Page 131 of The Humiliated Wife
Her glass of wine arrived and Fiona took a small sip.
“I don’t need a marketing team, Dean,” she said, quieter.
Dean nodded, throat working. “Okay.”
“I just need to know that if I let you close again, it won’t cost me myself.”
He looked up, startled by something in her voice. His eyes sharpened, just slightly—a flicker of desperate hope cutting through the defeat.
“I never want to cost you anything, ever again,” he said, voice steady now. “I fucked up and I’d do anything to have you back.”
Fiona looked at him, really looked at him.
There he was. Pathetic. Desperate. And honest. For once, truly honest.
CHAPTER 60
Dean
Dean sat at his desk,scrolling through his email inbox.
“If I let you close again...”
If.
She hadn’t said no. Hadn’t walked out or told him to leave her alone. It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t a promise.
But it was something.
Dean held onto thatiflike it was a lit match in the dark. One spark, one maybe. One glorious, unbearable sliver of possibility.
In the too-bright office, his inbox was a graveyard.
Three meeting invitations from last week had been mysteriously "updated"—his name removed from the attendee list. The campaign he'd been slated to lead had been reassigned to Jared. His access to the high-profile client channels had quietly disappeared.
Six months ago, this would have sent him spiraling. The politics, the power plays, the ego-wars—they’d once meant everything.
Now?
Dean glanced at his phone, checking his banking app. His direct deposit had cleared this morning. Enough to cover his modest expenses at Russell and June's, plus the automatic transfer to Fiona's account. The monthly amount that ensured she never had to worry about rent, groceries, or whether her classroom would have supplies.
That was what mattered.
"Dean." Richard appeared at his cubicle, holding a slim folder. "I've got an account for you. Local chain, looking to refresh their radio spots."
Dean knew what this was - busy work. The kind of small, unglamorous account they gave to people they were quietly managing out. Six months ago, he would have seen it as an insult, evidence that his star was falling.
"Sounds good," Dean said, taking the folder. "When do they need the proposal?"
Richard blinked, clearly expecting pushback. "End of week?"
"No problem."
After Richard left, Dean opened the folder. Peterson Hardware had been in business for forty years. Family-owned. Three locations serving small towns within an hour of the city. Their current radio ads were earnest, straightforward - a man's voice talking about quality tools and honest service.
Dean smiled. This he could work with.
He thought about Fiona's classroom, about the bulletin boards she decorated with construction paper affirmations. About theway she'd light up when talking about a student's breakthrough. There was no irony in what she did, no cynical distance. Just genuine belief that her work mattered.
