Chapter 10
Chapter 10:
The walk back to the apartment felt endless. The evening air pressed against my skin like a damp cloth—Marsten Bay in summer, all humidity and salt and the distant promise of storms. I used to love this city. Nathan had painted it as a paradise, a place where we’d build our future together.
Now I understood: he’d chosen it because she was here. Every sunset walk, every beach picnic, every romantic dinner overlooking the harbor—he’d been revisiting his memories of her, using me as a stand-in for the woman he actually wanted.
The apartment was dark when I let myself in. I sat in the living room and waited.
They came home at midnight, laughing.
Laughing.
The sound hit me like a physical blow. I watched from the shadows as they stumbled through the door, Meredith’s hand on Nathan’s arm, Nathan’s face bright with the kind of joy I hadn’t seen in months. When he spotted me on the couch, the laughter died like a candle flame pinched between fingers.
“Vivian.” His voice went careful, controlled. “You’re still up p>
Still up. As if I were a child who’d missed bedtime. As if my presence in my own home was an inconvenience.
Meredith, ever the diplomat, excused herself to “wash up” and disappeared down the hall. Leaving my husband—my husband—to deal with the mess she’d helped create.
I didn’t move from the couch. “Did you get my message p>
𝙈𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙩 gⲁ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⩶ⅽ𝗈𝗺
“What message?” He was already pulling out his phone, checking for something he clearly hadn’t prioritized. “Oh—I dropped it in water earlier. It’s been acting up p>
Another lie. So casual, so reflexive. I wondered if he even noticed when he did it anymore, or if deception had become as natural as breathing.
“I have prenatal exams tomorrow,” I said. “Can you come p>
His jaw tightened. Just slightly, just enough for me to notice. “I have meetings all day. Important ones. Can’t reschedule p>
He reached up to loosen his collar, and that’s when I saw it: a smear of red just below his ear, half-hidden by the fabric of his shirt. Lipstick. The same shade I’d found in his car weeks ago.
Something in my brain short-circuited.
The tissue box was in my hands before I realized I’d grabbed it. The throw was harder than I intended—or maybe exactly as hard as I intended—and it caught him square in the forehead. He staggered back, more shocked than hurt, as Meredith came running from the bathroom, water still dripping down her temples.
“Vivian!” She stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “Are you crazy p>
I looked at her. I looked at him. I looked at the tissue box on the floor, bent and dented from impact.
And I thought: Maybe. But at least I’m finally awake.