4. CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 4
Gray
T he house was dark when I got home. Rose must be asleep, I thought.
But she always leaves a few lights on for me.
I flipped the switches, and a chill ran through me. Something was off. I felt it in the air.
"Rose, babe," I called out.
It was only nine. She wouldn't be asleep this early. I went to our bedroom, the kitchen, and then the dining room. Empty.
The table was set as it had been last night, and I saw the present from last night, still there and wrapped. I hadn't even bothered to open it.
Fuck!
Next to the present was an envelope with my name on it.
When we first started dating, she had no money, so she'd give me handmade cards with poems she’d written just for me. I smiled as I picked up the envelope.
It was heavy.
I opened it, and metal and plastic tumbled onto our dining table.
My heart stopped, then raced—her wedding and engagement rings lay on the polished walnut, alongside her credit cards. I snatched up the folded page that had fallen out with them. It was the letter.
My darling Gray.
I know this will annoy you, or maybe it won't; maybe you've been waiting for me to do this.
I'm leaving. Our home. Atlanta. Mrs. Rutherford. You. Us.
I'll get in touch with a lawyer as soon as I get my bearings and send divorce papers over, or you can start the process.
I'm leaving my phone, the credit cards, my rings, everything I can think of. All the jewelry and the designer clothes are still in the closet. I just took my daily use clothes and things.
I've drawn five thousand dollars from the household account. I know what our prenup says, so please know I'll pay it back to you as soon as humanly possible.
I'll talk to the kids and explain the best I can. Don't worry, I'll make sure they know that this is all my fault, that I walked away without ever talking about how unhappy I was, without giving us a chance.
But the truth is, I've been asking you to see me for so many years, and yet I continued to be invisible. You forgetting our twentieth anniversary was the last straw, not because it was our anniversary, but because it was clear to me that you'd always have something that was more important than me, more real than me.
I’m almost forty. If I'm lucky, I have another thirty or so years of my life left. I don't want to live them as invisible Rose who comes out to play hostess, mother, and lover. I want to be a whole person.
I'm really sorry, Gray.
Take care of yourself.
Rose
P.S. I've left enough food in the freezer for the next week or two. Easy meals that you just need to heat in the oven.
The letter trembled in my hands as shock rippled through me. I felt a hollow emptiness in my chest, like a part of me had been violently extracted.
My eyes blurred over the words again, each sentence a hammer blow. How had I missed the signs? How could I have been so blind to her unhappiness? I sat down heavily, the chair creaking under the sudden weight of my realization.
No. I hadn't missed the signs. I had willfully ignored them.
I picked up my phone and called Jude. He was out somewhere when he answered. I could hear music playing in the back.
"Where you at, son?"
"Out with friends, Dad. What's up?"
"Did your Mama call you today?"
I heard him talk to someone and laugh and then get back to me. "Yeah, I think I have a missed call. Why?"
"She left you a message?"
I heard him work his phone. "Yeah."
"Did you listen to it?"
"Nah, Dad. You know how she is."
No, I didn't know how she was. She didn't nag. She didn't demand. And yet, Jude talked about her like she was needy and controlling.
"Listen to the fucking message and forward it to me."
I hung up and called Willow; it went straight to voicemail. I texted and asked her to listen to Rose's voicemail and send it to me. I was sure she'd left one for both the children, taking the blame for our marriage's debacle and demise.
I picked up the engagement ring and rolled it in my fingers. I never proposed to her—I'd just told her we'd get married because she was pregnant. My mother had bought the rings and made sure there was an announcement in the Atlanta Constitution Journal about the engagement. I remembered the photo session my mother had organized. Rose had not looked like my Rose. She'd worn makeup and looked so much like all the other Atlanta society girls that I'd raged at her after the photo shoot.
"You look like you're playing dress up," I told her. "Remove that makeup. Or at least learn to wear it properly so you don't look like a fuckin' hooker."
I squeezed the ring in my fist, its sharp angles biting my skin. She'd learned how to wear makeup. Subtle. Delicate.
I apologized to her that night when we slept together in my bedroom at my parents' house.
"You didn't look like my Rose, and it made me angry."
She stroked my cheek as we lay facing each other. "My darling Gray. I'll learn how to do it better. Watch me. I'll be the best wife you could ever imagine."
Tears prickled my eyes.
She was the best wife a man could imagine or want. She was with me, holding my hand when my parents died, even though they'd treated her like dirt. She had been there for our children every step of the fucking way. She listened to me talk endlessly about work and the problems I was having. She was always supportive,— never doubted me, even when I did. She made me feel stronger, better.
How long had it been since we'd just talked?
"We haven't had dinner together in a week, honey. I made reservations—"
"For God's sake, Rose, I have work. I can't entertain you."
That was what, a couple of years ago? Yeah, when Rutherford Architects expanded with international projects, my schedule had gone from domestic to global, endless meetings, long travels, and backbreaking work.
I apologized to her the next day because I hadn't slept with her, choosing to work into the night and sleep in the guestroom. Was that the first time I'd done that? Yeah. That was the first time.
A crack that I'd created.
"It's okay, Gray," she said pleasantly. "I know you're busy; I should've been more thoughtful. How about I make us eggs Benedict for breakfast."
