Chapter Eleven
Jess
Walking out of the house in the middle of winter felt dramatic at the time.
Now, standing outside with snow crunching under my boots and icy air biting at my face, it just feels stupid.
A few minutes in the cold and the panic finally subsided. My chest no longer felt like someone’s sitting on it. The horrible buzzing in my head even went quiet.
But the relief was quickly replaced by reality.
It is freezing.
I wrap my arms around myself and shiver, suddenly very aware that I’m outside in pajama pants and a coat with no gloves and no plan.
Great.
By the time I realize how far I’ve walked, the office is actually closer than home. Turning back means facing Logan, and I’m not ready for that yet.
So I keep going.
Thankfully, my phone was in my pocket when I bolted out the door. I pull it out with numb fingers and text Logan.
At the office. Needed air.
That’s all I say right now.
Then I step into the elevator and press the button for our floor.
Most of the businesses in the building didn’t, or couldn’t, do the whole work-from-home thing, so I’m not surprised to find the lobby loud and crowded.
What I am surprised by is the person already standing inside the elevator.
“Jeremy?” I blink.
“Jess,” he says with a grin, leaning in to kiss my cheek in greeting. “Long time no see.”
“Yeah,” I say, smiling, grateful for the distraction and suddenly wishing I wore jeans at home. “What are you doing here?”
“Had a meeting on the third floor,” he says casually.
I look at him, confused. He was already on the elevator when I got in at the lobby, and now we’re going up.
He follows my expression and laughs. “Yeah… I kinda spaced out,” he admits, pressing the lobby button again. “Guess I’m not having the most focused day.”
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He glances at me. “You really asking, or just being polite?”
“I’m asking,” I say honestly.
Jeremy exhales. “I need a break. Ever since the divorce, my head’s just not in it anymore.”
The elevator dings on my floor.
On impulse, I say, “Want some coffee before you go?”
He hesitates, then nods. “Sure.”
He follows me out, and we walk toward the office together.
When we step inside, the place is quiet.
I open the surveillance office door and peek in to see Pete sitting at his station.
“Hey,” I say. “Is anyone else around?”
He glances up. “Nah. Everyone else decided to work from home today. You need something?”
I wave him off. “No, no. Just checking.”
“Alright,” he says, turning back to his screen.
I close the door and turn to Jeremy. “Coffee it is.”
I lead him to the break room and start a fresh pot.
“So,” I say, leaning against the counter. “What’s going on?”
He sighs. “Jan and I… we were headed downhill for a long time. But it’s harder than I thought it’d be. Being alone, I mean. Not just at home. At work too.”
I wince slowly. “Yeah. I remember.”
He gives a small, bitter laugh. “Classic best-friend-and-wife affair story, right? At least Dree felt guilty enough to practically give me the business for free.” He shakes his head. “At the time it seemed generous. Now it just feels like-”
Both our heads snap in the direction of the front door when it swings open to reveal… Logan.
Instinctively, I lean back from Jeremy like I’ve been caught doing something wrong, even though nothing inappropriate was happening.
The old Logan, if he’d found me alone with someone like Jeremy, someone he already thinks is interested in me, would’ve staked his claim.
When women hit on Logan, my defense was laughter. I’d make a joke of it, brush it off like it didn’t matter.
Logan’s, on the other hand, was to be physical. Whether it was a kiss to my temple, or a hand around my waist. He always did it with the confident smile of a man that believed in his claim.
Now though, his expression is thunderous, and I’m not sure if it’s aimed at me or the oblivious man beside me who’s already extending a hand toward my husband.
“Hey, man,” he says easily, with his hand hovering in the air.
Logan doesn’t move though; he just stares at him.
For a long, uncomfortable second, the only sound in the room is the coffee machine gurgling behind us.
Jeremy finally seems to catch on to the awkwardness. His smile falters and his hand starts to lower.
Then Logan snaps forward and grabs it.
Not in a friendly way. More like he’s proving a point.
Instead of the casual greeting Jeremy clearly expected, Logan asks, “What are you doing here?”
His tone is clipped. Borderline hostile.
I cringe.
God, does he really think something’s going on between us?
The thought makes me sick.
Jeremy either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore Logan’s hostile behavior. “Just had a meeting in the building,” he says. Then he laughs lightly. “Your wife found me in the elevator and lent an ear.”
Logan’s eyes flick to me for half a second before returning to Jeremy.
“Is everything okay?” Logan asks, his voice controlled but tight.
Jeremy shifts on his feet, suddenly looking a little more aware of the tension in the room.
“Uh… yeah. I mean, mostly,” he says. He glances between us. “I was actually thinking about… selling the business.”
That catches both of us off guard.
“What?” I ask before Logan can respond. “Selling?”
Jeremy nods. “Yeah. It’s just… too much work with just me now.” He shrugs. “I started the business in my basement; I don’t want to sell to someone who’ll just break it up for parts.”
He hesitates, then looks directly at Logan.
“I was hoping you’d consider buying it.”
“Taking over your business?” I ask, when Logan stays quiet.
Jeremy gives a small, nervous smile. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since you turned down the job offer,” he says to me. “Figured if anyone would take care of it right, it’d be you two.”
Logan folds his arms across his chest.
“You came here to pitch that to Jess?” he asks.
The edge in his voice is impossible to miss.
