Chapter 9 David
The security guard watched me until I got in my car.
I sat in the parking garage for twenty minutes, hands on the steering wheel, staring at nothing. People walked past—doctors, nurses, visitors. Someone knocked on my window to ask if I was leaving the spot. I shook my head and they moved on.
Not anymore.
That's what she'd said. When the security guard asked if she knew me.
Not "yes." Not "it's complicated." Not even "we're getting divorced."
Not anymore.
Like I'd been erased. Like eight years of marriage, of building a life together, of morning coffee and shared groceries and inside jokes… like all of it had just been deleted from her memory. Like I was a stranger now. Less than a stranger.
A stranger might have gotten five minutes.
My phone sat on the passenger seat. No messages. No calls. Nothing from Emma, obviously. I'd been blocked on every number, every platform, every possible way to reach her. But nothing from anyone else either.
Sarah hadn't responded to a message in six weeks.
My parents hadn't called in three.
The few friends I'd tried reaching out to had been polite but distant. Busy. Sorry man, can't make it. Maybe another time.
Work didn't count. The junior associates I was supposed to be collaborating with on document review barely looked at me. Everyone knew what I'd done, why I'd been demoted. I was a cautionary tale now. The guy who torpedoed his career for an affair.
Margaret had stopped by my cube yesterday—not my office anymore, I had a shitty cube now—to tell me I'd missed a deadline on a contract review.
Her voice had been clipped, professional, devoid of any warmth.
"This is unacceptable, David. Get it together or we'll have to reconsider your position here. "
I'd nodded. Said I'd fix it. Went back to staring at contracts I couldn't focus on, legal language that blurred together into meaningless shapes.
I'd lost count of the days since I'd actually spoken to another human being about anything that mattered. The mediator at the divorce signing. The woman at the front desk of my apartment building. The guy at the liquor store who'd started giving me a look when I came in three times a week.
That was it. That was my entire social circle now.
I started the car and drove back to my apartment.
The apartment was a one-bedroom in a building that advertised "luxury living" but delivered beige walls and thin floors. I could hear my upstairs neighbor walking around at all hours. The couple next door fought every weekend. The elevator smelled like cigarettes and desperation.
I'd signed the lease two weeks ago, after it became clear the hotel wasn't sustainable. After I'd looked at my bank account and realized I was hemorrhaging money and needed to figure out how to live on a junior associate's salary instead of what I'd been making before.
It was half the size of the house Emma and I had shared. The house that was being sold, the proceeds split fifty-fifty per the divorce agreement. My half wouldn't even cover a down payment on something decent.
I dropped my keys on the kitchen counter, which was nothing but a tiny strip of laminate that barely fit a microwave and a coffee maker. The sink was full of dishes I hadn't washed. The trash needed to be taken out. The whole place smelled stale.
There was a bottle of whiskey on the counter, a quarter full. I'd bought it on Sunday. It was Wednesday.
I poured myself a glass and sat down on the couch. The TV remote was somewhere, but I didn't bother looking for it. Just sat there in the silence, drinking, replaying the look on Emma's face when she'd said Not anymore.
She'd looked... nothing. Not angry. Not sad. Just done.
Like I didn't even register as worth feeling something about.
My phone buzzed. I grabbed it too fast, pathetic hope flaring—
It was an email from Margaret. Subject line: Document Review - Final Warning.
I didn't open it.
I poured another drink instead.
My phone rang.
For a second, I thought—hoped—but no. The caller ID said Mom.
I almost didn't answer. Couldn't handle another conversation where I had to pretend I was fine, that I was handling things, that this was all just a temporary setback before I got my life back together.
But it kept ringing. And my mom was persistent. If I didn't answer, she'd just keep calling. Or worse, she'd show up.
I answered. "Hey, Mom."
"David." Her voice was tight. Controlled. "I ran into Linda Peterson at the grocery store today."
