"I'm not saying that, but one of us should feel bad."
"I don't need your redemption arc."
I flinch and stand up too, angry now, and cross my arms. "You sound like you don't even feel—"
"Feel?" he echoes, eyes blazing, letting me know I've gone too far. "Are you serious?"
He crosses the tent and rips open his duffel, almost breaking the zipper.
"Feel," he hisses again, under his breath, half to himself now.
I watch him pull out random things—toothbrush, towel, solar bank—probably not even sure what he's looking for.
"I've no problem telling Lisa—"
"No!" My hands fly up, panic bursting through my chest. "No one can know. Don't, please, don't tell anyone."
He stops cold.
Then everything he pulled out slams back in the duffel like a punch. "What? You think I'm sending Richard a fucking memo?"
I freeze at how ruffled he is, my mouth slack. I've seen him angry many times before, even at the beach, but not like this.
"We said it was—"
"Casual? A hook up?" He yanks a fresh shirt over his head and paces forward. "It wasn't. Not for me. Not for you. Pretending won't save you."
"Ben, calm down, please."
He's already halfway to opening the tent flap when he turns around, face fierce. "You don't get it, do you? I'd blow up my whole life for one more chance with you, but you..." He shakes his head, his jaw tight. "You can't even admit howgoddamn miserable you feel in that marriage."
The flap swings, and he's gone.
I stand in the ruins before I do the thing I always do. Run.
17
It's been two weeks since I got back, and I've become unnervingly good at dodging reflective surfaces. Kettle, elevator doors, even the stupid back of a spoon.
Anything that might catch the woman who did the thing—kissed a man who wasn't her husband.
Not just kissed—begged him to drive me into seeing red.
Yesterday, I let my neck breathe for the first time without concealer, but I still curl my nails into my palms so hard I might bruise them just thinking about it.
Maybe I'd want that. I don't even know who I am anymore, and it's all because of Ben.
No, I'm not blaming him, but let's be honest, he's always had that effect on me.
And the worst thing is that after he touched me, something cracked, and I don't know if I can be rewired back.
Why did I cheat on Richard? I can't explain it. I love him and care about him. He's steady, rational, infuriatingly normal. That's why I picked him, right?
And yet, every choice I've made, not only the past three, but for the whole eight years, suddenly feel like a misstep.
The morning after the kiss, I spun some fast-baked excuse about needing to get home early to Mara and Paul and vanished before Ben returned.
I took the first flight, heart so heavy the airline should'vecharged me for excess baggage, but before that, I sent him a coward's apology from gate B11.
