Page 46 of The Humiliated Wife
And none of it could get her back.
Not when she saw him clearly now.
“Didn’t some part of you think I was stupid?”
The answer had been yes. That quiet superiority, that inward smirk, that smug little voice that said:she's lucky to have me.And he’d told himself that she had been. Until she wasn’t.
Until she looked at him and saw what was underneath the charm.
Not a monster. Just a man with small, selfish instincts. A man who thought love was enough to excuse being careless.
He hadn’t known heartbreak could be so quiet. No screaming. No smashing plates. Just that terrible calm. Like the moment after a fire when there’s nothing left to burn.
He used to think the worst thing was someone hating you.
Now he knew better.
The worst thing was beingunloved. Fully. Gently. Irrevocably.
Dean's keyshit the ceramic bowl with a hollow clink that echoed through the empty apartment. The sound was too loud in the silence—sharp and final, like punctuation at the end of a sentence he didn't want to finish.
He stood there, staring down at the tangle of metal in the white dish. His house key. His office key. His gym fob. And there, nestled against the rim like it had been waiting for him—Fiona's spare car key.
Attached to that ridiculous pompom keychain she'd bought at a gas station. He'd teased her about it, called it "aggressively cute." She'd just smiled and said it made her happy.
He picked it up.
The pompom—electric blue and unnaturally soft—compressed under his thumb.
Christ.
His car was parked outside. Sleek. German. Expensive. A status symbol on wheels, designed to telegraph success to anyone within a thirty-foot radius.
Fiona's car was practical. Older but still reliable. The kind of car you bought when you cared more about getting places safely than getting there with style.
His throat felt tight.
She was out there in Sweetwater, driving back and forth every day in her beaten-up Honda. Probably grateful for any wheels at all. While he sat here with a car worth more than she made in six months, feeling sorry for himself.
She'd never asked for anything. Not once. Not the apartment with the view, not the expensive dinners, not the clothes that would help her fit in with his friends. She'd just... adapted. Smiled. Tried to keep up.
And he'd let her drive the shitty car.
Dean closed his fist around the key. He looked at her wedding ring, abandoned on the entry table.
He turned toward the door.
It was a small thing. Stupid, maybe. But it was hers now. Should have been hers all along.
He grabbed his jacket from the hook and headed back out into the rain.
The least he could do was give her the nicer car.
The very least.
CHAPTER 21
Fiona
