My wife is cheating on me.
I wish I could say I didn’t care, but that’s just not how it works. Of course, I fucking care. What does this asshole have that I don’t? Is it about the sex? Or is it something… more? I don’t know which is worse.
I’ve done everything. I chose her overhim. I made a vow, and she shattered it.
But so did I.
I’m not innocent. Not by a long shot.
Yeah, I’m a hypocrite, I know. How can I be angry at my wife for cheating on me when I’ve been doing the same thing to her for the last two weeks?
Except with Cam it wasn’t just about the sex. It wasn’t some early life crisis affair. And I tried in my marriage. I really did.
I love Cameron.
I love him so fucking much it hurts. I don’t know if I have it in me to endure another round of this.
Last time was hard enough, and we’d barely scratched the surface of what we were. What we could have been.
And now it’s so much worse. Because I do know what we looked like. I do know what we could have been, and that is the deepest cut of all.
My phone stares at me from its spot on the passenger seat, a blank, black abyss.
Though I can still see the light of the screen, hear his ringtone. See his texts flashing through with those three little letters.Hey.
I shut my phone off because if I picked it up, I’d just start crying like a baby if I heard him.
My marriage has been hanging by a thread for years, I’m not stupid. But regardless of how bad things were, I had hope they’d get better. Theyhadto get better, right?
Wrong. Apparently I’m just a sucker for believing in love that can withstand all the storms in its path.
Maybe I’m just a sucker for believing in love, period. Because clearly it’s not something I can have.
The memory of Cam’s mouth on my neck, his tongue in my mouth, leg between mine resurfaces.
His shaky breath as he kissed me while he…
I hit my steering wheel, trying to force the memory away. I don’t want to think about it.
I can’t.
Like everything else, when it comes to Cam, I have to bury it. I won’t survive the fallout again, if I don’t. And I barely survived last time.
I pull up to my driveway, noticing the porch lights still on.
One glance at the clock tells me it’s nearly two a.m. They should be off by now, but maybe Savannah forgot to shut them off, or maybe she was working late and just didn’t remember.
I stare at the house, my heart in my throat.
It looks exactly the same as when I left it.
The windshield wipers squeak and I turn them off, staring out the window.
This is my home, and I should feel happy to see it, but I don’t.
It’s notmyhome. Not anymore.
It’s been tainted, too.