I hurt her. I knew that, but she didn't make anything of it, so I pretended that my half-assed "I'm sorry I'm stressed" was enough.
My phone rang, and I saw it was a group call.
"What the fuck, Dad?" Jude went first.
"Did you know?" Willow asked.
Yeah. I knew. I knew deep down this was going to happen, even if I didn't want to see it or believe it. "She left me a letter."
"A Dear John letter?" Jude bellowed. "You know I love Mama, but she can be such a passive-aggressive…."
Bitch? Was my son going to call my wife, his mother a bitch? Rose was never passive-aggressive. She was never aggressive. She was loving and kind.
Willow piped in, concern in her voice. "I tried to call her but—"
"Her phone is here, turned off." I picked up the iPhone she'd left next to the letter.
"Well, just call the credit card companies when she uses the damn things," Jude sounded angry.
"She left those here too," I told them.
"What? Why?" Willow sounded shattered.
I knew why. Sorrow claimed me. I've drawn five thousand dollars from my account. I know what our prenup says, so please know I'll pay it back to you as soon as humanly possible.
"Do you know where she'd go?" Willow asked.
"She'll be back," Jude muttered. "This is all her being a drama queen."
"Jude, son, cut it out. You're angry, I get it, but she's your mother, yeah?"
"Aren't you angry, Dad?" he demanded. "She walked out on all of us."
Had she? Or had I and the kids left her years ago? She'd had to leave voice messages for her children because they didn't answer her calls. I knew that because they answered mine.
She'd left me a letter because I missed so many of her text messages that she'd stopped texting me. She hardly ever called. During the workday, my phone was forwarded to Aimee, who funneled calls to me. I never told her to prioritize my wife's calls; I didn't even know if Rose called during work hours.
"I'm devastated, son, but I'm not angry."
"What did she say in the letter?" Willow had tears in her voice.
I took a picture of her letter and sent it to them. "Kids, I need to think about this."
"I can't believe she just threw this bomb at us," Jude bit out.
"Jude, stop ," I protested. "I…goodnight. I’ll call y'all tomorrow."
I walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer. Neatly stacked, were single portions of meals. She'd written on labels in her beautiful cursive hand what each dish was, the date, and instructions on how to heat the food. She'd left me lasagna, salmon, chicken breast—healthy stuff.
She'd left salad in mason jars in the fridge, all neatly labeled and dated.
"We don't live in your mother's trailer park, Rose; we can't eat fucking meat and potatoes all day. Can we have some fish, salad, greens?" I barked at her when we first set up our household.
The kids were a year and a half or so old. It had taken that long for me to agree to her begging and pleading for a place of our own so we would not live with my parents, where I knew she was suffocating.
We bought a small home in Druid Hills and lived there for a few years before moving to this house in Historic Brookhaven.
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I looked at the food in the freezer, the final act of care from a woman who had felt invisible in her own home. It was a poignant reminder of the everyday love she'd shown, a love I'd taken for granted.
She must've spent hours putting this all together. Had she done this yesterday? Or on our wedding anniversary, the one I'd missed?
I marched into the dining room and saw the gift she'd left for me. The one I hadn't even bothered to open. I could've at least done that and thanked her; instead, I'd told her I had to work and slept in the fucking guestroom. Again .
I unwrapped the gift, my heart beating fast.
It was a watch. A Rolex. But not just any Rolex. This was the same kind that my father had given me, the one I lost years ago when we went to New Orleans for an anniversary trip she planned. I was livid about losing it.
"I'm so sorry, Gray. You can buy a new one—"
"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. This is a family heirloom—an Oyster Perpetual Datejust from 1945. You wouldn't understand."
I shut her efforts down to make me feel better. Had I really behaved like a spoiled child? Yes, I was ashamed to say I had.
I pulled out the watch. It must've taken her forever to find it. They were rare. It was well maintained, better than the one I lost. Its gold case gleamed with a soft patina, bearing witness to decades of careful wear. The ivory dial, marked by Roman numerals, was framed by a fluted bezel, encapsulating a legacy of understated luxury.
The note with the watch said: My darling Gray, I know I can't replace the one you lost, but I hope this one will ease your heart.
I put on the watch and felt a wave of grief.
I lost the watch and blamed her for it, not directly, but I had. Like I held her responsible for almost everything that went wrong in my life. It was a habit. I had been blaming her, hadn't I, ever since she got pregnant? Why had I done that, when she'd given me two beautiful children, a home that was a refuge, a love that I could always count on? Instead of thanking her, a part of me resented her for trapping me in a marriage that I loved being in.
That night, I slept on Rose's side of the bed, breathing her in. She smelled like roses, just like her name.
Memories of lying in this bed with her assaulted me—my passionate Rose. Our lovemaking never got boring. My friends talked about getting fresh pussy, but I never felt that way because I had my wife waiting at home. No matter how I ignored her or forgot about her, she held her arms out if I needed her, and she let me sink into her, feeling the peace only she could give me. As I remembered her kindness, affection, and generosity, my heart began to break into so many pieces that I didn't think I'd be able to put them back together again.
I lost the love of my life. I lost the only woman who'd ever held my heart—the only person in my life who'd given me more than she'd taken.