Ten
Teller
I'm in my car, gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles are white. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't process what just happened.
My phone is buzzing. Frank, calling over and over. I decline every call.
Then I see it—scrolling through my texts with Clarissa and Emmalineline, really reading them for the first time.
"Can't wait to see you again."
"You make me feel so special."
"I'm so glad Frank introduced us."
How did I not see it? How did I read these messages and think they were just friendly?
Because I'm a fucking idiot. Because I was so caught up in feeling needed, feeling important, that I didn't see what was right in front of me.
I scroll further back. Messages with Frank.
Frank: Clarissa's really into you, man.
Me: She's nice. Going through a tough time.
Frank: You should ask her out properly. Susanna doesn't need to know everything.
Me: What? No. We're just friends.
Frank: Sure, buddy. Whatever you say.
It's all there. All the hints, all the suggestions. And I ignored every single one because I didn't want to see the truth.
I didn't want to admit that I was enjoying the attention from other women.
I didn't want to face the fact that I was neglecting my wife.
I didn't want to acknowledge that I was becoming the kind of man I always swore I'd never be.
My phone rings again. This time it's Susanna.
I answer immediately. "Susanna, thank God. Please, let me explain—"
"I don't want to hear it." Her voice is flat, emotionless. Worse than anger. "I'm staying at Hillary's tonight. I need you to not be at the house when I come back tomorrow."
"What? No. Susanna, we need to talk about this—"
"There's nothing to talk about. You've been on dates with other women. You've been emotionally cheating on me for weeks. You've been gaslighting me, making me feel crazy for noticing. There's nothing left to say."
"I didn't know they were dates! I swear to God, I thought—"
"It doesn't matter what you thought, Teller. It matters what you did. You chose them over me. Every single time, you chose them."
"That's not true—"
"Isn't it? When was the last time you came home on time? When was the last time you put your phone away during dinner? When was the last time you looked at me like I mattered?"
I don't have an answer.
"That's what I thought," she says quietly. "I'll be back tomorrow at noon. I want you gone."
"Susanna, please—"
"Goodbye, Teller."
She hangs up.
I call her back immediately. It goes straight to voicemail.
I try calling again. Voicemail.
Again. Voicemail.
She's blocked me.
My wife has blocked me.
I sit in my car in the parking lot of Jumo's, and for the first time in my adult life, I cry.
Not quiet tears. Not dignified sadness.
I sob. Great, heaving sobs that shake my whole body. I cry for my marriage, for my wife, for the man I thought I was and the man I've actually become.
I cry because I've been so fucking blind.
I cry because I might have just destroyed the best thing that ever happened to me.
And I cry because I don't know if I can fix this.
I don't know if Susanna will ever forgive me.
I don't know if I deserve her forgiveness.