“Colin, I’m not your concern anymore. Your time to be a good husband ended months ago.”
If she’d driven a knife into my chest, it would’ve hurt less.I’ll never stop worrying about you, Ceci.
“I want to talk to you about Thanksgiving next week.”
My heart leaps with foolish hope. Every year, Ceci turned this house into something that made the wait for this time of year feel worthwhile. We always hosted her parents, our friends. Laughter spilled through the rooms, wine flowed freely, and everything seemed to glow with life.
My parents only came a handful of times, years ago. Lately, they always choose hotel banquets. The same people. The same conversations. Business talk always taking center stage.
But Ceci’s Thanksgiving dinners were always different. They were ours.
“I’ll be spending it with the kids at my parents’ house,” she says. “If you want to see them, come earlier in the day.”
The words land hard enough that I have to grip the back of the couch.
“But… it’s Thanksgiving.”
“I know. And I just said you can come earlier. You can plan something with them the next day if you want.”
“You’re not hosting dinner here? Not this year?”
Her lips tremble before she speaks. Her voice stays calm, but her hands tighten at her sides.
“And give thanks for what, Colin? That I didn’t catch an STI? That the Plan B worked? That my children and I didn’t end up with an unwanted reminder of your betrayal?”
The words don’t waver, but I catch the tremor in her mouth when she stops, the way her fingers curl into fists. Whatever hope I had left dies right there, in front of me.
I feel sick all of a sudden, my stomach twisting into knots.
“Let me know once you’ve decided,” Ceci says, already turning toward the stairs. “So I can plan with my parents.”
“Ceci, wait.” The words come out desperate. I just want to stop her from leaving.
I scramble for something, anything, to make her stay a little longer. “Ethan seems more upset every time he sees me. I don’t know what to do to make him talk to me again.”
Ceci rubs her forehead. “On Tuesday, he saw some of what Mark collected.”
Tuesday. The day he almost punched me. I close my eyes. “What did he see?”
“Just a few screenshots. Mark grabbed his tablet in time. He didn’t have the chance to dig through the rest of the files.”
I grit my teeth. “Mark shouldn’t have left that lying around. If it weren’t for his carelessness, Ethan never would’ve seen it.”
“No, Colin.” Her voice leaves no room for argument. “You never should’ve done any of that. If you’d been the father and husband he thought you were, there wouldn’t have beenanythingfor him to find on Mark’s tablet.”
There’s an exhaustion in her voice that feels stronger than anger, as if she doesn’t even believe it’s worth explaining anymore. “Just let me know later how you want to handle next week.”
Then she turns and walks away without another word.
I watch her go up the stairs, fighting every instinct to follow her, to pull her back into my arms and beg her to let me come home. When she disappears at the top, I’m left staring at the empty staircase, wondering how much longer I’ll have to keep watching her walk away from me.
Content Note
In the following section, you will read the post Cecily shared on her blog. At the end of her words, you will find real-life stories generously shared by my Wattpad readers and Instagram followers. Stories they trusted me with and allowed me to include as comments on Cecily’s post.
To preserve the authenticity of these stories, I chose to share them exactly as they were received. No edits were made for this edition, so please keep this in mind if you encounter any grammatical errors or typos.
I also want to gently note that these are not easy stories to read and may be triggering for some readers. Please proceed with care, and with respect for your own boundaries.
