“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” he says.
“What is it?”Just spit it out.
“Lila and I were having an affair.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My vision tunnels. I sit down across from him or maybe my legs just give out. My mind struggling to process what he just said. There’s no way. She wouldn’t do that to me.Right?
“Excuse me?”
“For about eight months. I’m sorry, Sawyer. I know how this sounds, but I couldn’t live with the guilt anymore.”
My hands grip the edge of the table.Eight months. Eight fucking months.While I was coming home every night, kissing her, asking about her day, telling her I love her, she was with him.
How did I not see it? How did I not know?
“Why are you telling me this now? She’s dead, Tom.”
“Because I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I keep thinking about the accident, about how she died thinking I was going to tell you everything.” His voice cracks. “I can’t carry this anymore.”
“She knew you were going to tell me?”
“We had a fight the morning she died. I told her I couldn’t keep lying anymore, that she needed to tell you or I would. She was upset when she left for work.” He looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I keep wondering if that’s why… if she was distracted because of our fight…”
So now you’re here to clear your conscience? To make yourself feel better about fucking my wife for eight months? Way to be noble.
I stare at him, this man who’s been sleeping with my wife. This coward who waited until she was dead to tell me. Eight months of lies. Eight months of me being a goddamn fool.
“She was going to leave you,” Tom continues, like that somehow makes this better. My chest feels like it's caving in. “She said she wasn’t happy, that you two had grown apart. That she felt like she was just going through the motions.”
Going through the motions. With me. While she was falling into bed with you.She had been distant with me lately, but I figured it was work stress.
“So she decided to sleep with you instead of talking to me about it.”
Tom looks miserable, but I don’t give a shit about his feelings right now. “I know how it sounds. But Sawyer, she really did care about you. She was just… confused.”
“Confused?” My voice sounds hollow even to my own ears.
“I’m sorry. I know this doesn’t help anything now, but I couldn’t carry it alone anymore.”
Couldn’t carry it alone. Like I'm going to carry it now. Forever. Not only do I have to mourn my dead wife, but I have to deal with the fact that she was cheating on me.
I stand up, my chair scraping against the floor, the sound harsh and final. “Get out.”
“Sawyer—”
“Get the fuck out of my station.” My hands are clenched into fists.Leave before I do something I’ll regret.
Tom scrambles to his feet and hurries out. I hear the front door close, hear his car start in the parking lot, and then it’s just me alone in this fluorescent-lit break room with the weight of his confession crushing my chest.
After he leaves, I sit alone in the break room for I don’t know how long. My hands are shaking. I press them flat on the table to steady them. My chest feels tight, like I can’t get enough air. Like I’m drowning on dry land.
Eight months of coming home to a lie. Eight months of thinking we were happy when she was planning to leave me. And now she’s dead, and I can’t even ask her why. Can’t ask her when it started, or if she ever really loved me, or if our entire marriage was just her settling until something better came along.
Was any of it real? Was I just blind? Stupid? Both?
I drive to Clint’s Bar that’s down the road from the station because I don’t know where else to go. Home feels impossible now. Every room, every photo, every memory is tainted with the knowledge that while I was building a life with her, she was planning her exit.
I order a beer, then another, then switch to whiskey. The bar smells like stale beer and cleaning solution. The glass feels cold and solid. Real. The only thing that feels real right now. The bartender keeps pouring without asking questions, which I appreciate.
