"Or?" It's barely a breath.
Richard is only ten steps away.
Ben clocks him, then looks back at me, gaze focused and unbothered. "Or I'll show you what you've been missing for three years."
Something in me goes dangerously still—and flammable.
Ready to burn.
19
The next month is nothing you'd write about. Unless you're calling itLovers to Enemies, orHow to Have Your Therapist Put You on a Watchlist.
After the tennis match, Richard waited the entire day until he slid between the sheets that night, opened his book, and casually dropped, "We’re not seeing them again."
Yes, he knows he promised Lisa the horse racing, but she’s an opportunist, Ben is too much of a show-off, and apparently we have plenty of friends anyway.
So that was it. Another choice made for me.
Since then, my nightmares have come back.
I wake gasping or crying, while Richard either sleeps very heavily or pretends to, his back turned. I stare at the ceiling, watch shadows morph into monsters until, finally, they hush me back to sleep.
Then it happens all over again.
To break the heaviness, Carl called with "stellar" news: the publisher loves my new chapters.
It would be wonderful to hear if I’d made any progress. How can I write about love when the one who inspired me acts like I don’t exist?
Because the worst part is what I told Ben at the court: "I already told you. It meant nothing. So get over it."
His face went dead in an instant.
He apologized for forgetting a shift and rushed out like it was a true emergency, leaving the cherries on the table.
My stomach turned upside down, and it's never flipped back.
In my defense, what do you say when your husband’s one foot away? You don’t push the man you want between your legs and tell him what you really want. You just don’t.
I sent Ben a message a day later, after I slept on it.
Me:I need to speak to you privately. Gym? Walk? You choose
No three dots. No message back.
A week after the first one, I went full word-vomit:
Me:Let’s grab coffee at Eleven:Eleven? Best caramel latte and all the classic movie soundtracks. I go there all the time
Me:It’s where I first saw you when you came back. Would be nice to meet you there
Me:Ben, please stop avoiding me
Me:I don’t want us to end like this. I need to explain myself
Nothing. Not even a read receipt. He must have blocked me.
So I went to sit there alone, notebook open, pencil in hand, writing nothing but the letterBover and over until I caught myself and made a disgusted face, then flipped the notebook.
