Page 119 of The Humiliated Wife
She glanced toward the entry table again.
The ring sat where she’d left it. Still. Waiting.
She was divorcing the man who had shown his contempt for her. That was the right thing to do. So why did it feel like her heart was breaking all over again?
CHAPTER 52
Dean
Dean satat Russell and June's kitchen table, the yellow legal pad spread in front of him like a battle plan. The original list had grown, cramped handwriting filling the margins as he added task after task.
Car maintenance was handled, the monthly transfers automated. The school district's website was live with its new donation portal, already bringing in funding. He'd set up grocery delivery for six months, prepaid the apartment utilities.
Dean stared at the pathetic collection of crossed-off items, his chest tight with the desperate hope that somehow these small gestures added up to something meaningful. That caring for her from the shadows could protect the woman he loved.
It could never undo what he’d done. She was the best and sweetest woman in the world and he’d reduced her to tears.
"Still at it?" Russell asked, appearing in the doorway with his coffee.
Dean looked up, slightly embarrassed at being caught with his obsessive planning. “I just want her to be happy.”
Russell glanced at the list, his expression unreadable. “What if you do all this and she still doesn't forgive you?"
Dean looked down at the list again—all these small ways to care for someone who might never trust him again.
"Then at least I'll know I finally learned how to love her properly," he said. "Even if it's too late."
Dean layin Russell and June's narrow guest bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. It was past midnight, but sleep felt impossible when he knew—knew—that Fiona was back in their apartment. Back in their bed.
Their bed. Even if he wasn't in it.
The thought sent a complicated mix of satisfaction and longing through his chest. She was there, in the space they'd shared, surrounded by the life they'd built together. The apartment was hers now, the way it should have been all along. The utilities, the maintenance—all of it flowing seamlessly in the background so she never had to worry about any of it.
She was being taken care of. The way a wife should be.
Dean's hand drifted down his body almost without conscious thought, his mind split between memory and reality. He tried not to think about the last time they'd been in that bed together—the way she'd moved above him, the sounds she'd made, the trust in her eyes as she'd let him worship her body.
But Christ, it was hard not to remember.
His breath hitched as his hand found its rhythm. Was it the memory that was affecting him, or something else? Something deeper and more primitive—the knowledge that he was still providing for her, still protecting her, still being her husband in the ways that mattered even if she didn't know it?
The monthly transfers, the paid utilities, the anonymous donations—all of it ensuring that Fiona could sleep safely in their bed without a care in the world. She was his to take care of, and he was doing it. Finally doing it right.
Dean's grip tightened, his hips moving involuntarily. The image of her in their bed—safe, provided for, protected—mixed with the memory of how she'd felt in his arms, how she'd said his name like a prayer.
When he came, it was with her name on his lips and the fierce satisfaction of knowing that somewhere across the city, his wife was exactly where she belonged.
Even if he couldn't be there with her.
CHAPTER 53
Fiona
Her wedding ringgleamed innocently on the entry table, as if it hadn't once meant forever, as if it were just another piece of jewelry instead of a promise she'd believed in.
