Page 72 of My Only

Ayla’s text was waiting.

Ayla: Are you still coming?

My stomach knotted.

I squeezed my eyes shut, exhaling slow and deep before unlocking my phone. I hated this. Hated that she even had to ask.

I started typing.

Me: Baby, I swear I’m trying

No. Deleted it.

Me: I promise I’ll make it up to you.

Didn’t feel right either.

Finally, I settled on the truth.

Me: I’m so sorry, baby, but I can’t make it tonight. I’ll make it up to you, though. I promise. I love you.

“Everything okay?” Harper’s voice cut through the quiet.

I barely looked up. “My wife has an event tonight. I had to cancel on her.”

“You can just call her Ayla.”

I furrowed my brows.

“You say your wife like we haven’t all met her.”

I studied her for a second before looking away.

The guilt sat heavy on my chest as I hit send.

“Ayla will understand,” Harper said, tone light. “She has to. She’s married to one of the best architects in the game. I’m sure she knows late nights and canceled plans come with the territory. I know I’d understand.”

I just stared at her for a second.

Then shook my head and looked back at my work.

The drive home was quick. Light traffic meant I made it back in under half an hour.

From the driveway, I could see that all the lights were off.

It was after 10 p.m. Ayla had work in the morning, so she was probably already in bed.

I exhaled hard as I stepped inside, kicking off my loafers at the door. Undoing my tie as I climbed the stairs.

When I reached our bedroom, she was curled up under the covers, still and quiet.

Guilt gnawed at me.

I set my bag down, grabbed a quick shower, and brushed my teeth. On the way home, I’d stopped at the 24-hour deli, not far from the office, for a sandwich. Normally, we’d eat before her work mixers—grab dinner together, then head to the event.

Tonight should’ve been no different.

But it was.

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