I’d waited too long.
And now she was gone.
11
CALLIE
The hotel I ended up at wasn’t the kind of place Ethan would ever book, lowering the odds of him looking for me here.
I set my bag down just inside the door and stood there for a moment, listening to the hum of the air conditioner kick on and off. The room was small and clean. It was sparsely furnished with a neatly made bed, one bedside table, a short dresser that doubled as a TV stand, and a small round table with two chairs. The beige carpet was worn thin in places, and I was grateful I grabbed extra socks when I’d hastily thrown clothes into my suitcases. I didn’t want to walk around barefoot in here.
The room had none of the quiet luxury of the penthouse, but the nightly rate was cheap enough that I didn’t have to think about whose money I was spending. I gave the front desk clerk my credit card instead of the debit tied to my joint checking with Ethan, but the only reason it had a zero balance was because my husband had insisted on paying off my debt when we married.
I dropped my purse on the chair and kicked off my heels, the soft thud echoing in the small space. My feet ached, my head throbbed, and the adrenaline that had carried me through the night was finally starting to fade.
I was exhausted—emotionally, mentally, and physically.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at my hands. My ring finger looked so bare without my rings. I pressed my thumb against the spot where they used to rest and wondered how tonight could’ve gone from one of the best in recent memory to the absolute worst.
I’d thought that if I ever walked away, it would be in a blaze of anger. I’d imagined a confrontation dramatic enough to justify the hurt. Instead, I was heartbroken and ready to sob my eyes out now that I was safely away and all by myself.
Flopping back on the mattress, I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, silent tears streaming down my cheeks. After what I overheard tonight, the lingering hope I’d had that Ethan and I would salvage our marriage was gone. We were already barely holding on, and I just didn’t see a way forward for us anymore.
I curled onto my side, drew my knees up, and let myself cry it all out.
The next thing I knew, I was blinking awake in the dark, my throat tight, and my head aching dully. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. Then it all rushed back.
The hotel. The gala. Ethan’s voice when he told Sophie that he was glad she’d shared her feelings with him.
I rolled onto my side and squinted at the glowing numbers on the bedside clock. It was just after three in the morning. The room was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner.
Since I was still in my gown with my hair up and make-up on, I forced myself to get out of bed and pull out my toiletries bag and pajamas. Then I padded over to the bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror for a minute before I began to wipe my face clean. Seeing my bare ring finger only made more tears stream down my cheeks. When I was done, my skin was pale and my eyes were red and puffy.
Hoping more sleep would help, I took my hair down and brushed it before stripping out of my dress to change into my pajamas. I had felt so beautiful in the gown when I put it on earlier tonight. Even more so when Ethan had complimented me.
Now, it only reminded me of everything I’d lost. So I crumpled up the expensive silk and shoved it into the trash can.
When I went back into the bedroom, I grabbed my phone from my purse. I stared at it for a long moment before unlocking the screen.
Notifications filled the display. Missed calls and text messages, all from Ethan.
I swallowed a lump in my throat as I scrolled through them, the timestamps growing closer together as the night wore on. My thumb hovered over the screen. Part of me wanted to open the messages and read what he’d written, to let myself believe there was some explanation that could make everything go back to how it was earlier tonight. That maybe Ethan had a believable reason for why another woman had a place in his life that should have been mine.
But another part of me couldn’t bear it. Not yet.
So I locked the phone and set it face down on the nightstand, as if that might quiet the ache in my chest. Then I curled onto my side, pulling the thin blanket up around my shoulders.
For the first time in a long while, I chose not to reach for him. And that hurt almost as much as everything else had tonight.
I woke up sometime after sunrise, pale light slipping through the thin curtains to shine directly in my eyes. My body felt heavy, like I’d spent the night tossing and turning instead of sleeping.
Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I sat there for a moment, staring at nothing, lost in my head. Then I forced myself to move.
I unpacked both suitcases I’d brought. Hung up clothes in the closet, filled the dresser, and lined my toiletries neatly along the bathroom sink as if the order might steady me. When that didn’t work, I sat on one of the wood chairs at the table and pressed my palms to my thighs, trying to breathe through the tightness in my chest.
My mind refused to be quiet. I kept replaying last night in my head. Sophie’s soft voice, intimate in a way she had no right to use with my husband.
I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn’t help.
