Page 1 of Loved By You

Prologue

Ria

You know that question they ask you in high school?‘Where do you see yourself in ten years time?’ And of course, you say all the things you think you’re meant to; Have a successful career, a loving, devoted husband, 2.4 kids, and a golden retriever. Well, I have all that.

I've got the husband, the kids, and the family. Eighteen-year-old me would be happy with the life I have; Twenty-eight-year-old me is faced with a reality that is not as idyllic as I imagined.

I stare at my husband's shirt, which is stained with red lipstick on the collar, feeling like I’m about to lose my mind because all I can think about is how I need to get this stain off. I can’t look at the evidence of his wandering eyes anymore. My hand trembles as I reach for the stain remover. My heart races as I pour it onto the fabric. I scrub... and I scrub. but all I can do is watch asthe stain grows, ruining the shirt forever. I can barely breathe, my body thrumming from the exertion. I pause the assault on the shirt, the smell of the stain remover tickling the back of my throat, my eyes burning with the threat of tears as I look down at the ruined fabric. I can't save the shirt. I can't fucking save the shirt. I’ve tried, but I can’t. A lump lodges in my throat, thick and unwelcome.

An invisible weight drags my body to the floor as I grip the now wet material to my chest. Memories of all the other times I've ignored the stains on his shirts flood my brain. All the times I replaced them without question. But tonight, I needed to save the shirt. I know I can't keep replacing them. I can't keep pretending. A sob fights its way into my throat, but I stifle it and try to focus on anything that will ground me. The cool floor against my legs, the washer-dryer pressing against my back. It’s enough to stop me falling apart.

How did it come to this? When did he decide I was no longer enough? When did he fall out of love with me? Was he ever in love with me?

I knew I didn't have the best example of what love was growing up. My childhood home was a burning one, fueled by chaos and drama, and after spending a brief time in foster care, I swore that wouldn't be my life. I’d get out, I'd do better. I thought I'd won the life lottery meeting Alex. Handsome, kind, from a good family and he showered me with love and affection, but maybe I was blinded by what I thought love was. Maybe, I am no better than my mother.

Have I spent my marriage being a blind fool?

Anger bubbles up inside me. This won't be my life. I refuse. My girls won't grow up like I did. I stare down at the shirt, the red stain still bleeding out and I know what I need to do.

I rise to my feet, throwing the shirt on the counter. Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I let out a long breath, sighing. I know what I need to do.

I grab trash bags from the cupboard and stride out of the laundry room and down the hall to our bedroom. I stand in front of his neatly hung suits and shirts in our walk-in closet; ones I've spent hours making sure were freshly laundered and ready when he needed them, and rip them down, one by one.

Tears flowing, my pulse racing, I shove it all into the trash bags. Every tug of his clothing pushes my anger levels higher until I'm shaking with unexpressed rage.

Dragging the trash bags through our bedroom, I open the window, tossing the lot out onto the manicured lawn below. The thought of removing every trace of Alex consumes me.

Taking the stairs two at a time, thankful that the girls are sleeping over at Alex’s parents' house and not here to witness this. I want to hit him right where it hurts. Heading outside and opening up the garage door, I frantically look around for his most prized possession.

Bingo

I swear I’m having an out-of-body experience. I don't think about my actions, I just do it. Pulling his favorite club from the bag, I lift it above my head, and drive it as hard as I can into the garage wall, screaming every time metal meets brick.

Each strike is for every lipstick stain I've found on a shirt, every time he’s climbed into bed smelling of another woman's perfume, the nights he's left me alone to tend to our girls and been God knows where, and for always feeling like an afterthought and never his priority. If I had a cent for every time he’s made me feel worthless, I’d be worth something by now. I know we could have been happy, and that’s the hardest part to accept, but I just wasn’t enough. I hit again and again with every club till they are all bent and broken, just like he's left my heart.

Then, throwing the last club to the ground, chest heaving, I swipe my hair away from my sweat-soaked face, thinking of what I can get rid of next.

As I go back into the house, I try not to glance at the family photos that line the walls of the staircase. A reminder of the lie we’ve been living. I grip the handrail on the way up the stairs, steadying myself as a wave of dizziness washes over me. I focus on my breathing, rubbing my free hand against my thumping chest, willing the panic attack that’s fighting to take over my body to settle.

Breathe, Ria. You're okay. Just breathe.

I slow my steps as I head back to our bedroom, taking in the mess I’ve left on our plush cream carpet; a carpet I chose for what was meant to be our forever home. My safe space from the chaos I was running from, but all I appear to have done is run from one burning building to the other.

The panic attack now almost suffocates me. I need to get out. I need him out. I search through the rest of the closet, grabbing as much of Alex’s stuff as my hands will hold. As I throw his belongings like they are hand grenades ready to detonate, I hear the front door open and slam shut. Seconds later Alex roars, “Ria, what the fuck?” My body's stills.Perfect. He must have seen his clothes on the lawn. His footsteps echo against the wooden staircase as he climbs them quickly.

“Have you lost your mind, woman?” he yells, his eyes widening as he looks around the room. “Why are my clothes everywhere and why are my new clubs bent as fuck in the garage? Do you know how much they cost me?”

“I’m just helping you pack,” I reply with no emotion in my tone.

“Why? Where am I going?” he barks, rubbing his forehead.

“I don’t really know or care. A hotel, your office, or your latest fuck buddy. Go bump uglies till your dick falls off, but youno longer live here,” I say breathlessly, whilst waving my arms around at all his stuff.

“I beg your fucking pardon. Where has this come from? Are you having one of yourepisodes?”

I turn on my heel and head back into the closet, Alex hot on my heels. “No, you self absorbed prick. I am not having one of my ‘episodes’,” I say, using my fingers to make air quotes. “I found a stain on your shirt from your work dinner last night.”

His face drops when the realization hits him. I can almost see the cogs in his pea-sized brain trying to conjure up another shit excuse. I push past him, carrying more shirts which I dump on the bedroom floor.

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