Page 134 of The Wright Man

He said it so casually. Like a diagnosis. Like I was a stubborn problem he hadn't managed to fix.

My mind was spinning, trying to find solid ground, but everything felt slippery. I couldn't believe him—no, that wasn't true. I could believe him. I just didn't want to.

I stood there, clutching the back of the chair like I needed it to keep me upright, something hollow and sharp settling behind my sternum. Like the air had been let out of the room.

Not even ten minutes ago, I'd brought him lunch. Tried to smile through my exhaustion. Tried—again—to pretend this was still something worth saving. That maybe, just maybe, if I worked a little harder, smiled a little sweeter, I could make it feel like love again.

That I could fall in love with the man I married.

That I didn't throw away everything that mattered for nothing.

Gavin didn't even look at me.

"By the way," he said, glancing at his watch like he had somewhere better to be, "I'm heading to Annapolis tomorrow."

My head jerked up. "What?"

He glanced at me, barely. Irritated. Like my confusion was just one more thing on his to-do list. "Last-minute work thing Boyd set up. Big client. Commission work. Don't know how long I'll be gone."

Just like that. Like we hadn't just argued about starting a family. Like he hadn't just called my grief inconvenient.

Like I wasn't still here. Trying.

I stared at him, something hollow and sharp pressing into my ribs. He didn't even realize what he was doing. Or maybe he did. Maybe this was the plan—slice me open, leave me reeling, then vanish just long enough for me to blame myself again.

"Don't look at me like that," he added, sipping his lemonade with practiced indifference. "I didn't exactly ask to go. So forgive me if I'm not available for whatever tantrum you're preparing to throw."

It wasn't even the words—it was the tone. That flat, casual disgust. Like I was some dog barking at his heels.

"I'm going back to work," I said, voice low, tight, final.

"Of course you are."

Of course he had to get the last word.

I paused at the door, back still to him.

"Fuck you, Gavin."

"If you did that more often, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

I left before I caught a felony. Blew past the desk, ignoring Boyd's lazy wave and Jasmine's polite goodbye. My heels hit the pavement harder than necessary. I made it to my car, flung open the door, and collapsed behind the wheel.

The tears came fast and furious. Hot, humiliated, and furious.

I punched the steering wheel once. Then twice. The horn didn't even flinch.

Fuck him. He could go to Annapolis. Hell, he could go to Mars for all I cared.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, catching my breath. My phone buzzed on the passenger seat.

It was Maleek.

Maleek : Still coming to the open house tomorrow?

Simple. No pressure. No assumptions. Just him being there. I stared at the screen for a second, then tapped out a reply.

Me: Counting down the seconds.