Page 19 of The Humiliated Wife
Fiona stared straight ahead as the car pulled away from the curb.
Dean turned toward her. “You okay?”
A pause. Then, “Sure.”
He exhaled.Okay. She answered. That was something.“Look, the, uh, social media thing. It wasn’t malicious. You know that, right?”
She nodded without looking at him. He could feel something slipping between his fingers, fast, and she wasn’t helping him catch it.
He tapped the steering wheel. “You’re not saying anything.”
Her breath hitched. Barely audible. And then—a sound. Small, raw.
She was crying.
Dean’s chest tightened.No. No, no, no.“Fi—hey—don’t—what are you—don’t cry.”
She turned away, pressing her sleeve to her face.
Panic spiked like a live wire under his skin. “Fiona, it’s not that big of a deal. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”
She didn’t answer.
“It’s not like I was postingnudesor something.” He laughed a little, hoping she’d laugh too. She didn’t. “It’s just jokes. Peopleloveyou. You don’t get it, they think you’re adorable.”
Still nothing.
She just didn’tget ityet.
She didn’t understand branding. She didn’t understand audiences. Buthedid. He’d taken something small and unimportant and made it into something people cared about.
“Seriously?” Dean’s tone sharpened. “You’re going to make me feel like a monster because I posted a couple offunnythings about you? That everyone enjoyed? Jesus, Fiona.”
God, she could be so literal sometimes. Like every word had to mean exactly what it said. That might work in a classroom—but not here. Not in real life.
When she finally spoke, her voice was cracked and thin. “I thought you—” She broke off.
Dean shook his head hard, feeling frustrated. She didn’t understand that this wasn’t a big deal.
“It’s the internet, Fi. Nothing important. You’ve got to grow up a little.”
Silence again.
Dean tapped the gas too hard, then had to brake for a red light. He exhaled and tried to soften his voice. “You’re tired. That’s all. It’s been a long night, and everything feels worse when you’re drained. Tomorrow you’ll see this isn’t what you think it is.”
Still no answer. She stared out the window, her reflection ghosted back in the glass. He could see her cheeks, wet with tears.
Dean swallowed. His jaw ached from clenching it.
This would pass. He’d talk her down, make her see reason. He always did. She’d forgive him—she always did that, too.
Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel.
She’d be fine. She had to be.
CHAPTER 11
Fiona
