Page 80 of My Only

Tears.

They were building in my eyes, and I hadn’t even realized it.

I blinked, and one slid down my cheek. Then another.

Damn it.

Ripping a napkin from the dispenser, I quickly blotted my face dry.

Why am I crying?

I wasn’t that upset. I wasn’t that insecure.

But the questions kept swarming.

Why was Harper texting my husband?

Why was she thinking about his office decor?

And then…

Wait… what does his office even look like?

The realization settled like a weight in my chest.

I didn’t know what Hassani’s new office looked like.

Why didn’t I know?

It wasn’t important, I guess. It was just an office.

But something about her knowing—and me not—bothered the hell out of me.

When he worked out of his private space—only seven minutes from Park Avenue Prep—I used to stop by for lunch. We’d eat together, catch up, spend little moments in each other’s world.

But now he was over ten minutes away.

And I hadn’t bothered to stop by.

And he hadn’t invited me.

I stood there for a few minutes longer, only leaving when another woman walked in and headed for a stall.

On the way back to our table, I debated.

Should I say something?

About the text? About not being invited to his office?

It all sounded so petty in my head.

I’d always hated how Hassani’s ex-girlfriends treated me when we were just friends. They hated me. Always convinced I wanted him, that I was some kind of threat.

I never wanted to be that kind of woman to them.

And as his wife, I never wanted to make him feel like I was doubting him.

But as I walked back toward our table, all I could hear was one thing.

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