She doesn’t look up. “Yes. Our contract is moot and everyone knows the truth.” She wipes her red, puffy nose on the back of her hand. “I tidied up the kitchen. I placed the ring back in your office. Cameron’s lunches for the week are prepped and labeled in the fridge. Everything is complete.”
Her cold tone sends icicles down my spine. It all comes across like she’s checking out of a rental property.
Before falling for her, I would have been that way, too. Serious. Cold. Business-like. Mr. Button-Up? That was me.
But now…? Now, I want to fall to my knees—both knees—and beg my wife to stay.
The tension builds in the room, as she continues to pack. I’m standing here, bleeding. Yet she seems to have some hidden talent for being able to ignore me with such efficiency. Being able to pretend she doesn’t care. Being able to hide her feelings.
She cares about me, right? She has to. There’s no way I’m in this alone.
I look around, feeling like I’m losing all sense of control. None of her shoes are lying by the front door. Her hair brush isn’t tossed on the kitchen island. Her sketchbook and loose drawings aren’t strewn around the living room like they usually are. It’s like she’s trying to erase all traces of her existence from my organized life.
The easygoing, fun-chasing chaos I’ve become accustomed to over the past few months is about to walk right out that front door. Taking my heart along with her.
Losing that business deal is nothing compared to the pain of…this.
“Jules, please.” My voice cracks. “Don’t do this. You know this isn’t about the contract anymore. It hasn’t been since the day we exchanged vows. Don’t go. Stay. Stay with me.”
I’m not above begging. It’s all I have left.
Still, Jules doesn’t reply.She simply ties a knot on the end of her garbage bag, the loud rustling of plastic slicing through the silence. She walks toward the door with her garbage bag in hand and her beat-up leather bag slung across her chest and a small box of her belongings tucked under her arm.
My eyes prickle. I hold the damn tears in. But on the inside, I fall apart.
“Jules…” I whisper.
Out of ideas.
Out of time.
Out of luck.
But when she reaches the door, she pauses, her hand on the doorknob. “Pink.”
“What?” I blink stupidly.
Jules turns slightly, finally looking at me for the first time today. Her eyes are red and her tears have dried in salty tracks down her cheeks.
“My favorite color,” she says quietly. “I lied when I said I didn’t have one. My favorite color is pink. I love every fucking shade of it. From soft pastel to that glowing neon shade and that salmon color, too. I love pink.”
I take urgent strides to close the gap in between us.
Jules takes a step back, one hand flying up like a stop sign to keep me at bay. “But girls like me aren’t allowed to have pink.Pink is for other girls. Those girls get the fairytales. I’m not one of those girls,” she says in a hoarse voice. “I’m a walking mistake, Lincoln. My very existence is a mistake. I don’t deserve pink.”
It takes a minute for the metaphor to land. But when it does, it almost knocks me on my ass.
She’s talking about love.
I stare at my wife in disbelief. How can she think she doesn’t deserve love? The most confident woman I know is standing in front of me, and yet she’s afraid to be herself because she doesn’t think she’s worthy.This is absolutely crazy.
I take a desperate step toward her. “I’ll give you pink. I'll paint every room in this house Pepto Bismol pink for you. I’ll go into town and I’ll buy you every pink dress I can get my hands on. Then I’ll come home and paint your fingers and your toes to match.”
Through her tears, she giggles and the sound lights my heart up like a Christmas tree.
I cup her cheeks in my hands. “You deserve any fucking thing you want. You deserve a life that isn't built on broken families or contracted marriages. You deserve something real. Something unconditional. You deservepink. You deserve love.” I suck in a harsh breath. “I love you, Jules. Love me back. Please. Let me give you all the love you deserve.”
She drops her bags and her boxes with a thud, and her control breaks. As she holds my stare, tears stream down her face again.
