Chapter 3
AVA
NOW
W hat the actual fuck did he just say?
A laugh escapes my lips as I retract my hands from his, eyes narrowing with disbelief.
Surely this is a joke?
We haven't been getting on as well as we used to, but surely... My vision blurs at the edges, reality slipping through my fingers. My stomach plummets while nausea crawls up my throat, my heart turning to stone.
He wouldn't.
"I hope you're fucking kidding." My voice sounds hollow and cold, like it's coming from someone else entirely.
My lips crack with dryness, knees trembling when he closes his eyes, his mouth set in a firm line.
I stare at his strong jaw, the dark curls falling into his collar.
The curls I'd run my hands through only last week when we'd made love.
"I'm so sorry."
The pathetic words hit me like a slap, and I blink, hot tears spilling down my cheeks, hands trembling.
"Who? Do you even know her name?" I whisper, my palm itching to connect with his face.
He looks at me in surprise, as though I've insulted him. "It's just a girl?—"
" Just a girl ? Or a woman?" I interrupt, air rushing from my nose. My focus blurs as I try to see him through my tears.
How am I supposed to see when my fucking husband has betrayed me? My soul burns as his words replay on an endless loop.
He winces, dropping his head in his hands.
"Baby—"
"Don't you dare call me that," I hiss, wanting to stand but not trusting my legs. Questions swarm my mind, and my stomach heaves.
"She's sold her story to the media," he admits, and I shake my head in astonishment. “And sent photos of us…together.”
So that's why he told me. Not because he feels bad or has any fucking regret. It’s because he is being exposed.
"Classy."
"It's because I tried to end it?—"
My hand connects with his cheek before I register moving, the crack echoing through the room as my palm ignites with pain. It won't hurt him, but my god, it feels good. My chest rises and falls rapidly, my lungs struggling for air, black spots dancing in my vision.
My husband, the adulterer. The one who promised I was different. That it was only me.
All the while his daughter asks where her daddy is while he's balls deep in some fucking woman. Bile rises in my stomach when I wonder how old she is. My god .
I've been so fucking stupid.
"You should never have started it! I want you to leave. Right fucking now," I demand, as he looks at me, shaking his head, reaching for me like he has any fucking right.
"No, please let me explain?—"
"Roman," I seethe, fists clenched at my sides as I back away. "I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear from you. I want you to leave— now ."
I'm shaking, my stomach twisting as he stands, his head bowed.
"But I love you," he whispers, almost to himself.
A snort escapes me, the idea of him claiming he fucking loves me too absurd to bear.
This fucker wouldn’t know love if it sat on his dick.
Then I'm sobbing, deep, guttural moans tearing from my chest. My ears ringing.
My world disintegrates before my eyes.
Roman reaches out, fingers brushing my forearms before I lash out, shoving and slapping repeatedly before he grabs both my arms, his eyes blazing.
"I'll go. Just stop. Please, stop."
I shove him away, collapsing to the floor as my body surrenders to the pain radiating through every fibre. I'm raw, flesh stripped away, exposed nerve endings firing with electricity, bleeding into nothing.
How could he do this to me? To us?
I hear him snatch his keys, the metal scraping against the bowl we fucking chose together, laughing about how domesticated we were.
Even that sound makes me want to scream.
My hands clutch at my chest, trying to keep my heart from spilling onto the floor even as it shatters.
He pauses at the door, his gaze finding mine, eyes shining with tears.
I shake my head, wanting him gone. If he stays another second, I will kill him.
My husband, the cheater. The father of my child. The love of my life.
Ruined.
I pull myself up when the door closes.
Moments later, Roman's engine starts, and I dash to the bathroom, my stomach emptying violently into the toilet bowl.
I can't breathe, but I know this is only the beginning.
I splash cold water on my face as I try to regain some kind of grip on reality, failing massively when I catch sight of my reflection.
Mom's eyes stare back at me. Same shape, same shade of brown.
It's been fifteen years since the accident that took her, but sometimes the resemblance still catches me off guard.
I wonder what advice she'd give me now. If she'd tell me to fight for my marriage or walk away with my dignity intact.
Unlike my father, who walked away without a second thought when I was just a kid.
My skin no longer holds the youth it had when we met. My body lost its tightness years ago. Happiness meant eating whatever I wanted, curves growing slowly until my pregnancy with Poppy.
Poppy.
My heart fractures again—this wasn't just me he cheated on. It was her .
My sweet, innocent, beautiful girl.
I drag myself up, inhaling deeply as I walk back to the foyer, staring blankly at my surroundings.
The house's size means nothing; it never has. Despite Roman's NFL success, I'd begun teaching a creative writing class in the summer. I'd left to raise Poppy, but we'd discussed having another baby...
How could he have those conversations while fucking someone else?
My eyes catch my phone buzzing against the foyer table. I don’t even have the strength to pick it up, but notifications illuminate the screen. Missed calls. Messages. Mentions.
Then—my stomach lurches.
"NFL Star Roman Muller: secret affair EXPOSED "
My eyes squeeze shut, head shaking. I can't face that .
I can’t.
I climb the stairs numbly, eyes falling to our bedroom at the hallway's end.
Darkness envelops it, but the outline of our bed stands clear.
For a flicker of a second, I remember the night we moved in—him carrying me over the threshold, tossing me onto that bed, kissing me like he couldn't believe I was his. He'd whispered, "This is our forever, Ava."
Now those same sheets feel contaminated, poisoned. I want to rip them to fucking shreds.
Nausea sweeps through me as I turn away, seeking a guest room.
I can't face our room.
I collapse onto the bed fully clothed, face buried in the pillow as sobs wrack my body. The pain cuts to the bone—every memory of Roman now tainted with another woman's shadow. I cry until I'm hollow, yet the tears keep coming. I stare at the wall, then the ceiling, chasing sleep.
It’s pointless. I can’t.
My life has been ripped from under me. My husband is a liar. A cheating...liar.
My heart constricts, breath catching, memories of happiness haunting me.
What happened?
We argued, but every couple does, right? Poppy adores her daddy, and he is amazing with her. He hasn't spent as much time with her lately because he’s so busy?—
Oh my god.
Busy.
Doing what, exactly?
I'd trusted him so completely that I'd missed it. The reason he didn't spend time with Poppy was because he was having a fucking affair .
With who?
I already know she’ll be beautiful, Roman has always had exceptional taste in women.
Ha.
But what does she have that I don't?
Smooth skin, probably. Youth. Endless energy. She’s all shiny and fucking new.
Urgh, I can’t think about this.
I need answers, but dread settles in my stomach—I know I'll discover the truth without hearing it from Roman. I can't even think of his name without retching, and tomorrow Poppy will ask where he is.
I'll have to lie. I'll tell her he's training. Anything but the truth.
Daddy didn’t see you because he was with another woman. A woman who’s not Mommy.
White-hot anger slices through my body as fresh tears stream down my cheeks, head shaking as I moan into the sodden pillow.
Eventually, I must've fallen asleep to dreams of Roman with some young, hot thing I could never compete with.
I went to sleep crying and woke up crying.
What an existence.