‘I’m done.’
***
Every word Jasmine said was a well-aimed blade into Emilio’s chest. He deserved it. Emilio knew that. He’d never been worthy of her, having intentionally kept the affair from her. But he couldn’t bear to hear the words leaving her lips now.
Jasmine was heading for the door. He flew out of his chair and caught her by the wrist, spinning her round and cradling her face. Her tears were a bludgeon to his soul. Everything he did to hold on to her and their child was backfiring.
‘Please, Jasmine. We have something here. Something between us. I’ve never been in love, not truly. Not until—’
‘Don’t you dare say it.’ The hurt in her eyes morphed and solidified into a burning anger. She pulled away from him and made for the bedroom.
‘Where are my clothes?’
Emilio didn’t want to show her. His heart was breaking. If she got her clothes, she would leave, and he needed her to stay.
‘Jasmine, don’t—stay. We can work this out. Just stay. Fight with me.’
She went to the adorned cupboard where several new sets of clothes hung up, all her favourites from the personal shopper’s catalogue. Emilio had wanted to spoil her. How had it gone so wrong?
She pulled out a suitcase and began haphazardly packing the clothes into the bag. This wasn’t her. She was meticulous about everything she did. He couldn’t let her leave, if not for his sake, then for hers and their baby’s.
‘Jasmine, if you want to leave so desperately, I will see you to the airport myself in the morning.’
‘No. I don’t want to be around you.’
‘I can’t let you leave.’
She scoffed. ‘And that’s why you kept this from me—because you knew I would leave!’
His family was falling apart. He’d been so close to having everything and now it was slipping through his fingers.
‘What about our baby? I won’t lose my child.’ He didn’t want to lose her either.
‘I will have my lawyers contact your lawyers. I’m sure we can come up with an agreeable custody schedule.’
Emilio could clearly read between the lines. ‘And we would have no contact.’
‘Not if I can help it.’ She slammed the suitcase shut and turned to face him. ‘And don’t bother coming home either. It’s mine, not yours.’ She wheeled the suitcase to the bedroom door. ‘I’ll send you a cheque for the clothes.’
‘Per l’amor del cielo, Jasmine!’ He ran after her.
‘Do not come after me, Emilio. I don’t want to see you.’ She didn’t look back, slamming the suite door closed just before he could reach it.
He threw it open—but only made it a step. His soul cried out for him to heed his impulse to follow her. To bring her back. To make her understand where he was coming from. But the urgency of that need, the desperation, was exactly why he couldn’t. He had trained himself for years to ignore his impulses, but he didn’t want to now. He was losing his family, the woman he loved. But how could he turn his back on nearly a decade of control? How could he disobey Jasmine?
He was stuck. Stuck in this loop of who he should be and who he was. The man whose actions had driven his wife down the hallway and out of sight.
Gone.
Emilio’s back met the wall and he slid down to the floor, his chest caving open. Where did he go from here?
In this moment of utter night, Emilio’s phone began to ring. He didn’t want to answer it, but what if it was Jasmine? What if she had paused for a moment and would allow him a chance?
A chance for what?
Anything!He’d take anything she offered.
‘Jasmine?’ he answered, without even looking at the screen.