Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
JADE
Katrina's living room feels tiny with the three of us in it.
I sit on the edge of the white sofa, my hands clasped in my lap so tightly that my knuckles ache. The afternoon sun streams through those massive windows, and I wish I could close the blinds. I want to wallow in the darkness.
Devon sits across from me in the armchair Katrina positioned there deliberately—far enough that I don't have to smell his cologne, close enough that I can watch his face for lies.
He looks awful. Stubble shadows his jaw, and the circles under his eyes are so deep they look bruised. His hands rest on his knees, fingers twitching like he's fighting the urge to reach for me.
I hate the part of me that wants to fix him. That aches because he aches.
No, Jade. Let him suffer.
Except forcing the thought doesn't bring me any satisfaction. It only makes me feel worse.
Katrina stands near the kitchen, arms crossed, radiating silent fury. She's made it clear she'll intervene if Devon so much as raises his voice.
"Thank you for seeing me," Devon says. His voice is hoarse, like it’s been scraped raw by unseen claws.
I don't respond—I can’t.
He swallows hard. "I know I said I'd tell you everything. So, I'm going to. No more lies."
"You've said that before."
"I know. And I broke that promise." He drops his gaze to his hands. "I've been breaking promises since New York."
I wait.
"The kiss," he starts, and I hate how my stomach lurches at the word. "It happened in her hotel room. We were both drunk—hammered, really—and she was dancing. She kissed me, and I..." He exhales shakily. "I kissed her back."
I've heard this before, just not in this much detail. In our kitchen, when I was screaming at him, when my world was shattering around me. But hearing it now, in this quiet room with Katrina as witness, it hits differently.
She was dancing with her perfect body for my husband. The man she’s always wanted. God, I bet she is loving this. Knowing that she’s finally had him.
"What else?”
"After the kiss, I told her it was wrong. I remember that clearly—I pulled back and said we had to stop."
Aww, bless him.
"And then?"
"Then I..." He pauses, and I watch something flicker across his face, but I don’t care what it is. "I collapsed in the chair. I was so fucking drunk I could barely stand. The room was spinning, and I remember closing my eyes and then—nothing. Blackness until I woke up to see your face on my phone."
The question burns in my throat. I've been carrying it since last night, since I lay in Katrina's guest room imagining my husband's body with Mila's. I can feel Katrina’s eyes on me, knowing what I’m going to ask.
What any woman in my position would ask.
I brace myself and meet my husband’s eyes. “Did you fuck her?"
Devon's head snaps up, his eyes wide with horror. "No. God, no, Jade—"
"How do you know? You said you blacked out. You said you don't remember. How do you know you didn't—"
"Because I know." He leans forward, searching my eyes. "I know my body. I would have felt it, remembered something. I woke up fully clothed in that fucking chair with my back killing me—"
The memory of the video call slices through me. "She was in nothing but a silky robe, Devon. She probably didn’t sleep in it. So, she must’ve slept naked. If nothing happened, how was she naked?”
"I don't know." His voice breaks. "I don't know why she was—I wasn't looking at her; I was trying to figure out where the fuck I was—"
"She says you did more. She's been texting you, telling you things happened that you don't remember."
Devon’s shoulders tense.
"Yeah," I continue, my voice hardening. "You told me that during our fight. Before I walked out."
"She's lying." His voice is raw. "She has to be lying, because I don't—I can't—"
"Can't what? Can't remember?" I laugh bitterly. "That's convenient, isn't it?"
"Jade. I swear to you on everything I love—on us, on our marriage—I did not have sex with Mila. The kiss was wrong and horrible enough. If I'd done more, I would tell you. What's the point of hiding anything else when you already know the worst of me?"
I stare at him, searching his face for the lie. For the flicker of deception I've learned to recognize over fifteen years together.
I don't see it.
But I didn't see it before, either. When he looked me in the eye and swore nothing had happened.
"I want to believe you," I whisper. "I want to believe you so badly it hurts.”
"Then believe me. Please."
"I can't. I don't trust you anymore. Every time I think I know what happened, there's something else. Another lie or another text from her—"
"I blocked her." Devon's voice is urgent. "Yesterday, after you left. I blocked her number completely."
"You should have done that before."
"I know."
“I’m glad you didn’t, or I still wouldn’t know, would I?” I glare at him, and he has the grace to drop his gaze.
This fucking man.
Katrina shifts, and I remember we're not alone. That my best friend is watching my marriage fall apart in her perfect condo.
No wonder she’s single.
But I have to do something, because I still love him so fucking much, and as much as I’m trying to enjoy his agony, I can’t. But I’m in so much pain. I can’t just move on. Maybe we could try marriage counseling. Maybe?
“What about therapy?” I ask. "Both of us. Together and separately."
Devon nods immediately. "Anything."
I study him. We can’t really afford therapy, but we can’t move on from this in tatters. I need someone to help me. I literally can’t even face going home. I’m struggling to face him.
"And I'm not coming home yet."
I can’t.
Pain flashes across his face, but he nods again. "Okay. I understand."
"This isn't forgiveness, Devon." I need him to hear this. "This is me agreeing to try. That's all I can offer right now."
"It's enough." His voice cracks. "It's more than I deserve."
Then my phone beeps on the coffee table.
I glance down automatically, expecting my mom's name. She knew Devon and I were having problems, but I couldn’t tell her he’d kissed Mila. It hurts even thinking it.
It's a text from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN: Hi Jade. I hope you and Devon work things out. But if you ever want to hear my side of what happened that night, I'm here. Mila.
The blood drains from my face and I sway.
"Jade?" Devon's voice comes from far away. "What is it? What's wrong?"
I look up at him—at my husband, who was crying with relief thirty seconds ago—and I feel the thread between us snap.
"She's texting me now."
Devon's face turns white, and Katrina curses.
I turn the phone around so he can see the screen, and I watch him read the message, horror spreading across his features.
He stares at me, helpless. "I'll get a lawyer. A restraining order. Whatever it takes—"
"Stop." I hold up my hand, and he freezes. "I can't do this right now."
I stand; my legs unsteady and walk toward the guest room. Devon doesn't follow. He knows better.
Katrina catches my eye as I pass her, and I see the question there: Are you okay?
I'm not. I'm so far from fucking okay I can't even describe what it looks like.
I don't have the energy to fall apart again; I really don’t.
I close the guest room door behind me and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at Mila's message until the words blur.
If you ever want to hear my side.
Her side. Like there are two valid perspectives here. Like she's the victim in this story.
I should delete it and block her number.
But the doubt is already there, haunting me.
What if Devon's still lying? What if there's more he hasn't told me?
What if Mila knows something I don't?
I turn off my phone and lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
I’ve suggested therapy because I believe my husband, even against my better judgement. Mila is a nasty piece of work, so I know how far she will go to destroy me. It’s like it’s her aim in life, as horrible as it is to admit. She really does fucking hate me.
Even so, Mila's words echo in my mind.
My side of what happened that night.
And I wonder if I'll ever really know the truth.