Page 86 of Conflagration
I frown when I pull up to the house. It’s dark, and a sense of foreboding washes over me. I practically fly out of my car and sprint up the sidewalk, yelling her name as soon as I get inside, but I’m greeted with silence.
After finding the kitchen and the living room empty, I slowly walk towards our bedroom, trying to remain calm. She’s not in there, but nothing seems out of place. Maybe she just had to clear her head. Yeah, that’s what she’s doing, and she’ll be back in no time.
Upon entering the bathroom, I turn the hot water on, hoping a steamy shower will wash off the shit of this day from hell. My eyes are closed as I reach out for the shampoo bottle and pour some into my cupped palm. The scent of coconut overwhelms my senses, and I open my eyes to see that I’ve inadvertently grabbed hers. Relief swells at the sight of her stuff. As soon as she gets back, we’ll talk this out and everything will be fine again. I know I was a complete asshole, and I need to apologize, grovel even. Even if the things he said were true for them, I know what she and I have is real.
As I’m toweling off, something catches my eye and I turn my attention to the counter. I stop mid-rub as my eyes fall on the Wellington family ring—her ring—sitting on top of a piece of paper. I step back as if creating distance between me and the ring will lessen its implications.
Racing into the bedroom, I take a look around, finally noticing the subtle differences. Her phone charger, which hasn’t left the nightstand in the last two months, is gone. The small jewelry box she picked up at an antique store with my mom is no longer sitting on the dresser. And on the edge of the bed is the folded-up Property of Wellington T-shirt she sleeps in every night.
Soul-crushing dread pounds in my mind as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest at the thought of losing her. Slowly, almost ominously, I leave our room and walk down the hallway to the guest room, where she keeps her clothes. As I open the closet, I realize that I have to amend that statement. Where shekepther clothes. Instead of being full with colorful shirts, dresses, and tops, the closet is completely bare. Empty.
Almost immediately, my heart mirrors it.
Making my way back to my bathroom, I try to deny she’s gone. Even as I pick up the ring and her note, my brain tells me that it’s temporary.
That word triggers something and I throw my fist into the wall beside me, punching over and over again, wanting to feel the pain in my hand so I don’t feel it in my heart. When I finally come to my senses, I lean against wall, sliding down, bringing my elbows to my knees. I ignore the blood trickling down my hand, the pain throbbing in my fingers.
With my good hand, I study the ring, unable to comprehend that it’s no longer on her finger. Wanting it out of my sight but unable to let it go, I make a fist, my hand swallowing it up. I tighten it, feeling the diamond biting into my skin. My other hand holds the note up. Her words are marred by my blood, but I can still make them out. They are simple, but they’re enough.
I hope the next person you give this to earns your trust more than I was able to. You deserve happiness, Branson. I pray you realize that sooner rather than later.
Love Permanently,
A
What the fuck have I done?
TAKING HIS ring off my finger was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
Packing up everything I bought with my own money and leaving anything he owned or the things Amelia purchased was the second hardest.
Getting into my car and driving away without looking back? That nearly killed me.
As much as it pained me to do it, however, I knew it was necessary. Branson didn’t come right out and say that it was over. He didn’t have to. Any semblance of the relationship we’d built flew out the window when he, in not so many words, compared me to his ex-wife.
A blow I’m not sure from which I’ll ever recover.
It’s crazy to think how much my life has changed in a few short hours, and as I sit in the Atlanta traffic, I have nothing to do but reflect. Hindsight tells me that if I’d just have answered that damn question, then I wouldn’t be here.
But it’s more than that. If this hadn’t happened, then something else would have. It’s obvious that he doesn’t trust me—trust us—and I can’t live in a relationship like that. So even though I could kick myself, I made my bed. It’s going to be a cold, lonely one to lie in.
It isn’t until Alyssa opens her door that the tears finally bubble over and spill onto my cheeks. Her arms wrap around me as she pulls me inside, leading me into the living room, where she’s already prepared with a bottle of wine. She hands me a glass and sits beside me, eyeing me cautiously.
“You were rather cryptic on the phone. Want to tell me what’s going on?”
Even though the last thing I want to do is recount what happened, I down wine, refill it, and dive into the story—starting from the very beginning. As she listens, the whole thing feels like a fairytale—only this one’s gone very, very wrong and there will be no happily ever after.
“Wow,” she exhales, sitting back against the couch. “And everything was going so well.”
I give her a wry grin. “Tell me about it. I don’t know, Lyss. I knew about his trust issues and the whole incessant need he had to prove himself to his dad, but he hasn’t been that man with me. And the fact that he blindly believed his ex and Ben without even talking to me first? I’m not sure I can get over that.”
My phone buzzes from my purse, and when my sister reaches for it, her eyes widen as she holds it up for me to see. Surprisingly, it’s Branson calling. I look at the clock and snort when I see that it’s nearly midnight.
“I guess it didn’t take long for him to totally revert back to his old ways. He must’ve just gotten home and realized I was gone.”
“Or he realized what a cockbag he is and is calling to beg for your forgiveness. So he’s a few hours behind? Better late than never, right?” she says, sounding optimistic.
“Whose side are you on anyways?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
