She stopped again, inhaling slowly, her chest rising and falling with the effort. “And guess what? Will warned you from the start, and you ignored him.”
Her eyes were glassy now, tears gathering. “Why are you still protecting her, Adrian?”
“I’m not, Elena.” My voice came out low. “I’m not protecting her. I just don’t want her anywhere near us anymore. As far as I’m concerned, she’s out of the picture.”
“Yeah? Maybe you’re done with her.” Her voice trembled, but her stare didn’t waver. “But that doesn’t mean she’s done with me.”
Her words cut clean and deliberate, even through the shake in her breath.
“That’s why I want her number, Adrian. Because if there’s anything left unfinished on her side, it ends with me, not you.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
She held my gaze, unblinking. “Give me the number.”
I exhaled hard, the fight draining out of me. “Fine. If giving you her number makes you feel better... I’ll give it to you.”
I wasn’t surrendering because I agreed. I was surrendering because she was breaking, and I couldn’t stand the thought of pushing her any further.
—?—
Elena
Her number was already in my phone.
Phoebe—the woman who helped tear my marriage apart.
Adrian sent it to me right after dinner, and now it sat there on my screen, staring back at me like an invitation I wasn’t sure I was ready to open. But the moment I had it, I froze.
I didn’t know what to do.
Should I send her a long message? Should I call her? Confront her voice to voice? What was I even supposed to say?
My mind couldn’t form anything coherent. Every thought tangled into another until all that was left was a mess of anger, confusion, and exhaustion.
“It’s late, Elena. You should try to sleep,” Adrian said quietly. He lay down beside me, close enough that I could feel his presence.
Then he pulled the blanket over his shoulders, as if sleep came easily for him. The irony was almost laughable. How convenient, how effortless for the person who caused the damage to close his eyes while the one he hurt lay awake drowning in the aftermath.
For the past few days, he had started sleeping in our bedroom again. At first, he hesitated, watching my reaction. I didn’t say anything when he silently asked—without words—if he still had the right to sleep there.
Ever since I stopped bringing up divorce, Adrian acted like forgiveness had quietly settled between us. Maybe I was close to giving it. Or maybe I just wanted to be close again.
But forgiveness and acceptance were not the same. And the truth was, I still hadn’t accepted it. The thought of him touching another woman, holding her, choosing her for even one night, it still sliced through me like glass every time it crossed my mind.
The pain hadn’t dulled. It hadn’t softened. It still hurt. Every single time.
—?—
The next morningat the office, I stared at the blank screen on my laptop.
Phoebe’s number was still saved in my phone, tucked inside a contact I wished I’d never had a reason to create. And yet here Iwas, phone in hand, waiting for words I wasn’t sure I could even type.
At first, anger took over.
My fingers flew across the phone screen, typing a message so sharp, so vicious, it would have gutted her on the spot. I typed curses, accusations, every ugly thought she deserved to hear.
I stared at it.
