Chapter 11
Rain
I lie frozen as he steps further away from the mattress, the silence of the room making every movement loud. The linen beneath my cheek grows heavy and wet, catching the constant stream of tears.
"When did you come back?" he asks. The words are a low murmur, barely carrying across the room, but my focus is locked on his voice.
A brief pause follows as he listens to the receiver.
"I can't right now. My wife is here."
A ragged breath catches in my throat, and I clamp my hand over my mouth, squeezing my lips together to trap the sound. The reality of his words presses down on my chest like a physical weight.
"I don't know, Toria. You left," he says, his tone shifting into something defensive, yet laced with a history I have no part in. He waits a beat, the quiet stretching between them. "Tomorrow. Five."
He clears his throat softly. "Five PM. I'll book a flight."
Another pause. Then, his voice drops into that softer, gentle tone. "Yes. I miss you, too."
The final string snaps within me, leaving a void in me.
The line goes dead, and the faint click of his phone locking breaks the stillness. A tiny, broken sound escapes my fingers before I can stop it—a brief sob that slips into the dark room.
"Rain?"
I squeeze my eyes shut, locking my jaw until it aches, forcing my body into stillness to prevent another sound from betraying me.
"Rain," he calls again.
The soft, rhythmic friction of his feet against the dark wood grows closer.
I move my arm beneath the cover, using the edge of the heavy duvet to hurriedly wipe the moisture from my cheeks.
As I shift, my bare skin brushes against the blanket, and a wave of agony ripples through my veins.
The memory of his hands, his mouth, and his promises from only an hour ago flashes behind my eyelids, making me want to scream into the dark. We just shared this bed.
His weight shifts onto the mattress, and a moment later, his fingers tap my shoulder. I force my shoulders to loosen, mimicking the slow, heavy movement of someone breaking through sleep. I offer a low, groggy murmur. "Mmm?"
"Were you awake?" he asks, his breath close.
I roll away from his touch, facing the window, and choose to offer nothing but silence.
"I guess you weren't awake, then," he sighs softly.
The mattress dips further as he settles back onto his side of the bed. I lie there, my fingers twisting the edge of the sheet into a tight knot, sending a silent prayer into the darkness, begging him to keep his distance.
He does. He shifts away, leaving a vast, freezing expanse of mattress between us, returning exactly to the arrangement we maintained for the past six years.
A fresh wave of warmth spills over my lashes, and I close my eyes against the dark, letting the tears ruin the pillow.
***
I sit up a few minutes after I am sure he is asleep. I look down at the man sleeping beside me, my head bowing as I squeeze my eyelids shut. Shadows of the memories from our conversation downstairs cast themselves behind my eyes. My lips quiver, and a fresh wave of moisture pours down my cheeks.
I shift, pulling myself upright against the headboard, resting my temple in the palm of my hand as I stare toward the tightly shut window casting down the shadow of the moon.
Turning my focus back to him, I watch the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. He sleeps peacefully, unbothered, probably dreaming of Toria. A dry chuckle escapes my throat.
My gaze drifts over the lines of his body in the moonlight. I shake my head at the thoughts running astray, trying to push past the echo of the phone call that just shattered my world.
"If he leaves tomorrow, oh, I promise I will leave," I mutter into the dark room.
With my eyes still fixed on his form, I reach down and pull the duvet away, exposing his bare skin to the cool air. Moving with the determination of a woman on the verge of letting go, I close the distance between us.
I bend down, pressing my lips to the hard line of his jaw, then trail slow, lingering kisses down the column of his neck to the smooth skin of his chest. My tears spill over, hot and silent, dropping onto his skin, but I do not wipe them away. Not tonight.
My mouth finds his in the dark. The moment our lips touch, his response is instantaneous.
He stirs from sleep, his large hands immediately wrapping around my waist to pull me flush against his chest. He sits up against the pillows, taking over the kiss with a sudden, fierce hunger that catches me off guard.
His hands slide up my back, his fingers tangling into my hair to hold me close as his mouth moves back to my neck.
I arch my spine into his touch, a soft moan escaping my throat as his lips explore lower, tracing the curve of my collarbone and the soft swell of my breasts. He pulls back for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes catching the moonlight, searching my face with an intensity that burns.
"Oh, I love this," he whispers, his voice rough and laced with sleep.
I sink against him, burying my face in his neck as the silence of the room envelops us.
Every touch, every lingering press of his hand feels magnified in the quiet.
I memorize the weight of the moment, the scent of woodsmoke and rain on his skin, anchoring it deep into my mind.
This is a final sequence. This is goodbye.
It is a desperate attempt to imprint the depth of my feelings onto him, to make him remember the bond we shared.
I want him to look back at the memory of this night and realize the profound sincerity of my love.
We stay wrapped in each other's arms, the urgent rhythm of my heart eventually slowing as the intensity of the moment settles into a heavy, somber peace.
The world narrows down to just the two of us, suspended in a space where time seems to hold its breath.
I cling to him, my body trembling with the weight of the secret I am carrying.
We lie tangled in the sheets as the room cools, lingering in the stillness. He holds me tightly against his chest, his breath steadying against my hair. Then, he speaks the words I have been dreading, shattering the fragile peace of our embrace.
"I think I'll be going on a trip this evening."
I go still against him. The lingering pleasure from moments ago instantly dissolves into a distant, faded memory. I struggle to find my breath, but the sound of my name pulls a response from my throat.
"Rain."
"Mmm. So, when will you be back?"
"I'll be back in a week," he says softly.
"Yeah." I offer a tight nod, my throat closing up as the moisture returns to my eyes.
I rest my chin on his shoulder, staring into the dark corner of the bedroom. Just what does she have that I don't?
***
The late afternoon sun beats down on the driveway.
He stands by the open door of the car, having just finished dropping the kids off.
I watch from the threshold as he leans down to hug everyone, bidding them goodbye.
He embraces the children, but he bypasses me.
Instead, he turns his head, his eyes meeting mine across the short distance, a clear layer of guilt shadowing his features.
He offers a brief wave.
The memory of our wedding day rushes back into my mind. The contract wife he never wanted.
Standing in front of the door, I lift my hand and wave back to him as he steps into the car to go meet the love of his life. A quiet resolve settles within me. When his week is over and he finally comes back home, he will be welcomed by a very empty house.