How has my life come to this? I don’t know my husband anymore. And I’ve lost my way. I was doing so well just a few weeks ago. I wish I’d never discovered that photo. If only I were still blissfully ignorant. If only I didn’t know that Brian has lied to me all these years. If only I hadn’t become obsessed with three beautiful strangers. If only I hadn’t fallen for Joel. But how could I have not? I’m so vulnerable, so fucked up.
I desperately want to see Joel. I want to run into his arms. I want him to tell me everything will be okay, like I know he would. But how could I even begin to tell him what’s going on without hurting him, without pulling him into the same boat I’m in. And it would only be worse for him. All these years, he’s believed that Ava was his.
I hurt so much, I feel like I want to purge all my insides, all my thoughts, all my memories. I want to be a blank slate, a zombie. If I did recreational drugs, I’d need a hit so bad. I wonder if I could swallow a few of my pills… what would happen? A glass of wine, four pills or so. Would the pain dull? Would all this go away? If only for a night?
My phone rings, the familiar Meghan Trainor tune lifts my spirits for a fraction of a second. A heavy weight fills my chest when I see Joel’s name.
I can’t hide the pain in my voice when I answer, “Hello.”
“Are you okay, Mischa?” he asks. “What’s going on?”
“Brian and I just had a huge fight,” I explain.
Silence fills the line. My heart is thumping feverishly as I desperately wait for his reply.
“Renee and I too… we had a huge fight. There must be something in the air tonight.”
My heart fills with emotion. He’s the only person in the world I want to speak to right now, and here he is, on the other end of the line.
“That’s why I called you,” he says. “I needed someone to talk to.”
“I’m here,” I say softly.
“I know… you always are.”
I start sobbing again. I can’t help it — emotion is pouring out of me. I’m not usually the emotional type. I keep things bottled in — it’s actually what I do best. But once that bottle tips, it’s a mess.
“Oh, Mischa… please don’t cry.”
I bite my lip, a feeble attempt to control myself, but it’s no use.
“I’m coming over,” he says.
“No… you can’t,” I tell him. “Brian is here. He’ll see you.”
“I don’t care,” he says. “I’m heading to my car. Give me your address right now. I’m in a white SUV.”
I don’t know what I’m thinking, but I do as I’m told. My pulse races and my fingers shake as I tap in my coordinates. I pad over to the ensuite and stare at my reflection — I’m a mess. I don’t want Joel to see me like this. I wipe the mascara smears under my eyes and pour myself a glass of water. I dab on a touch of lipgloss and pull off my ratty t-shirt. I pick out a pretty blouse and some low heels. I keep my black leggings on. I grab my phone and head to the living room window where I can watch for him. Brian is finishing up in the kitchen.
I wait. I wait to be taken away from all this. From my life.
My breath hitcheswhen I see a white SUV drive up and stop right in front of our building.
As I run to the elevator, my phone pings. I don’t check it — I know it’s him, telling me he’s here. The elevator is empty and it can’t move fast enough. I sprint out and run outside, as fast as my heels will let me.
The SUV window lowers as soon as I approach. Joel’s face is just as beautiful as I remembered it. We haven’t seen each other in quite a few days. I’ve missed him.
I swing the door open and climb in. Neither of us says a word. I shoot him a shy smile before gazing up at Orchard Heights. A lone figure stands at a window on the third floor — my husband is watching us.
I turn my head and look ahead. “Thank you,” I say. “Thank you for being here for me.”
He smiles. “Ditto, buddy.”
He parks in the lot behind his studio. It’s dark and abandoned. He takes my hand in his and leads the way. I close my eyes for a second, reveling in the amazing feel of his warm skin on mine.
Unfortunately, he lets go when he unlocks the door. He invites me in, and closes the door behind us. My heels click-clack on the tiled floor. It’s dark and quiet, eerie.
He throws his keys on the counter and closes the distance between us. “What was your fight about?”
