Chapter 30
LILA
Drive. Drive. Just drive.
My knuckles were clenched so tight around the wheel I thought the skin would split.
I couldn’t see because of my stupid fucking tears, and I couldn’t stop shaking.
God, seeing him was so hard!
The pain in his eyes hit me more than his shitty apartment, along with how much weight he’d lost. The sight of the rumpled bed made me feel sick.
Does he fuck her in it? Does she still scream his name like she did in that video?
“Breathe, Lila,” I told myself, pulling over so I could sob without endangering my life.
I turned off the engine and sat sobbing, my heart breaking as the image of my broken husband trying desperately to explain his vile actions, refusing to leave my mind.
He had a beard.
I’d never seen him with a beard, but it wasn’t a nicely groomed one. It looked like it had grown from his face while he hadn’t been looking, taking over until it was something he probably didn’t even realise was there.
The need to turn this fucking car around and drive back to him, demand he get in the car, and scream at him all the way home, but still, take him home…
Fuck!
“Why, you stupid bastard?!” I howled, wishing I could claw his eyes out. I could behave like the ice queen in front of him, but when I was alone, the reality hurt like hell. I missed him more than I’d admit to anyone, and I was so fucking mad I was going through this pregnancy without him.
It was his fault, but I was mad I’d never tried therapy or something—anything—just so he didn’t fuck that whore.
No, that’s not on me. No, no, no.
That’s on him.
I sniffled, furiously wiping my tears away.
Would this pain ever go away?
His pleading rang in my ears, and I couldn’t help but remember how my hand twitched, how I’d wanted to reach back for him when he’d reached for me.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to calm down, but it was pointless. I was going back to our empty house that was too stubborn to sell itself, meaning I had to live in it without him.
God, I was so fucking angry. At him the most, but also at myself. This wasn’t good for the baby.
I needed to calm down.
I counted my breathing—one, two, three, four—then held it before exhaling slowly. I’d read somewhere it calmed your brain down even if your body wouldn’t.
And my body wouldn’t.
I already had the results from the clinic, but I’d wanted to make him realise what his actions meant for me. He must have only been saying filthy shit when he was fucking her because the results were completely clear. He must’ve used protection because that tramp had to be fucking riddled.
I hated Cami because she’d known he was married, and she’d done it anyway, but who could blame her?
My husband was the most charming, attractive man I’d ever met. I loved him, still, with every part of my being, even though I refused to ever let him know that.
Victor had to suffer, and with that, so did I.
I deserved more than him. I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life than let him or any other man hurt me like that again.
I somehow managed to drive home, still controlling my breathing, as my phone beeped beside me. I refused to look at it, knowing it would be him, and if he said the right things—and of course he would, he’s Victor—I’d probably turn the car around.
I can’t do that.
Stepping into our house made me feel nauseous at first. I stared at the couch where we used to sit together after a long day, how we’d fall asleep sometimes watching the TV, then at the dining table where we’d shared meals and countless bottles of wine.
Then my gaze moved to the patio doors to where our garden was, and my soul died a little at the sight of the tree we’d planted when we’d moved in.
Fuck, this was hard.
How long would I need to stay here? Probably at least a few more months, and what if the house didn’t sell? I’d need to have the baby here. Panic set in at that thought—I couldn’t afford to live here alone, but if the house didn’t sell, I’d have to ask Victor to keep paying his share of the bills.
I swallowed hard, rubbing my belly.
I tried not to think about Victor not being able to afford two places to live, or what this would mean for us.
Oh, fuck, would he have to move back?
Jesus, I can’t even imagine that.
My phone beeped again.
I didn’t look at it when I locked the door, or when I went upstairs. Nor when I showered, and even as I took my prenatal vitamins—I refused to look at it.
Why do I still care?
I brushed my teeth, glaring at it. Maybe I should block him for tonight. I climbed into bed, sighing at the luxury of the familiar cool sheets. I’d missed my home, and I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t getting much interest.
The realtor said something about the current market being slow in general, but I saw other houses were selling.
I turned onto my side, and the glow of my phone caught my attention.
Ignore it.
But I couldn’t.
Victor: If you need me, day or night, call me. I love you.
Victor: Always. Even if you don’t need or love me anymore.
This version of my husband was the hardest to ignore: the caring, protective version. But I had to get used to not having him anymore, so I deleted the texts and turned over, staring at the empty side of the bed.
I looked at it for longer than I should’ve, but then I pulled his pillow into my arms and punched it a few times for good measure, feeling some of the anger seep away.
Good.
Maybe I should punch him; maybe that will ease some of the pain.
I smiled and ignored the fact I was now hugging the pillow close, falling to sleep with it wrapped tightly in my arms.