Where is he?
My stomach churns at the thought of what he could be doing. Where he could be. Who he could be with.
I’ve been where he is now. I know exactly what that helpless, hollow feeling is like, being hurt by the person you love the most.
That night, all those months ago, I didn’t walk into that bar planning to hook up with the bartender in a back room.
I just wanted to hurt Logan. I wanted him to feel what I felt. And in a twisted, awful way, it worked.
Not how I intended. But it worked.
After it happened, I convinced myself we were even. That the scales were balanced again. That we could finally move on.
What I didn’t count on was the guilt.
No one tells you how heavy it is. How it creeps into every quiet moment. How it sits on your chest and makes it hard to breathe.
Every time Logan apologized, I felt like scum.
So many times I came close to confessing. The words would be right there on my tongue, ready to fall out, and then something would stop me.
Fear. Shame. Self-preservation.
Not today, though.
I didn’t plan on confessing. I didn’t wake up thinking, tonight I’m going to blow up my marriage.
It just… happened.
“God,” I whisper, pushing myself off the bed and walking into the closet to change.
That seems to be my new motto lately.
It just happened.
Walking back into the bedroom, I glance at the clock.
Quarter to three.
At least it’s Saturday tomorrow.
Then the next thought hits me like a punch.
Next week.
I could’ve at least given him one more week. One normal week. One last stretch of family time before imploding our entire world.
Logan was going to show me the ropes again, help me get caught up with the business. We were supposed to have some family time before settling into a new routine.
We were going to make a snowman.
Be a family.
Instead, I’m alone in the middle of the night, while my husband is out there probably getting even.
Dropping to the floor beside the bed, I lean my back against the frame.
“What did I do?” I whisper to the empty room.
