A quiet, broken sob tore from her throat. She buried her face in her hands, weeping with a profound, helpless sorrow.
"I'm so tired, Simon," Audrey cried, her shoulders shaking violently. "It hurts so much. It just never stops hurting."
"I know. God, I know," Simon wept.
He couldn't hold back anymore. He reached across the center console, wrapping his heavy arms around her and pulling her tightly against his chest. Audrey didn't push him away. She collapsed against him, burying her wet face into the crook of his neck, her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as she cried.
It was a terrible, tragic irony. She hated herself for it. She hated that the man holding her, the man stroking her hair and whispering apologies into her ear, was the exact same man who had caused the agonizing pain tearing her apart. But surrounded by his familiar scent, wrapped in the solid, desperate warmth of his arms, it was the only place in the world she felt comforted enough to fall apart.
Simon held her fiercely, resting his cheek against her dark hair, silently swearing that he would spend the rest of his life making sure no one—especially not himself—ever hurt her like this again.
Chapter 36
Simon
For several long, heavy minutes, the only sound in the car was Audrey’s ragged breathing.
Simon held her as tightly as he dared, resting his chin against the top of her head. He wanted to freeze time right here. He wanted to absorb all of her pain, to take the horrific audio file and erase it from her memory entirely.
But as the initial, violent shock of the email began to wear off, the cold, harsh reality of the situation seeped back into the small cabin of the sedan.
Audrey suddenly went rigid against him.
The cognitive dissonance of seeking safety in the arms of the man who had shattered her life became entirely too much to bear. She placed her hands flat against his chest and pushed back, breaking the embrace. She slid across the leather seat, pressing her shoulder against the passenger door to put as much distance between them as possible.
Simon let his arms fall back to his sides, his hands feeling empty and entirely useless. "Rey?"
"Don't," Audrey whispered, holding a hand up to stop him from moving closer. She wiped her wet cheeks, her breathing shallow and uneven. "I can't do this right now. I can't sit here and let you comfort me over a betrayal that you committed. It messes with my head, Simon. It makes me feel completely crazy."
"I'm just trying to be here for you," Simon pleaded, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I want to carry this for you."
"You can't carry this," Audrey said, looking at him with a devastating, hollow exhaustion. "You caused it. And every time I look at you right now, all I hear is that audio file. I hear you begging her. I hear the way your voice sounded in that hotel room. I can't look at you and pretend that didn't happen."
Simon felt a cold, paralyzing dread spread through his chest. He watched her pull her cardigan tighter around herself, wrapping up her vulnerability and locking it away behind a heavy, impenetrable wall.
"I need space," Audrey stated, her voice trembling but resolute. "Lily is going to a sleepover at Miranda's house tomorrow night. I need you to stay away this weekend, Simon. Don't text me. Don't call. Don't come by the house."
"Audrey, please," Simon’s voice broke completely. The panic was rising in his throat, sharp and suffocating. He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from her arm, terrified to cross the boundary. "Please, don't let her win. She sent that email specifically to hurt you. She sent it to ruin the progress we've made."
Audrey looked at him, her dark eyes completely drained of the fragile hope that had been growing between them over the past few weeks.
"Emily didn't ruin us, Simon," Audrey said quietly. It wasn't spoken with malice or anger. It was just a heavy, tragic truth. "You did."
Simon flinched as if she had physically struck him. The words knocked the breath entirely out of his lungs.
Audrey reached for the door handle. She didn't look back at him. She opened the door, stepped out into the cool evening air, and closed it firmly behind her.
Simon sat frozen in the driver's seat. He watched through the windshield as Audrey walked up the driveway, her posture rigid, and disappeared inside the house, the front door clicking shut.
The silence in the car was deafening.
Simon dropped his head into his hands, gripping his hair as a ragged, tearless sob tore through his chest. He was drowning in terror. For twelve weeks, he had fought tooth and nail to earn back an inch of her trust. He had gone to therapy, he had swallowed his pride, and he had finally started to see a tiny spark of life in his marriage again.
And in less than sixty seconds, a twenty-four-year-old girl with a bruised ego had burned it all to the ground.
He stared at the empty passenger seat, the phantom warmth of Audrey's tears still damp on the collar of his shirt. He realized with a sickening, terrifying clarity that Emily might have actually just dealt the final, fatal blow. Audrey had fought so hard to heal, but everyone had a breaking point.
And Simon was deeply, horrifyingly afraid that he had just watched his wife reach hers.
