“W-what?” I asked, my voice low. “With w-who?”
She tipped on her toes, her pupils dilating as she whispered, “With Jack freaking Mitchell.”
My chest ached hearing his name leave her lips.
I forced a smile. “That’s great, Paige.”
She didn’t notice my voice was straining. She didn’t see my jaw clench as she talked about him and how caring he was. Maybe I should’ve told her the truth. Grabbed her by the shoulder, kissed her and revealed to her it was me. Her best-friend, Derek Peterson.
But I didn’t have it in me to break her excitement.
Maybe I will tell her someday. Maybe after she got over him.
I promised myself I would.
1
DON’T BE JEALOUS, PAIGE-BEAR
PAIGE
The giggling stopped me cold at the front door.
It felt wrong.
My hand froze on the doorknob of my apartment, keys dangling from fingers. It was barely past five. I had left work early for once, so I could surprise Jack with his favorite takeout and maybe, just maybe, reclaim a shred of the marriage I had been watching crumble for months.
The giggling came again. It was high-pitched and feminine. And most definitely not from the television.
It was Lily’s nap-time, so Jack wouldn’t play something on his phone so loudly as to wake her up.
My heart hammered against my ribs, and perspiration coated my temples. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The apartment was dark except for the hallway light I had left on that morning. Lily’s baby monitor sat on the console table, its green light blinking. Our home was small and cozy with walls covered in framed photos of our wedding, my pregnancy and Lily’s newborn baby-pictures.
The sight of them always warmed my heart after a tiring workday, even though I knew Derek tried to lower my workload, making me do admin tasks ever since I came back from maternity leave. But I couldn’t relax my shoulders seeing them.
Because I couldn’t ignore the feeling of something being wrong.
I moved toward our bedroom on autopilot, each step feeling like I was wading through concrete. My ears started ringing as a part of me screamed to turn around, to grab Lily and leave, to preserve whatever ignorance I had left.
But I couldn’t stop. I had to know.
I need to know. I need to see it with my own eyes.
The door was cracked open.
And there they were.
My husband. The bed I had made that morning before rushing to work. Our marital bed he was sharing with a woman who seemed familiar.
The sight of them felt like a slap in the face.
Long limbs and perfect skin, with her head thrown back in a laugh that made my stomach lurch. Jack’s hands were on her slender waist, his mouth—the one that had kissed my cheek that morning after breakfast—on her neck. The sheets I had washed just days ago were tangled around their bodies.
For one whole second, the world went completely silent.
Is it a prank? Is there a crew with cameras and crew in our small apartment? Is it one of weird Derek’s pranks? Like the time he poured blue dye in my conditioner when we were kids and I was called Smurf for two entire months because he’d hated the guy I was dating.
