Page 89 of The Humiliated Wife
Dean sat back in his chair. "I had the most generous, loving woman in the world. She would have done anything for me. And I turned her into a joke for strangers because I thought that was clever. Because I thought I was too good for the kind of love she was offering."
He thought about @shitfionasays. About choosing to document Fiona's vulnerabilities instead of protecting them. About treating her love like content instead of like the sacred thing it was.
"You think Fiona left me because of one mistake?" Dean said, his voice rough. "She left because I undermined her. Over and over. In ways I didn’t even notice until it was too late."
Milo and Travis stayed quiet. Watching. Waiting.
"I was supposed to protect her. Cherish her. Make her feel safe and seen and adored. That’s the bare minimum when you love someone like her. And I didn’t even clear that low bar."
He gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head.
"I made her a fucking punchline. Turned her into spectacle. I laughed with my friends while strangers mocked her in the comments—and she didn’t even know. Jesus."
He ran a hand over his face, like he could scrub the shame off.
Milo leaned back in his chair. "Why do you even care? You don't really know us."
Dean looked at him for a long moment. "Because Fiona cares. Emma's her sister, Marcy's her cousin. When they're happy, she's happy."
His voice went quiet, raw. "AndallI want—all I live for now—is for Fiona to be happy."
The table went silent.
He looked at both of them.
He pulled out his wallet, threw cash on the table.
"Don't be me," he said, standing up. "Don't lose the best thing in your life because you were too stupid to recognize what you had."
He walked out of the restaurant, leaving them sitting there with their half-eaten pasta and their uncomfortable truths.
Outside, Dean took a deep breath of the cool evening air. Something that felt almost like satisfaction settled in his chest.
He couldn't protect Fiona anymore. Couldn't be there when she had a hard day or when some asshole parent crossed a line. Couldn't hold her when she was tired or celebrate with her when her students had breakthroughs.
But this? This he could do.
He could make sure the people she loved treated her family with the respect they deserved. He could plant seeds that would bloom into better relationships for Emma and Marcy—relationships that would make Fiona smile when she heard about them on family calls.
It wasn't much. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
But it wassomethinghe could give her.
Dean rubbedhis eyes and hit "save draft" for the fifth time that hour.
He used to be fast at this kind of thing. In his early twenties, he'd built entire websites from scratch. But that had been years ago. Long before the promotions. Long before the team.
Now he was a strategy guy—the one who pointed at mockups and said "make it look more premium" while junior designers did the actual work.
This time, he was doing it himself.
It was slow, frustrating work. His skills were rusty. Nothing he touched came out right the first time. But God help him, he wasdoing it.
Because this wasn’t for a client.
This was for Fiona.
And there was something… grounding in that. Something that tugged at a very old, very male part of him—provider, fixer, builder.
