I stay silent, knees pulled to my chest, back against the door. If I don’t move, don’t speak, maybe this moment will go away. Maybe I can stay here until everything outside this room disappears. The pretty woman with her silver shoes, the meeting I’m now going to be late for, the seven years I’ve wasted on a man who couldn’t even betray me with originality.
“She’s just a friend,” Matthew continues, his voice taking on an edge of frustration. “We were just talking.”
“She was already half-naked you idiot.” Fuck. I’m done.
“It’s not—look, can you just open the door? This is ridiculous.”
“Yes, it’s you that’s been ridiculous for years. Go away, Matthew.” My voice sounds hollow, distant, like it belongs to someone else.
“It’s my bedroom too.”
“Not anymore.”
My heart beats three times and then, a new tone enters his voice—defensive, almost accusatory. He pounds on the door with such force that it reverberates through my entire body. “What did you expect? You’re never home. You’re always working, always with your stupid hockey player. I bet you fucked him too. This is just me doing what you know best.”
Something shifts inside me. The shock recedes, replaced by a slow-burning anger. “Are you seriously trying to blame me for this?” I scream through the door. I don’t want to see him. Don’t want to look at his stupid face.
“I’m lonely, Jenna. Do you even realize how long it’s been since we had a real conversation? Since you looked at me instead of your phone or your case files?”
Each word lands like a slap. The worst part is, beneath the righteous anger and hurt, I know there’s a grain of truth to what he’s saying. I have been absent. Distracted. But that doesn’t justify this. I understand that relationships are a two-way street, but I never expected to walk into this. No one should have to face something like this.
“Open the damn door!” His patience snaps, and another fist pounds against the wood, making me flinch. “We need to talk about this like adults!”
“Adults don’t cheat on their partners!” I shout back, anger finally breaking through the shock.
“Adults don’t hide in bedrooms!”
Another pound on the door, harder this time. It feels like a punch at me.
“Open up!” Matthew’s voice has changed, grown louder, more demanding. I’ve never heard him like this before. He keeps on pounding. One punch follows the next and I can’t breathe. It scares me. I scramble away from the door, retreating to the far corner of the room. Tears stream down my face now, hot and unstoppable. I brush them away with shaking hands, leaving smears of mascara across my fingers. There’s a gasp. My gasp.
“Open.” A punch. “The fucking.” Another punch. “Door. You bitch!”
I hyperventilate now and it’s like my body moves on its own. My bag is still around my shoulder, and I take out my phone. All I can think of right now is that I need help. I can’t face him like this. I can’t. I’m not strong enough. Shaking like aspen leaves, I want to call Isla.
My phone beeps, the sound jarring, while he screams like I was the one who fucked someone else in our apartment.
“Jenna?”
Colton’s voice freezes me mid-sob. My thumb trembles over the red button, but flies to my mouth instead. Too late—a whimper escapes between my fingers.
“Jenna?”
Yeah, it’s one hundred percent not Isla’s voice I hear.
It is Colton.
And I’m so stunned I don’t hang up. I should. I should pressend calland pretend this never happened. Pretend I didn’t accidentally dial him of all people. I wanted to call Isla.Isla. Not Colton!
My thumb hovers over the red button. But instead, it drifts up to my mouth, like I can physically hold the sound in. Like I can stop myself from falling apart if I just press hard enough.
A broken cry slips through anyway.
Too late.
He heard it.
I squeeze my eyes shut. God, why him? Whynow? Why did my hands betray me like this?
