"I'm not really hungry," he told me with a wobbly smile—even though he hadn't eaten much of anything today.
By the middle of our dinner, I was no longer hungry. I had also well and truly given up trying to make conversation with someone who still had bleary eyes and answered me with one-word responses.
"Do you want to go for a walk around the viaduct?" When I'd booked our dinner, I had this silly vision of us strolling hand in hand around the waterfront, maybe stopping at one of the busy bars for a nightcap.
Even though the whole night was a bust, I still tried to salvage...something.
"Nah, it's a bit cold," James said as he fought back another yawn. "Let's go home."
It wasn't cold. My husband was just too hungover to do anything but sleep.
We rode home in silence, both for different reasons. I was too pissed to talk, and he was passed out and snoring.
We relieved Rachel, and I deserved an Oscar for my glowing review of our romantic night out. What a joke.
Once I checked in on the girls, I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I really didn't want to sleep next to my husband tonight, but I was too emotionally exhausted to care. I crawled into bed and turned my back on an already sleeping James. Hot tears and silent sobs kept me awake until dawn.
Chapter 6
James
Ifelt fucking terrible. And it had nothing to do with the lingering effects of my hangover.
I'd fucked up. I was a grade-A dickhead. And the worst part was, I hadn't even wanted to go to Rob's birthday. I was actually bloody relieved that it was just drinks in the afternoon because I'd thought—rather naively—that it would allow me to slip away early enough to be home by dinner time.
But one drink led to another, and then another. Someone started a game of pool, then a round of darts. Ian…or was it Rob…suggested tequila shots, and that's when things started to get a little hazy. Rob's brother-in-law owned the pub, which was why the drinks were heavily discounted. Once the pub closed for the night, Michael—Rob's brother—suggested a lock-in. Before I knew it, it was after midnight, and Zara was rightfully yelling in my ear.
I should've apologised properly to her. She deserved a sincere apology for not contacting her, for coming home late, and forbeing an absolute shell of a human all day. Christ, for ruining Valentine's. The list was endless.
The truth was, I was scared—a bloody coward. I knew I fucked up, and I didn't want to deal with Zara blasting me and laying out all the ways I'd let her down. So I brushed her hurt aside and pretended that everything was normal. I didn't want to admit to Zara that I was one breath away from throwing up the whole day, and that every time the girls screamed or bounced near me, I wanted to die.
By the time dinner rolled around, I wasn't feeling any better. In fact, somehow I felt worse. But I'd sooner run through the streets naked than admit to Zara that our promised romantic night out was the last thing I wanted to do. Zara had been so excited for our Valentine's dinner, and so had I. I was looking forward to finally having some alone time with her, maybe watching a live band at a pub before taking her home and shagging her brains out.
But it had all gone so horribly wrong. I'd fucked up so badly that Zara could barely look me in the eye, could barely talk to me.
I didn't have much to do at work since the weather started to turn bad, so I decided to call it a day and head home early.
On the way, I stopped for petrol and spied some flowers for sale outside the station. I picked out the nicest-looking bunch to take home as part of my apology.
By the time I got home, there was about an hour left before Zara had to pick Kehlani up from school and Sienna from an arranged playdate. I quietly entered our home, taking exaggerated care to place my keys on the provided hook—I didn't want anything to upset my wife today.
I could hear her voice floating down the hall, coming from the kitchen, so I stealthily padded down the hall to greet her.
"…and I just feel so awful because I judged you for leaving Daddy. But I understand now what you must've been going through."
I frowned at that sentence, pausing in my steps. It wasn't just the odd words that stopped me; it was also the warbled sound of her voice. Emotion laced her tone, and I wondered what had her so upset.
"What do you mean, sweetheart?" I recognised Brownwyn's voice. Zara must be Facetiming with her.
More sniffles greeted me, and my stomach protested at the sadness Zara was expressing. What the hell was going on?
"I always resented you for leaving Dad. I thought: 'he's not abusive, he hasn't cheated on her, so why leave?' I thought you were a shit wife to him—I'm sorry, Mum, but I did! And that's why I chose to live with him."
Shit. It sounded like they were having a pretty heavy conversation. I knew Zara struggled with her parents' divorce and had confided in me that she sometimes couldn't understand her mum. Personally, I thought Bron was fucking brilliant. She was a great mum to Zara, and the kids loved her. Zara's dad, on the other hand, tended to view the kids as needing to be seen but not heard. He rarely played with them and barely called—and he only lived twenty minutes away.
"You were back with me within six months," Bronwyn pointed out.
"Only cos' Dad was useless!" Zara cried. I heard a few sniffles and frowned deeper at her obvious distress. What brought on this emotional one-on-one?
