Page 12 of October
Disbelief twisted his features. "Since when have you become so insecure about our marriage?"
And something inside mesnapped.Not a little crack. A rupture. A damn breaking after too many silent floods. My voice tore out of me before I could stop it—louder than I meant, sharper than I'd ever dared.
"Insecure?" I screamed, the word slicing through the room like shattered glass.
"You want to knowwhen?" My chest was heaving, my pulse roaring in my ears. "Since you started choosing her!"
I jabbed a finger toward the door, toward the building where she existed like a shadow behind every excuse he gave.
"Again. And again. Andagain."
My voice cracked, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.
"Since every time I reached for you, your mind was already somewhere else. Since you started giving her the version of you I never got—your time, your attention, your respect."
I stepped forward now, tears stinging my eyes but refusing to fall. "Don't call itinsecurityjust because I finallynoticed." I shook my head, disbelief echoing back to him. "Don't makemethe problem because I dared to feel unloved."
He looked stunned, as if I'd just pulled a curtain off a truth he wasn't ready to face.
"You don't get to ask me why I feel this way," I said, voice low but lethal now, trembling with betrayal. "Not when you made a habit of putting her first and expected me to begratefulyou never touched her because the truth is I don't care if you didn't touch her. Do you hear me?"
My voice cracked, shaking loose from somewhere deep in my chest. "I don't care if it was physical or not. You stillbrokesomething."
My voice was shredded now, raw and splintered.
"You didn't have to sleep with her to make me feel like I didn't matter."
"October!" he snapped, stepping closer. "You aremy wife.I wouldnevergo there. I promise you—there is nothing between us." His voice was rising now, desperate. "You honestly don't believe me?"
I didn't answer. Just stared at him. Cold. Hollowed out. "You're not listening," I whispered. "You never really do." I straightened, my spine like steel now, "Answer me this: what did you two talk about after I left? Did you mention me?"
He shifted. Uneasy. Eyes darting, mouth fumbling.
"No... I mean—yeah. Just a bit. I mean, you're... you're rarely there at the company, so—"
"Hmm." My voice dropped to a slow simmer. "And what did you say?"
"Nothing! We didn't really talk about you, I swear. I just... I apologized. For you. In case she felt awkward after you—"
He stopped.
He stopped because he saw the change in my face.
"You didwhat?" My voice turned sharp, venomous. "Youapologized—for me?"
I laughed, but it wasn't a sound of humor. It was the sound of something breaking.
"Because I'm thecrazy, jealous wife,right? The embarrassment in heels who makes your workplaceuncomfortable?"
"October—oh my god, what was wrong with apologizing? The energy was off after you left, I was just trying to fix it—"
"STOP TALKING!" I screamed, the words echoing off the walls like thunder in a cathedral.
He threw his hands up, exasperated. "Whathappenedto you?" His voice turned wounded, like he couldn't fathom the wreckage he stood in. "You used to be so sweet. So understanding. I'mexhausted,October. I've been working late. I'm trying to keep this job secure so I canprovidefor this family—"
"At my expense!" I snapped. "Atourexpense!"
The air between us pulsed, hot and thick with everything we'd never said.