Linda Peterson. Emma's mom.
My stomach sank.
"She was... polite. Asked how your father and I were doing. Made small talk." A pause. "But David, she could barely look at me. She was kind, but I could see it in her face. The disappointment. The pity."
I closed my eyes.
"And I realized I didn't know what to say to her," Mom continued. "Because what can I say? I'm sorry my son broke your daughter's heart? I'm sorry he threw away the best thing that ever happened to him?"
"Mom—"
"I've been thinking about this for weeks," she said. "About calling you. About whether I should say anything or just... let you figure it out on your own. But then I saw Linda today, and I realized I can't stay silent anymore."
"Okay," I said quietly.
"You need to stop." Her voice was firmer now. "Whatever you're doing… the texts, the calls, showing up places… you need to stop."
My chest tightened. "How did you—"
"Emma's father mentioned something to your father last week. That you'd been trying to contact her. That she'd had to block you." She took a breath. "David. She doesn't want to talk to you. You need to respect that."
"I just want to explain—"
"Explain what?" Her voice went sharp. "That you slept with another woman for five months? That you lied to her face every single day? What exactly do you think you need to explain?"
I didn't have an answer.
"Emma gave up medical school for you." Mom's voice cracked. "She moved across the country. She put her entire career on hold to support you. And this is how you repaid her."
"I know—"
"I don't think you do." She took a shaky breath. "Your father and I... we loved Emma, David. We thought she was perfect for you. We thought she made you better. And when you two got married, we were so proud. We thought we'd raised a good man."
The past tense hit me like a physical blow.
"And now I don't know what to think," she continued. "Because the son I raised wouldn't do this. Wouldn't throw away his marriage, his career, everything good in his life, for... for what? A few months of sneaking around?"
"It wasn't like—"
"Then what was it like?" She waited, but I had nothing to say. "That's what I thought."
Silence stretched between us.
"We're ashamed, David." Her voice was quiet now. Almost a whisper. "Your father won't say it, but I will. We're ashamed of what you did. Of who you've become."
My throat closed up. I couldn't breathe.
"I taught you better than this," she said. "We gave you every advantage, every opportunity. We taught you about integrity, about commitment, about treating people with respect. And you... you destroyed a good woman who loved you. Who gave up everything for you."
"Mom—"
"I need you to hear this." Her voice was firm again.
"Because I don't think anyone else is going to say it to you.
You didn't just lose Emma. You lost yourself.
And until you figure out who you want to be…
who you're supposed to be… you're not going to get better. You're just going to keep spiraling."
I stared at the whiskey bottle on the counter.
"I love you," she said. "But I can't keep pretending this is okay. I can't keep acting like you're going through a rough patch and you'll bounce back. This isn't a rough patch. This is who you've chosen to be."
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" She paused. "You made choices, David. Every single day, you made choices. To text someone other woman. To meet her at hotels. To lie to your wife. To risk everything for something that meant nothing. Those were your choices. And now you're living with the consequences."
"I know that," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Then stop trying to contact Emma. Just… just leave her be. Stop acting like you're the victim here." She took a breath. "If you want to fix your life, start by leaving her alone. Let her move on. Let her be happy. She deserves that much."
"What about what I deserve?" The words came out bitter, pathetic.
"You got exactly what you deserved," Mom said. "And until you accept that, you're never going to change."
She hung up.
I sat there with the phone in my hand, my mother's words echoing in my head.
We're ashamed.
You lost yourself.
You got exactly what you deserved.
I looked around the apartment. The dirty dishes. The overflowing trash. The whiskey bottle that was almost empty now. The email from Margaret I couldn't bring myself to open.
My mom was right.
I'd become someone I didn't recognize. Someone pathetic and desperate and completely alone. Someone who'd destroyed everything good in his life and was sitting in a shitty apartment drinking himself into oblivion because he couldn't face what he'd done.
And I had no one to blame but myself.