Page 6 of After Everything
I took a breath. Slow and steady.
"How long?" My voice came out quiet. Too quiet.
He hesitated. "Emma?—"
"How long have you been sleeping with her, David?"
Silence. He opened his mouth. Closed it. I could see him thinking, calculating, trying to figure out what I already knew and what he could still get away with lying about.
I didn't wait for him to decide.
"I'll answer for you. Five months. At least. The first charge on that credit card you thought I'd forgotten about was five months ago. So five months you've been sleeping with her. Five months you've been lying to me. Coming home and kissing me after being with her." My voice stayed level. Eerily calm. "Hope it was worth it."
"Emma, please, just let me?—"
"I want you out of this house."
The words came out flat. Final. Like I was ending a shift, handing off a patient chart.
"What?" His face went pale. "Emma, wait?—"
"Tonight. Right now. Your suitcase ispacked. You can stay with Sarah, or a hotel, or whatever. I don't care. But you're not sleeping here."
"We need to talk about this?—"
"No." I stood up. My legs felt steadier than they should have. "We really don't. Not tonight."
"Emma, please." He stood too, reaching for me. "I love you. I made a mistake, but I love you. We can work through this."
I stepped back before he could touch me.
"You don't get to touch me. Not after her."
Something in his face crumbled. Good.
"The suitcase is by the door. I'll be filing for divorce in the morning." I walked past him toward the stairs, my phone still in my hand. "Lock the door on your way out."
"Emma—"
I didn't turn around.
"If you're still here when I come back down, I'm calling the police."
I climbed the stairs. Walked into our bedroom. Closed the door.
And then, finally, I let myself fall apart.
CHAPTER 3: EMMA
Iwoke up on the bathroom floor.
For a moment, I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there. Then it all came flooding back: the messages, the photos, David's face when I told him to leave. I'd made it to the bedroom, locked the door, and then... what? Crying didn't quite cover it. I'd sobbed until I couldn't breathe, until my throat was raw and my eyes were so swollen I could barely see. At some point I'd stumbled to the bathroom and curled up on the tile, because it was cool and solid and somehow that helped.
My phone was next to me, face down. I picked it up.
6:47 AM. Seventeen missed calls. Twenty-three text messages.
All from David.
