Page 62 of Secrets That Bind Us
Because it took multiple trips to New York and very expensive therapy sessions with Doctor Archer, to make me open my eyes to see it.
"Yeah, Max, I'll call you back."
Max Bardwell, a business associate. One I told him not to go into business with because he's fucking sleazy, but who am I to tell him who to associate with? I'm just a little writer. His little wife. Micah had a way of making you feel both grand and small.
Mere months of therapy with Dr. Archer made me realize I may have traveled the world and experienced so much of it due to money, but when it came to matters of the heart, I was still so naïve.
My back is still facing him as I watch the rain go from a downpour to a drizzle, the cabs whizzing by create tidal waves when they drive over where it's accumulated into large, murky puddles.
Micah's brown eyes find mine over the ridge of his glasses as he hangs up the phone. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"You never bought me a blender," is all I can fathom to say when I glance over my shoulder at him. My heart is as heavy as the foreboding clouds outside. Even though the rain has lessened, they still promise to erupt later.
He squints at me as if I’m the stupidest woman he’s ever encountered and truth be told, I am so sick of him looking at me like that. I turn to face him slowly. "Ten years ago – when we decided to move in together – you promised you would buy me a blender... And for the first two years, every holiday and birthday, I... I was hoping I would wake up to a blender."
"We have a blender." He scoffs.
I nod curtly once. "I purchased a small one to make smoothies I could take on the go. It wasn't a blender."
"But it worked the same." He points out, annoyed - at my presence or my mention of the blender, I'm unsure.
He’s right, though. It did work the same. But that isn't the point I'm trying to make. "Four years ago, while I was heavily pregnant, you said, 'I want to build my own gallery, discover artists and get them known, hang my own art.' And I said, 'Let's find an agent, and look for spaces to lease...' Andwithin a week we found this place, and still, I was using my smoothie maker as a blender. I finally purchased a blender when it broke down after I gave birth to Noah." I think about how that smoothie blender was good to me for six years. Much like the man before me.
Except I don't recognize him anymore. He’s grown his hair out, he wears an expensive suit and tie, his laugh is different, his smile is different, he’s changed everything he could about himself including his fucking teeth. Even the way he smells is different. When he doesn’t smell like another woman’s perfume, anyway. I wish the Micah I knew was still in there, but I don't think he is. All the therapy we’ve been through, and it hasn’t changed. All the false promises, the fake crying, the fakeeverything. Everything is gone. There’s no salvaging this and I’m done trying. I’m done crying over men. I’m so over it. First Daddy, then Dean, then Micah. It’s like I’ve been cursed to spend every day of my life sad as fuck all the damn time, and I’mtired.
I just want to actually be alone. Where I’m not worried about stepping on goddamn eggshells all the fucking time. Not having to make excuses for him for why he hasn’t shown up or why he’s talking funny or sleeping so much or gone.I want to raise my kids in a house full of love and peace and comfort and by god, I want to hear themlaugh.
I stayed in a façade of a marriage forimage. In the end, it wasn’t evenmyimage. My image had nothing to do with Micah anymore. And the rumors circulating back to me were too hard to ignore. After trying and failing to get evidence of his cheating via phone didn’t work, I had cameras installed.
And the guy was fucking disgusting.
Unfortunately, last year, he was in a boating incident while we were in California. I was working, and he was off doing God knows what in a boat. I was on a panel when I got the call. It was obviously ignored. It wasn’t until he had been there for hours that I finally made it to the ICU where he was being held. I helped nurse him back to health like a good wife would and things were okay… for a while.
He never told me what he was doing out on the ocean. Avoided it at all costs. Always deflecting.
Once he was all better and I was done traveling for the year… the cameras came in handy. And the team of lawyers at my back were incredible. Not to mention Zoey.
I lick my lips and squint at him, still trying to see past the beloved image he worked so hard to attain. Not seeing the man I thought I kind-of loved anywhere behind that desk, I place the heavy string file folder onhis desk, containing the documents that will change our lives. Then, ever so gently, I slip my wedding band off and place it on top.
"The fuck is this?" He asks, opening it up, the ring scattering to the ground.
Yeah, that seems fitting.
"Paperwork for a dissolution of marriage. I've signed and initialed all of my sides; you only have to sign and initial yours so we can begin the process."
"Christ, Verity is this about a fucking blender? Take my credit card, buy the fucking thing."
I shake my head. "I no longer need a blender, and I no longer want this marriage. Micah, let's be adults. We both knew this was going to happen eventually."
He eyes me incredulously and begins to laugh a hearty laugh. The kind that's as condescending equally as it is rich and robust. It stops as suddenly as it started. "No."
I sigh heavily, exhaling every ounce of air in my lungs as I sit in the leather chair before his desk across from him. "This isn't working anymore. I'm not happy. The kids aren't happy. You're here or traveling more than I am these days. We haven't even had sex since before Noah was born-"
"That hasn't been my fault. I've initiated."
I exhale instead of rolling my eyes. His idea of 'initiating sex,' is him saying, 'Want to fuck?' while he jerks off beside me. There's no passion, no lust, no... no love. Granted, the sex wasn't terrible. It was good when we had it...fouryears ago. It was never... Dean-level sex, but it was still good. I still orgasmed... sometimes. If I used a toy. Which of course, he found offensive. "This isn't a marriage anymore, Micah. We're two different people. We've grown apart. We don't even sleep in the same bed anymore. You've fucked almost every artist you've held a gallery for-"
"So what? You haven't been fucking your agent?"
