Even if you didn't mean to."
Travis grimaced. "Happy accidents. I'm full of 'em."
He opened her car door with an exaggerated bow, and she climbed in, her heart feeling both heavier and lighter than it had all day.
As she drove away, she couldn't stop thinking about Dean sitting across from Travis and Milo, passionately defending her happiness to men he barely knew, asking for nothing in return except the knowledge that the people she loved would be taken care of.
She couldn't reconcile these two versions of the man she'd married—the one who had humiliated her and the one who was apparently devoted to her wellbeing from the shadows.
The door clickedopen with a familiar creak.
She stood there for a long moment, her suitcases just behind her, staring into the quiet apartment like it might speak first.
The soft hush of the place pressed in around her. Not silent, exactly—just still. Like it was waiting.
She stepped inside.
This had once been their home. Their couch. Their bookshelf. Their mismatched mugs. Every corner was saturated with memory—some soft and golden, some that made her want to flinch.
The entry table was exactly as she remembered it. The ceramic bowl sat in its usual spot, half-full with keys she didn’t need anymore. But next to it—her wedding ring.
She stared at it.
The ring gleamed in the low light. Innocent. Unchanged. Waiting.
She remembered the way she’d pressed it into his palm. Her fingers had been shaking, but her voice had been steady. She’d meant it. Letting go of that ring had been an act of survival. Of reclaiming something for herself.
She didn’t touch it.
Instead, Fiona dragged her suitcases inside and shut the door behind her, sealing herself back into the place that used to betheirs. She rolled the bags into their bedroom—no,herbedroom now. He had left. This was her space.
Still, the last time she’d stood in this room, she’d had Dean’s hands on her hips, his voice rough in her ear, her name like a vow. She had told him it didn’t change anything. She’d meant it.
And yet…
She sat on the edge of the bed. The sheets were fresh, cool against her palms.
It felt like the apartment itself had been wrapped up and offered to her. Not a bribe. Not a ploy. Just a place where she could live in peace.
Fiona stood up and walked back into the living room, then to the kitchen. Everything was in its place. Her mugs were stacked neatly. A fresh box of her favorite tea sat on the counter.
He’d made it ready for her. Like she still mattered. Like her comfort still mattered.
But did that make up for the rest? For the betrayal? For the laughter with his terrible friends? For the way he’d made her into a joke?
Fiona leaned against the counter, her arms folded tight around her chest.
Dean had humiliated her. But he’d also funded her classroom. Spoken with Travis and Milo. Given up his apartment. Shown her how desirable she was.
It didn’t undo what he’d done.
But it complicated it.
