Prologue #3
Those aren’t new information to him. In fact, I’ve initiated countless conversations over the past two years. I laid it all out: How lonely I was, how much I missed him, how worried I was he’d work himself into an early heart attack.
Every time he promised to change. And every time he continued on as if the conversation never happened. The only thing to change was my resentment.
Resentment about never seeing him, about being the only person to take care of our home, about him taking meals I prepared for myself without even asking or so much as a ‘thank you’ note.
And after watching Gabriella and her husband tonight… every kiss he pressed to the side of her head felt like a knife right through my heart. The way he looked at her, with so much softness, with so much love.
I want that. And I deserve to have someone treat me like I matter, damn it.
With a determined sigh, I get off the chair and pad toward our bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, his soft snoring sending ice through my veins. Right. While I was waiting for him, searching the crowd for his face he was here. Sleeping.
Should I really do this now? He does deserve his sleep.
No. I’ve put him first enough. If he won’t prioritize me, I have to do it myself.
I take a deep breath. Yes. This is going to happen now. I’ve played this game long enough and I’m sick of losing myself in it.
Squaring my shoulders, I push the door open and turn on the light.
“What—?” Zach blinks against the sudden brightness, then shields his eyes. “Kylie?”
“Zach, we need to talk.” The coldness in my voice has him sitting up immediately. As soon as his eyes got used to the light and fall on me, all the color drains from his face.
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.” I lean against the doorframe. “’Fuck’ about nails it. Where were you?”
“You know where I was.” He rubs his neck, eyes raking over my dress. “Busy. At work.”
“Too busy to even check your phone?” I cross my arms in front of my chest and lean against the doorframe.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he stammers and throws off the comforter. “I saw your message but never got around to reading. There was an emergency and I totally forgot—”
“I know,” I interrupt him and let out a heavy sigh.
A numb pain pulses behind my temples and all of a sudden, I’m dead on my feet.
“There’s always an emergency.” I push myself off the doorframe and take a seat on my side of the bed, pulling up my legs to get my aching feet off the ground.
Silence falls and I let it settle, let it become uncomfortable.
“Zach, I can’t do this anymore.” The words taste bitter, but a weight falls of my chest as soon as they’re out.
“I’m sorry, babe, I—”
“Stop it.” I raise my voice and silence him with a sharp look. “I’ve had enough of your ‘I’m sorry’s.’ They haven’t meant anything in a long time.” I suck in a shaky breath. “I’m done. We haven’t been on the same page for ages and now I’m not even sure we’re reading the same book anymore.”
“But Kylie, I—”
“No.” I shake my head. “This is not a discussion; this is an FYI.” He reaches for my hand, but I quickly pull it out of reach.
Then I meet his eyes. “Listen, it’s not a bad thing.
It didn’t work out between us. It happens.
It’s not the end of the world. Please, let’s end this amicably while we can still talk to each other.
Because I know, if this continues, the resentment will make me even more unrecognizable.
” My lips tug into a smile but my eyes flow over, hot tears streaming down my cheeks one after the next.
It’s the end. It’s scary and doubts are already creeping in, but I force them out of my head.
His face softens, and he reaches for my hand again. This time I let him take it in his. “I love you, Kylie.”
I stare at our hands. Our rings. Symbols of what was supposed to be our forever.
A part of me wants to break into laughter. Does he love me? How would he know? We’ve barely talked in months. I could be a whole different person by now.
“I love you too, Zach.” I meet his eyes and softly shake my head. “But it’s not enough anymore. I need to be a priority. And I haven’t been yours for a long time. So now I’m making myself my own priority. I deserve happiness and more than you have been giving me.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again and even his eyes turn glassy.
I pull my hand out of his grasp and get up, wiping the tears off my cheeks with the heel of my hand. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”
On my way out I grab some joggers and an oversized T-shirt off a chair in the corner of our room. “We’ll talk about logistics tomorrow. Or, I don’t know, I’ll write you an e-mail. Sorry for waking you. Good night.”
Without waiting for a reply, I rush out of our bedroom. Being in here feels like too much, like I’m threading on a thin slack line and one wrong move will make me fall and say ‘I’m just kidding.’
As soon as the door clicks shut behind me, more tears fall. Silently, steadily, as I change into my pajamas, grab a blanket from the cupboard in our hallway and wipe off the makeup I felt like a million bucks in mere hours ago.
Finally, I slump on our couch, pull the blanket tight around me and stare at my reflection in the dark TV.
I did it. I actually did it. Fuck.