Jeremy blinks. “No, no. I didn’t even know she’d be here,” he says quickly. “It was just a coincidence. We ran into each other and started talking.”
Logan looks at me again.
This time his gaze lingers.
I can practically see the gears turning in his head, as he decides whether or not to believe him.
I swallow and turn to Jeremy. “We’ll… think about it,” I say, forcing a polite smile.
Thankfully, he gets the hint.
“Yeah, take your time,” he says. “Nice seeing you both.”
He makes a quick exit, and the second the door shuts behind him, the air in the room shifts.
I cross my arms tightly over my chest, more to keep myself from shaking than anything else. My heart is still racing from the way Logan walked in, from the look on his face.
“What was that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even and failing. “Do you honestly think I came here to meet with him? Is that what you think of me now?”
Logan’s jaw tightens. A muscle flickers in his cheek, the only sign that anything is happening beneath that controlled exterior. For a moment I think he’s going to snap at me, or deny it, or defend himself.
Instead, he mutters, “I don’t know.”
The words land like a punch to the sternum.
I actually take a step back.
“You don’t know?” I repeat, my voice quieter now, more wounded than angry. “So this is it? This is who we are now? You just assume the worst of me?”
He doesn’t respond, doesn’t argue, doesn’t even look conflicted.
He just stands there, arms crossed, shoulders squared, staring at me like he’s assessing a situation instead of talking to his wife.
And that silence is worse than shouting.
Not angry silence. Not thoughtful silence.
Just… blank.
Like I’m not even worth the effort of a fight anymore.
“I know you asked for space,” I say, forcing the words out past the tightness in my throat. “I know I messed up.”
His eyes finally lift to mine.
There’s no softness in them. No trace of the man who told me he loved me just to say it.
Just distance.
“I know I deserve your anger,” I continue, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to steady it. “I deserve your mistrust. I deserve you being pissed. But just tell me one thing.”
I swallow hard, forcing myself not to look away.
“Are you leaving me?”
Logan
“No,” I answer automatically.
The word is out before I even think about it.
It’s instinct. Reflex. Muscle memory from ten years of loving her. Then honesty catches up to me.
“Not yet,” I add.
The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.
Jess’s face crumples, not dramatically, not in some over-the-top display, just enough for me to see it. A tiny fracture in her composure. She straightens almost immediately, blinking fast, lifting her chin like she can will the hurt away.
But I saw it.
And I hate that I’m the one who put that look there.
I exhale slowly and pull out one of the chairs at the small breakroom table, the metal legs scraping faintly against the tile.
“Jess, sit down.”
She doesn’t move. Instead, she folds her arms tighter around herself, like she’s physically holding herself together. It’s defensive. Protective. Like I’m the threat.
Maybe I am.
I drag a hand down my face, buying myself a second. I rehearsed this. I had the words. But saying them to her feels different than saying them to a man on a screen.
“I had a session with Dr. Brett this morning.”
Her brows knit together immediately. “Oh?”
There’s confusion there. Surprise. Maybe even a little disbelief. She knew how much I hated talking to him. I may have pushed for counselling but was for our marriage, personal therapy was plain pointless.
Until now.
“Yeah,” I say focusing back on her. “I figured I should… talk to someone before I made any decisions.”
That part is true.
“I told him everything. What you told me. What’s been happening. What’s been going on in my head.”
She’s watching me carefully now. Like she’s bracing for pain.
“And he suggested we try something,” I continue.
Her eyes flicker, like she’s afraid to let herself feel hopeful. “Try what?”
I draw in a breath and hold it for a second before letting it go.
“It’s called structured separation.”
Her arms loosen slightly, fear replacing anxiety. “Separation?”
“It doesn’t mean divorce,” I clarify quickly. “It means we stay in the house. For the kids. We keep things stable. But we don’t operate as a couple for a while.”
She goes very still.
“No emotional conversations unless we both agree to them,” I continue, keeping my tone measured. “No pretending everything’s fine. No pressure to fix it right now. Just… boundaries.”
I swallow.
“For sixty days.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Sixty?”
“I need time,” I say, more quietly now. “Time to figure out if I can forgive you.”
The word feels foreign in my mouth. Forgive her. For something I never imagined she was capable of.
“Logan,” she starts carefully, stepping toward me. “We should talk first. There are things you don’t know about that day.”
“Stop,” I say sharply holding up a hand. “Just… stop.”
She freezes.
“I need this, okay?” My voice drops, rougher now. “If you don’t want me to leave, then give me sixty days.”
Her throat works as she swallows.
“And what happens after that?” she asks, barely above a whisper.
I don’t soften it.
“After that, we either go back to marriage counseling… or we separate for real.”
Silence falls between us.
Her face goes pale, but she nods once, like she’s accepting terms in a contract.
“Sixty days,” she repeats.
I nod.
I get up to leave, already dreading the car ride home where the neighbor’s fifteen-year-old is watching the boys.
Jess’s quiet voice stops me in my tracks.
“Just… don’t end us.”
The words are small. Scared.
I close my eyes for a second and force myself to say what needs to be said.
“Jess… you cheated on me.”
She flinches.
“I know you’re sorry,” I continue, my chest tight, “but you still did it. And then you lied about it.”
Her eyes fill, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“That’s not something I can just forget,” I finish quietly. “And right now… I can’t promise you anything either.”