Page 33 of October
That was the moment I realized I had already lost more than I ever understood.
Chapter Twelve: Rock Bottom
I turned around to leave, broken and numb, the inside of my chest hollow and buzzing. My feet moved before my brain caught up. My son—my own son—had told me to leave. And October didn't stop him.
"I'll be back tomorrow," I muttered, trying to sound like I had some control left. Like I could fix this if I just gave it a night. Jimmy shifted, looked like he was about to say something—but October leaned down and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was, it made him go silent. He disappeared down the hallway without a word.
She stepped outside with me and shut the front door gently behind her. Then she turned, folding her arms against the chill like armor.
"I'll pack your things tomorrow," she said calmly. "You can pick them up when you're ready."
"What?" My voice cracked. "Why? Where am I going?"
She laughed—but it wasn't cruel. It was stunned. Exhausted. Almost pitying. "Sometimes I wonder how you made it this far being this clueless."
Her eyes locked on mine, sharp as glass. Cold and cutting—but not empty. No, there was still fire behind them. The kind bornof someone who loved too much, too long, and got nothing in return.
"I want you out of the house," she said. "And out of our lives."
My chest tightened. The words hit like a slow punch to the ribs. I blinked, tried to process.
"What are you saying?" I asked, though I already knew.
"We're getting a divorce."
The words didn't register at first. They just hung there, sharp and impossible, suspended in the air like smoke that wouldn't clear. The world tilted on its axis. I froze, utterly still, like if I didn't move, maybe this wouldn't be real. Maybe I could rewind the moment. Rewrite the script. Wake up. My legs went numb. I couldn't feel the ground anymore, like it had vanished beneath me. The pavement, the cool night air, even the sound of her voice; it all dissolved into static.
The streetlights behind her blurred, casting halos around her head. She looked unreal in that moment. Not heavenly—just distant. Like someone I used to know, used to love, and somehow lost without ever noticing the moment it happened.
"No," I whispered, but it didn't sound like my voice. "No, October... no."
She didn't repeat herself. She didn't have to.
Divorce.
The word didn't fit. It didn't belong to us. That wasn'tourstory. We weren't that couple who broke up, who gave up. She was my wife. My best friend. Myperson. The one who knew me whenI was thirteen and full of stupid dreams. The one who held my hand through college, who believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. She built a life with me from nothing. Brick by brick, heartbreak by heartbreak.
How was I supposed to picture a world where she wasn't there?
I tried to see it, waking up alone, no one beside me. Coming home and not hearing her humming in the kitchen or telling Jimmy to take his shoes off. I tried to imagine her handwriting not being on the grocery lists, her scent not lingering on the pillow, her laughter not echoing down the hallway.
I couldn't.
She had been part of every chapter. Every version of me. How do you rip that out and expect the rest to make sense?
"This isn't happening," I murmured. "You can't just... leave. We're Thomas and October."
Her face cracked then, just a little, and for a second, I thought she might cave. That maybe she'd take it back. But instead, she said softly, "We were."
"No. No, you can't—" My voice cracked. "You love me."
She stared at me like. Her eyes filled, but no tears fell. And then she smiled. A soft, broken smile that cut deeper than any scream.
"I could've changed my mind, you know. If you had just said, 'No, you can't, I love you.'
"Of course I love you!" I blurted out; too fast, too loud, like volume could make it more true. "I married you. I've worked dayand night to provide for us, for all of you! And now you want a divorce because of one damn party? I already explained what happened—"
""It is not about the damn Party! Don't you dare reduce this to one night. That was the tipping point, not the beginning." she snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of all the things she had held back for too long.
