Page 1 of Dibs
1
ASPYN
I’m watching the clock the second it strikes midnight, anger ratcheting up with every second that passes.
Sean is late again, and his dumb ass left his Kindle charging on the counter, revealing a string of explicit messages with someone named “Nurse Q.”
It’s not the first time he’s cheated, but it’s the first time I have this kind of evidence. Hell, I’m not even sure the first time he cheated, years ago, was the first indiscretion. Sean never copped to it, leaving me with my suspicions and no solid answers.
Instead, he gaslit me into thinking I was crazy, and how I could “ever dare” accuse him of such a terrible thing.
Okay, maybe I’m the dumb ass.
I’m standing here in my satin robe, rereading the chain of messages that are inappropriate at best, then pacing the tile of the kitchen. It’s beyond late.
What am I doing waiting up for this asshole?
Naturally, I swing open the freezer and dig in it for a forbidden Fudge Pop I’d hidden in a bag of peas. Sean was always more worried about my “womanly figure” than I was, and any sweet snacks I bought at the store I had to consume in thecar before the drive home, or hide in the bedroom in places he wouldn’t expect.
What an asshole.
The more I think about his control over my food choices, the redder my face gets, and the more pissed off I become. As I devour the Fudge Pop, my hands shake. My left eye twitches in annoyance, and then the right one joins in, like they’ve coordinated this pleasureless dance of aggravation.
I swipe my hand over my eye and hold the eyelid down tightly, my lips a thin line as I shove them together and refuse to let them tremble.
I will not let this make me cry.
Fuck.
I glance at the clock—12:12 a.m.
Tomorrow is the big day. Not mine, thank gods, but Sean’s sister Tara is finally marrying her long-time boyfriend. They’ve been together for nine years, and I’ve been with her idiot brother for almost ten. She is marrying an outstanding surgical technician. Sean had introduced her to from his work, and he’s a man who comes home at a reasonable hour, respects her, and never sexts other women.
Tara asked me a long time ago to be a bridesmaid because we’re practically family, and I’ve been helping her plan the perfect early-September wedding, without a ring on my own finger, for the past year.
Sean’s Kindle vibrates beside me on the counter.
The last message Sean sent was telling Nurse Q that she’s sexy and luscious, going on to ask if she was wet and ready for him. I read her response urging him to hurry home, wrinkling my nose and scrunching up my face in disgust.
Hands still shaking, I take a quick picture of the exchange, knowing Sean can’t gaslight his way out of this now. Not that he wouldn’t try. He’s a skilled narcissist. I’ve learned that fromwatching so many TikTok videos, and I beat myself up every day for not realizing sooner.
Can I give myself permission to leave him now?
Is his crime finally bad enough to give up on nearly ten years of my youth and say, “Fuck it?”
Fuck this.
I toss Sean’s Kindle into the bedroom I share with him and make up the pull-out sofa for him, moving his phone charger from the bedroom to the living room.
I hang his best tux in the hall closet along with the special tie he’ll be wearing as the Best Man, and set his shiny alligator leather shoes in there, too.
Then, I tear a piece of paper out of a notebook and, fuming, I write a note.
I hope you had a lovely time with Nurse Q tonight. I’m glad she’s so luscious, sexy, and endlessly wet for your ‘giant’ (PSA: really quite average) cock. Nothing you can say will excuse your behavior. I am DONE. We’re done. I’ve waited ten years for a ring that never came, while you’ve been busy getting off with random nurses. Any self-respecting woman would leave you, so that’s what I’m doing.
Tomorrow, we will arrive separately at Tara’s wedding, be on our best behavior, and celebrate her nuptials. We will not dance together. You won’t touch me. I will bite you. We won’t tell anyone we broke up, because it’s Tara’s day. After that, I’ll come home. You’ll find somewhere else to go for the 30 days it will take me to find another place to live. If you fight me on this, I’ll make you legally evict me, which takes months, and I will make sure the entire hospital knows you’re a cheating bastard. Your clothes are in the coat closet.
When I release my death grip on the expensive pen Sean’s boss had given him for Christmas last year, I let out a sigh of relief—ten years with this man have been too many. I’ve cried so many tears in those years that I’m finding none tonight. Anger, though—hell, I have that in spades.
