Page 48 of Vintage

"And I didn’t sleep with Amery, but with Willow?"

"Yes," Reese said with a shrug.

"You both were there to save me... like... like with Amery, and it was my wife who actually hit Willow on the head, not the other way around?"

They both nodded vigorously in agreement.

I buried my face in my hands, groaning more than I probably should have.

So, to sum it up, all those five months spent trapped in that house, dreaming about being with my wife, were a complete fabrication. I had been with Willow all along!

Maybe I sensed something was off from the start, or maybe I didn’t. Many of those moments and memories still feel dreamlike, or nightmarelike, while others are too hazy and lost to even register in my mind.

Maybe at one point I had it all figured out, but maybe somewhere as the days stretched, I lost it to recognize it anymore.

How did my life end up like this?!

"Where is she?" I sighed deeply, feeling utterly drained.

Reese raised an eyebrow, "Amery or Willow?"

I shut my eyes, bracing for another migraine that throbbed behind my eyes.

"My wife, Reese! My wife!" I gritted my teeth and glared at her. "Don’t take pleasure in my suffering, you sadistic woman. I have no energy leftexcept a fierce determination for revenge, and you’ll be my first target for all the wrong reasons."

She glared back, narrowing her eyes before furiously typing a message.

“She is here.”

I instinctively knew who it was the moment the doors swung open, revealing my wife. This was no mere figment of my imagination; she was right there in the flesh.

"Mrs. Rowan," I breathed, my heart racing in my chest. It was that same feeling I experienced when I first laid eyes on her in college, surrounded by her friends as they discussed their research.

Back then, she had looked furious, her nose crinkled and her jaw set tight. So young and yet so captivating to me.

The past felt worlds apart from my present. Now, standing before me was a grown-up Amery. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her clothes suggested she hadn’t changed in days. What I saw was undeniable; she had let herself go. There was no gentle smile or familiar expression on her face—only the pain etched into her features, a testament to the horror her life had become.

She remained frozen in place, her eyes red and swollen, a clear sign of tears shed. I was likely the cause of her suffering. I had hurt her.

I longed to be near her, to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her. The thought of feeling her warmth felt like a distant dream, especially after everything I had endured. How could she possibly want someone as filthy as me by her side?

There are things that can be forgiven and things that cannot.

I struggle to articulate my story in a way that would allow her to judge it fairly.

In a sense, I betrayed my wife, even if it wasn’t my intention.

Did Willow push me into it?

Technically, yes.

Did I engage with her willingly?

Yes and no. In my defense, I had no idea it was her I was with. In my mind, I was with my wife the entire time. She had drugged me, making me envision Amery, and whenever she wanted, I was in the mood to go along with it.

"Hey. People seem to call you Amery, but I feel that Mrs. Rowan has a nicer ring to it for you. You sound like mine." That’s what I said when we first met, and she must have thought I was quite the flirt.

She glanced down, and our friends hesitantly exited the room, leaving us the space we needed.

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