Thirteen
Susanna
I don't sleep. I lie in Hillary's guest bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the restaurant scene over and over.
The way Teller looked so comfortable with those women.
The way Emmaline called it a date.
The way Teller's face went white when he realized what he'd been doing.
Did he really not know? Is that possible?
Or is that just another lie, another manipulation?
I want to believe him. God, I want to believe that he's just stupid and oblivious, not malicious and calculating.
But does it matter? Stupid or malicious, the result is the same. He betrayed me. He chose other women over me. He made me feel crazy for noticing.
My phone buzzes. I grab it, hoping—dreading—that it's Teller.
It's my mom.
Mom: Hillary told me what happened. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Do you want me to come over?
Me: No. I'm okay. I just need some time.
Mom: What are you going to do?
Me: I don't know.
Mom: You don't have to decide anything right now. Just take care of yourself.
I set my phone down and close my eyes.
What am I going to do?
Divorce seems extreme. We've only been married three years. We haven't even tried counseling.
But can I forgive this? Can I ever trust him again?
I think about going home tomorrow. Seeing him there. Having to look at him.
I can't do it. I can't face him yet.
I text him from Hillary's phone.
Me: This is Susanna. Don't be at the house tomorrow. I need space. I'll let you know when I'm ready to talk.
The response is immediate.
Teller: Okay. I understand. I'm so sorry, Susanna. I'm so fucking sorry.
Me: Sorry isn't enough.
Teller: I know. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll wait as long as you need. Just please don't give up on us.
I don't respond.
Because I don't know if there's still an "us" to give up on.