We'd have had the kids by now. Sophie would be two, James would be a baby. Carol would've known her grandchildren before she forgot everything else.
But that timeline was gone.
He had cheated, we weren't together… and I was with Caleb now. I was happy with Caleb. I…
IlovedCaleb.
But I was still grieving everything Matt and I had lost. The marriage, the future, the children who would never exist. The version of us that had died when he’d made the choice to sleep with Angela.
I should hate him for it, but when I turned inward to search for it, all my anger was spent. There was no hatred in me… just something brittle and hollow. I thought of Matt sitting alone at night, his mother forgetting his name, his father aging under the weight of it all.
If we were still married, he wouldn't be alone.
But we weren't.
And he was.
I pressed my forehead against the steering wheel and cried until I couldn't breathe, until my throat was raw and my face was soaked and I had nothing left.
Ten minutes passed, maybe fifteen. Finally, I sat up and wiped my face with my sleeve. My eyes were swollen, mascara probably everywhere. I didn't care.
I pulled out my phone with shaking hands.
Typed: Can you come get me? I'm at the grocery store parking lot.
Sent it to Caleb.
His response came immediately: On my way. Are you okay?
I stared at the words, started to typeNo,but deleted it.
Typed: I will be.
Sent.
I sat there in silence, watching people move through a lazy, normal Saturday. The world kept turning and turning, oblivious to it all, and it would keep doing so.
Caleb's truck turned into the lot twelve minutes later. He pulled up beside me, got out, and came to my door. When I opened it, he took one look at my face and didn't ask questions. He just opened his arms.
I fell into them and held on.
CHAPTER 30: MATT
Thursday morning came gray and heavy, the kind of sky that promised rain by evening.
I cracked eggs into a pan while Dad read the paper at the kitchen table. Mom sat in her usual chair, staring at nothing. The weather forecast on the radio called for severe storms overnight. Wind gusts up to fifty miles per hour, possible flooding in low-lying areas.
"Storm's going to be bad," Dad said, not looking up.
"Yeah."
"You working late?"
"Till six."
He turned the page. Outside, the wind was already picking up, rattling the kitchen window.
Mom hadn't touched her toast. I set the plate of eggs in front of her and she blinked, slowly, like she was surfacing from somewhere deep.
