Page 7 of Faithless

My love for her has always been dark and twisted like this—even before it became hate-filled love—but it’s never waned.

I nod before turning around and walking to her knitting room. As soon as I open the door, my chest squeezes. That scent. It’s her.

Will that change if she leaves? I don’t think I can bear it.

I won’t have to, because she’s not going anywhere.

I don’t have to wait long before her pattering footsteps sound on the wood floor of the hallway. She moves with grace, my wife, and you can even hear it. I noticed it the night I met her. It was yet another sign that she was an angel from heaven.

She looks like one when she enters the room. The morning sunlight turns her golden-brown eyes molten. Am I getting maudlin? Is the thought of losing her making me crazy? How does she look as beautiful as she did when I met her over twenty-three years ago?

Belatedly, I realize that the slightly wary look on her face means she’s waiting for me to get to the point.

I take a deep breath. “I want you to tell me what you want.”

Her brow knits. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, tell me what you want. Anything. Do you want me to stop seeing other women? Done. Do you want the right to search through my phone and emails just to make sure that I’m not bullshitting you? Done.”

The knit in her brow stays in place—two twin creases that weren’t there twenty-three years ago. When did they get there? Probably sometime in her thirties, though she’s gotten Botox over the years, and it’s made it hard to track her age on her skin. She’s changed her hair too, more times than I can count. She’s always changing—shape-shifting—especially after I grew detached from her. I’ve never been able to pin her down.

“Mark, I don’t want any of that.”

Her answer startles me, and I take a moment to register it. As soon as I do, that familiar rage flares—the one that always makes me feel so good. I have to take a deep breath to keep from lashing out.

“What about if, on top of all that, I also throw in a remodel on our Tahoe house? Better yet, what if I buy you another house? We could get something in Hawaii, maybe.”

She stares at me for a full five seconds—her eyes widening in what looks like horror—but then she bursts into laughter.

I grit my teeth as she chuckles, trying yet again to get my temper under control. It never takes much with her, and I need to change that if I want to have a prayer of making her change her mind.

“Throw in?” she says, her voice strained from laughter. “Is this a bribe?”

My jaw clenches. “I guess so. I’ll give you whatever you want. Just name it.”

Her smile fades, and her eyes grow hard. “I want a divorce.”

That determined set of her jaw and the way she stares at me without blinking… It’s so unlike her. And suddenly, it feels like sharp fingernails are clawing all over my skin. My throat squeezes like a vise.

This is different. She’s changed.

“Anything,” I choke out. “I can answer to you from now on. You’re in charge. And you can do absolutely anything you want with our money.”

The only reason I kept monetary decisions away from her was because I wanted her to depend on me. Because I didn’t want her to leave.

Oh God, I’m a bastard.

Now I’m paying for it.

An expression washes over her face. It looks like compassion. “Mark, I know it’s scary. I’m scared too—”

“Then don’t do it.”

She sighs. “I have to.”

It’s the finality in her tone that gets me. Moisture gathers in my eyes, and it makes me frantic. I want to walk out of here, but that will end this conversation, and I can’t do that. I need to convince her.

But she ends it for me. “Is that all?” she asks, one foot already outside of the door and on the wooden floor of the hallway.

---