Page 77 of Bad Husband

Just let her go.

My eyes squeeze shut, and I know she sees the pain in them before I deny her the sight. My head hangs, my body wanting to give out, fall before her and beg her to put me out of my misery already.

Madison’s a strong woman, maybe even stronger than I’ve given her credit for all these years but she couldn’t, wouldn’t fight for us.

In a huffed breath, she lets out a sarcastic laugh, shaking her head. Madison turns to leave. And I don’t follow her, but as she’s walking away, she mumbles, “Thomas’s wife was killed in a car accident two years ago with their two-year-old son. He became a therapist here because when she died, he realized they’d grown apart and he had no idea who she was anymore.”

That was ugly.

Fuck me. No really, just fucking stab me in the heart already. Better yet, rip it out. I don’t need the useless organ anymore.

Here’s the thing. Life is a train wreck for most people. Sure, they smile and tell you their blessed and hashtag everything is perfect in their lives in an Instagram post, but it’s not.

They’re fucking liars.

Madison and I don’t talk the entire drive back home Sunday afternoon. I know Callan’s going to be at the house with Brantley, waiting for us, and what am I going to say to him?

That I gave up?

My mind replays everything on repeat. My attempts to win her back, the nut sac waxing, hammering my hand to a wall… it’s not only taken a toll on me physically but emotionally, this fucking hurts. I’m not going to lie.

Especially when you know deep down, you don’t want it. But the thing is, I shouldn’t have to convince my wife she wants to be with me, should I?

When someone you’ve promised your heart to, vowed to love and cherish till death do you part wants out, it feels like the world’s closing in on you and nothing will ever be the same again.

In our case, it won’t.

I’ve done some research on Chernobyl. After the nuclear meltdown, nothing about that city was the same. Have you seen what it looks like? It’s like the day after a carnival leaves town with empty streets and trash all over the place.

That’s essentially how I feel. Empty. Abandoned.

When we pull up to the house, the lump in my throat gets so big I can barely swallow.

I can’t help the emotion swelling up, and I look over at her. I memorize the details of her face like it’s the first time I’m seeing her, only I know it’s the last. “We need to tell the boys.”

She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t want to. I don’t want to either. It’s the last thing I want to do.

I’ll be honest with you, I thought if we went away, we could fix it that weekend and she would see she still loved me, but it didn’t happen that way. I knew it was a long shot, but I’ve never been the kind of guy to back down from a challenge. Deep down, I never thought I deserved a woman like Madison. Maybe this was fate finally delivering its fast “fuck you” ball.

I take the bags inside while Madison goes upstairs without saying a word. I can hear laughter outside and smile, the first one today. Running upstairs, I fill a bag of clothes. She’s up there in our bedroom on the bed, her face in her hands crying.

I’m not as much of an asshole as you’d think so I sit next to her and wrap my arm around her. She doesn’t drop her hands and continues to cry.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, though I don’t know exactly what I’m sorry for. Maybe for everything, but mostly for what I said in anger.

“Me too,” she mumbles, pulling away and escaping to the bathroom.

Heading back downstairs, I think about everything I need to get done this week. I’ve neglected so much I’m behind at the office and the Wellington house. In the kitchen, I grab my laptop and charger and toss it in my bag along with some files I had in my office.

Brantley rushes inside, a water gun in his hand, Noah attached to his foot. “Come on, Wolverine, wingman. I need my wingman. We’re going down!” Dropping to his knees, he grabs Noah by the waist and holds him to the ground.

“Grr!” Noah growls at him, attempting to bite his nose.

Just then Callan runs inside after them, cackling with his super soaker in his hand and sprays Brantley’s back.

Someday, Brantley’s going to make a great dad. “Daddy!” Callan yells when he sees me and drops his gun on the kitchen floor running over to me. And then he sees my bag on the floor, and his stare holds mine. “Where are you going?”

I don’t want to tell him, but he’s here and questioning. He’s too smart for his own good.

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