I walked over to the kitchen sink and turned on the hot water. Reaching for the dish soap, I settled into the idea of cleaning the dirty dishes in the sink just to give my brain something else to focus on. But all of the incessant and stupid scenarios I had allowed him to twist around over the course of the past eight years slapped me in my face all at once.
Causing me to white-knuckle the dishes as I scrubbed.
There was a time in our relationship where he had me convinced that I had self-sabotaged things between us. He convinced me to go to couple’s therapy with him, and it shouldn’t have shocked me one bit when that couple’s therapy turned into singular therapy for me. He had me convinced that I was the problem. That it was my issues, my emotions, and my unresolved problems that hindered our progress forward.
It took seven years, a marriage, endless arguments, and him cheating for me to realize that I had never once been the problem. It washimthat had the issues, not me.
And I refused to stay married to that kind of asshole.
“What the hell am I doing?” I whispered.
I quickly dropped the dirty dishes into the water and tossed the sponge onto the countertop. Why was I still washing his dishes? Why had I walked right back into this godforsaken home and assumed the role of a maid? I clenched my soap-covered fists at my side before wiping them off on my jeans.
I was in a house that wasn’t mine washing dishes I hadn’t dirtied up in six fucking months.
“How did I let him do this to me?” I choked out.
On the one hand, my name not being on the property deed to the house would make that particular facet of our divorce easy. Not like I wanted the prison in the first fucking place. But not putting my name on the deed brought up even more confusing feelings that pushed more tears down my neck. They dripped down my face, finding their death upon my chest. As I watched bits of food float around in the muddled liquid in the sink in front of me, I drew in a deep breath.
I have to get him to sign those divorce papers.
“Figured you’d have left by now,” Blake said behind me.
My heart almost burst out of my chest, but I kept my cool as I turned to face him. “So, are you going to sign the divorce papers or are we going to continue fighting about it?”
His gaze dropped to my still-damp hands before he sighed. “You even still treat this place like your home. Why don’t you just come home? You don’t even have to sleep in the same bedroom as me. I know that we can fix this.”
I shook my head as I brushed past him. “I’ll let my lawyer know to proceed under the assumption that you aren’t willing to sign them.”
“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed as I made my way to the front door.
I plucked my purse off the coat rack. “Do you remember the last time we talked like this?”
He didn’t hesitate. “How could I forget? It was the last time you ever kissed me.”
I tried not to relive the disgusting taste of onion on his lips. “We made a promise to one another that we’d do the mandatory six-month separation. You promised me that you’d get help if I got help, and I sought that help. I’m still going to therapy. Have you even started yours? Or have you just been fucking everything with legs since I moved out?”
Blake sighed heavily. “Everyone has their ways for coping with rough situations like this one. You can’t fault me for having my own.”
“Well, your coping mechanism is the reason why we’re in this situation, and I’ll take that as a no, you’re not doing therapy like you promised.”
“At this point, I’m not the one that needs therapy.”
I grinned. “Which is exactly why I’m about to drag you into court.”
“It was an innocent mistake, Rose! What the hell do you want me to do!? Get on my knees and beg you to stay?”
I barked with laughter as I threw open the front door. “An innocent mistake is you landing in between another woman’s legs? I’ll make sure my lawyer takes note of that in his documentation.”
His grip around my wrist came out of nowhere. “It wasn’t what it looked like, and you know that. But you won’t even give me the fucking time of day to explain it to you.”
I turned to face him as I stood in the doorway. “All right, then. Explain it to me. What is it that the two of you were really doing, butt-naked beneath the covers in our marital bed with her legs spread wide and your hand wrapped around her throat?”
He scoffed. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
I jammed my hand into my purse and pulled out the seventh copy of the divorce decree. “Just sign the papers, Blake. Let’s both be done with a situation that’s making us miserable.”
He snatched them out of my hand. “You’re the only one making us miserable, Rose. Make no mistake of that.”
