Page 86 of The Humiliated Wife
One had a checklist with stars next to names he recognized from her stories. Another was just a single sentence, circled twice:When in doubt, offer compassion first.
He sat down on the floor, notebook in hand, and began take notes.
The more he read, the more pages he turned, the more he saw of her—who she’d always been, right in front of him. Not a walking heart emoji. Not less than him. A goddamn marvel.
And he’d felt superior.
He dropped his head into his hands, fingers knotted in his hair.
Dean reached for another book, another binder, desperate for more. To understand. To stay close to her, even in her absence.
If he couldn’t be in her arms, then let him be in her orbit. Let him carry her work in his chest like penance.
And if he was very, very lucky, someday she might look at him and not see betrayal—but effort. Not repair. Not redemption.
But reverence.
CHAPTER 35
Fiona
The floorboards creaked softlybehind her, and Fiona glanced up to see Milo standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed and half asleep.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” she said quickly, brushing at her cheeks.
“You didn’t.” He padded into the kitchen in his socks and pajama pants, eyes scanning the counter. “I just woke up starving and remembered Emma bought the good granola.”
Milo didn’t push. He just poured cereal, then leaned back against the counter with the casual patience of someone who'd been waiting out other people’s silences his whole life.
“You okay?” he asked after a beat, not pressing the words too hard.
Fiona stared down at her hands. “I don’t know what I am,” she said. “Sad. Tired. Angry. Not angry enough.”
He took a bite of granola and spoke around the crunch. “You don’t need to know. You just have to survive the next five minutes. Then the five after that.”
She smiled faintly. “That your therapist talking?”
“No, that’s me after eating a weed gummy and trying to do taxes.”
Fiona gave a soft laugh. It startled her.
“Dean hugged me tonight,” she admitted softly.
“And you let him?”
She hesitated. “I asked him to.”
Milo just nodded, chewing slowly.
“You miss him,” he said softly. It wasn’t a question.
Fiona blinked, her throat tight. “Yeah.”
He rinsed his bowl and set it in the sink. “Just be gentle with yourself. Okay?”
Milo touched her shoulder as he passed.
Fiona satwith knees pulled to her chest. She knew she shouldn’t. Knew there was no good that could come from reopening the wound.
