“Can you really fire her?”
“Maybe…but she’s right, I can’t do it without the board.” He releases a long breath and adds. “Can you forward the recording to me? I’ll send it to HR and see if it works.”
I nod, feeling bereft, my emotions surfacing. “Have you been sleeping with her?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “What?”
“You know…before we divorced or…now?”
“First things first: I’veneverhad sex with Diana. And seriously, Mia, you think I’d be doing something like that when I’m working my hardest to win you back?”
I lift my shoulders in a helpless gesture.
I’m so confused. So lost without him, and still lost now when he’s trying to be with me.
He moves toward me, slow and careful, and gently takes my hands in his. Brings them to his lips, and kisses each knuckle like they’re something sacred.
I pull away and exhale, shaking my head. “What was that?”
His features soften with tenderness. “That was step one in my ‘Win-Back Mia’ plan. That was me protecting my wife, standing with her.”
I meet his eyes—blue, stubborn, kind—and something cracks in my chest.
“You can’t just walk back into my life, Aiden.”
His lips curve as a teasing warmth enters his gaze. “I know. But I’m going to keep trying.”
My breath stutters, air stalls in my throat. “You broke me,” I croak.
His face changes as he looks at me, sees the pain slashing through me.
The teasing vanishes, and in its place is devastation. His expression folds, jaw tight, eyes wide and full of regret.
I press a hand to the counter to steady myself. But I’m shaking. My legs feel watery. And suddenly?—
It’s too much.
All of it.
His mother shoving me.
Diana’s lies slithering through my kitchen like poison.
The months—years—of silence.
Of feeling small.
Of feeling invisible.
And now…this man, the one who used to be my safe place, standing in front of me, promising to fight for me, after he was the one who lit the match that burned us down.
My knees buckle. I sink slowly to the kitchenfloor, back against the cabinet, arms wrapping around my middle to try and hold myself together.
He kneels beside me, terrified, reaching for me. I flinch back. Not because I hate him but because I don’t trust myself not to shatter if he touches me.
Tears pour from me—hot, relentless, as if they’ve been waiting for this moment. Waiting for permission to finally break free.
I sob like I did the night I took that photo.
