Page 2 of Her Second Chance

Hunter squirms in his seat, clearly not pleased I’ve gone off script. “I just assumed you were upset and ending things with me. If that’s the case, I should get back my ring.”

Bingo. He wants me to be the bad guy in this. No fucking way. That title is all his.

My nostrils flare. “You mean the one you gave me when you got on one knee and asked me to be yours forever? You know, after you asked my father for his permission as if I don’t have a brain in my head to make my own decisions? Um, yeah, I think I’ll keep my ring. I’m sure I can get a few grand for it.”

He sighs that patronizing sigh of his that he always uses when I do something out of character for the perfect trophy wife he’s shaped me to become. Wife. Ha. Fat chance. Not in this lifetime. My anger gives way to sadness. All our plans were for nothing. Every sacrifice I made was unnecessary. I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I blink, fighting back the tears that threaten to slide down my face and ruin the makeup I spent an hour on earlier, cultivating a look to please this man who doesn’t even see the real me. “I don’t understand. Yesterday you were planning our honeymoon. You booked the flights. Now, you’ve suddenly changed your mind? Why? How?”

He grits his teeth. “Please lower your voice. You’re causing a scene.”

I close my eyes, anger back in full force, pushing my sadness aside. Who can stay sad when they’re filled with enough rage to spit fire? “Well, we wouldn’t want that now, would we?” I toss back the remainder of my scotch, signaling for the waiter to bring me another.

Hunter gestures toward my empty glass. “Don’t you think you should take it easy? You’ve had enough and are causing a scene.”

“Don’t you think you should shut the fuck up?” Real mature, Hannah. Obviously, there’s some truth to his admonishment even if I refuse to accept it.

“See.” He waves his hand at me. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re so. . .”

I set my hands on the table and lean forward. “I’m so what?” I challenge. Swear to god if he finishes his sentence, I’m going to jump across the table and wring his neck. The women from episodes of Snapped I used to binge watch suddenly feel very relatable.

He shakes his head, rethinking things. Good call. Before he can speak, his phone lights up with an incoming text. The name Misty catches my eye. He realizes a beat too late that I read the name. I’m already snatching the phone before he moves to grab it. I tap in his code and the message displays.

Misty: Are you finished with her? I have something you need to see.

“It’s not what you think.” His voice is flat, telling me he doesn’t even care that we both know he’s lying. He’s gotten what he wants, and now it’s time for this to be finished.

I toss the phone at him and stand. “I’ll have my things moved out by the end of the week. Until then, you can stay with Misty.” Her name tastes sour on my tongue. What grown woman is named Misty? I shake my head, hating that my misplaced rage at Hunter has reduced me to being catty toward this other woman. She has no idea what’s in store for her. I should feel sorry for her. Should. But I don’t. Good riddance to Hunter. She can have him.

The waiter arrives just as I’m about to leave. I snatch the glass out of his hand, swallowing it in one gulp like it’s a shot of tequila and I’m on spring break in Cancun. The liquor burns as it goes down, and I have to force myself not to gag.

“Hannah—” Hunter’s exasperation makes me want to do something childish so I can embarrass him even more.

“Hunter,” I mirror, making a face at him. Who the fuck names their kid Hunter? Hannah and Hunter. Gross. What was I thinking? All the warm fuzzies I ever felt about him have drained from me. Now I’m left with unadulterated hatred.

“Please sit down so we can discuss this like civilized adults.” He crosses his arms, clearly fed up with my improper behavior.

“Yeah, no. I’m going home to our apartment so I can pack my shit.”

“We have to talk about how we’re going to split our assets.” He smiles sadly like I’m a child.

Assets? Gag. Who is this guy? “I don’t have any assets. As you so lovingly point out whenever we’re around friends, I have a degree in Art History, and the only thing that’s good for is spending your money and lunching with friends.” I smile sarcastically, fluttering my eyelids at him.

I should’ve taken the internship at the Tate Modern the summer after college graduation, but no. I had to move to Texas with Hunter so he could work for his daddy. Instead of starting my career, I followed this asshole. Twenty-two-year-old me was a fucking idiot. I’d like to go back in time and shake some sense into her.

“Ten years,” I mutter under my breath.

“What’s that?” His condescending voice makes me want to scream.

“I said, ten years. As in, I wasted an entire fucking decade on you and now I’m going to be thirty-one living with my parents in bumfuck Oklahoma.” I never thought I’d move back. City life fits me, but it’s hard to live in the city with no money.

Oh, god! I’m going to have to go live with my parents on the ranch. My dad will expect me to start dating our neighbor’s recently divorced son so we can marry and merge the two ranches. This keeps getting worse.

“Hannah, please sit down,” Hunter hisses through gritted teeth.

“Look, I need a few days to pack. I don’t want to see or hear from you. Stay away,” I warn.

Hunter crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair, letting me know he’s about to drop a big one on me. “And what about Bruno?”

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