My stomach drops.
“It’s not too much to ask, is it?” Jess continues, eyes glassy but defiant. “Just let me know before I find out on Instagram.”
“Instagram?” I repeat, confused.
“You have a habit, don’t you?” she shoots back. “Telling people about our problems before me. Whether it’s bankruptcy or divorce.”
Ok, that was a low blow. I drag a hand down my face.
“Jess, I did not tell her we were divorcing.”
“But you told her enough,” she says, her voice cracking now. “Enough for her to think our marriage was over.”
I step toward her.
She steps back.
“I was venting,” I admit. “I shouldn’t have. But I wasn’t planning anything. I haven’t decided anything.”
“That’s the problem,” she whispers. “You haven’t decided.”
“I need more time,” I say, and I hate how desperate I sound.
“I can’t, okay?” she says, walking around me, putting space between us like I’m something volatile. “I can’t keep living in this in-between.”
She turns back to face me, eyes red.
“I get that I hurt you. I get that I messed up. I’ve owned that. I’ve been here. I’ve done the therapy. I’ve swallowed my pride. I’m willing to do anything for you to forgive me.”
She inhales shakily.
“But you don’t…”
“Don’t what?” I ask.
“Don’t trust me,” she says, her voice breaking. “You never have.”
“How the hell is this my fault?” I fire back.
“Are you forgetting how we ended up in this mess in the first place?”
“You’re seriously blaming me?”
“No,” she says quickly. “But you have to accept responsibility too. What I did… it wasn’t some deep-rooted conspiracy. It was a reaction. An impulsive, terrible reaction. And I’ve been working on that. But you-”
She gestures at me.
“You won’t even go to therapy.”
I open my mouth to argue.
She beats me to it.
“You told Lenore things you never told me. And I told myself it was because you were protecting me. That you didn’t want to worry me. I defended you.”
Her voice cracks.
“But telling a stranger we’re separated? While letting me believe we still had a chance?”
