14. Maren #2
He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back, and hurt flickers across his face, or maybe confusion. Good. Let him be confused. Let him feel one-tenth of what I’ve been feeling for months.
“We have eleven years,” he says. “Eleven years, Maren. We built a life together. We built this.” He gestures around the shop. “I was there when you signed the lease, there when you opened the doors, there for every milestone, every success, every-”
“And I should be grateful for that forever? I should stay in a marriage that’s making me miserable because you were a good husband once?
” I set down the gardenias before I crush them.
“Good history isn’t a reason to tolerate bad present.
I’m done being grateful for scraps just because we used to have a beautiful marriage.
The beautiful marriage is gone. You killed it. ”
“I didn’t-”
“You did. You killed it slowly, over years, while I stood there and watched and tried to resuscitate it and begged you to notice. And now you’re showing up at my shop expecting me to what? Fall into your arms? Forgive you because you finally decided to pay attention?”
“I’m trying to fix this!”
“You don’t get to fix it on your timeline!
” I’m shouting now, actually shouting, and I don’t care.
“You don’t get instant access to me just because you finally want it.
I spent years asking nicely. Asking politely.
Making reasonable requests that you ignored.
I’m done being reasonable. I’m done waiting for you to become the person I need you to be. ”
“So what, you’re just going to shut me out?”
“Yes.”
He blinks.
“Yes,” I repeat. “I’m shutting you out. Because asking nicely did nothing, and being patient did nothing, and all the waiting and hoping and trying did nothing. This is what’s left, Rhodes. This is what happens when someone runs out of other options.”
“Maren, we can work through this. We just need time, we need to talk, we need-”
His phone rings.
The sound cuts through the room like a knife, and we both freeze. He reaches for his pocket, and I already know, I already know who it is, I can feel it in my bones-
He glances at the screen. His face does something complicated.
“Don’t,” I say.
He silences the call and shoves the phone back in his pocket. “It’s nothing.”
“Rachel.”
He doesn’t deny it.
I laugh. I actually laugh, this broken, bitter sound that scrapes against my throat like glass. “Of course it’s her.”
“Maren, it’s work-”
“It’s always work, always her, always something more important than me.”
“I silenced it. I’m here, I’m trying.”
“You silenced it.” I nod. “Right. You silenced it. You didn’t ignore it entirely, didn’t turn off your phone to have this conversation with your wife. You silenced it so you could call her back later. So she’d know you saw it and you’re still prioritizing her, just on a slight delay.”
“That’s not-”
“Get out.”
“Maren-”
“Get out of my shop.”
He stares at me. “You can’t just-”
“I can. This is my business. My name is on the door. You don’t get to be here if I don’t want you here.” I walk to the front door and unlock it, pulling it open so the bell chimes again. “Leave.”
“You look pale,” he says suddenly.
I freeze.
“You look pale, and you’ve lost weight, and you keep touching your stomach. Are you okay? Are you sick?”
The words are right there again. The truth is sitting on my tongue, ready to spill out, and for one second, one single, desperate second, I consider telling him everything.
I’m pregnant. It’s yours. From the night we thought we were reconciling.
I’ve been to the clinic alone. I’ve been nauseous and terrified and hopeful and destroyed, and you don’t know any of it because I can’t trust you with something this vulnerable when you’re still putting her first.
His phone buzzes in his pocket. A text. Rachel again, probably. Following up on the call he silenced.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Get out.”
He opens his mouth to argue, and I must look terrifying because he closes it again. He walks toward me slowly, stopping just inside the doorway.
“This isn’t over,” he says quietly.
“Yes it is.”
“Maren-”
“Go call Rachel back. I’m sure whatever she needs is very important.”
He leaves.
The bell chimes one final time, and I stand there in my empty shop with my hand pressed against my stomach and my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth.
I almost told him.
I almost told him and then her name lit up his phone and I remembered…
Because I’ll always be second. I’ll always be the afterthought. And my baby deserves better than a father who needs to be reminded to choose them.
The nausea hits hard and fast, and I barely make it to the back bathroom before I’m sick.
When I’m done, I sit on the cold tile floor and pull out my phone. There’s a voicemail from the prenatal clinic confirming my next appointment. A text from Nora asking if I’m okay. Three missed calls from a number I don’t recognize that’s probably press.
And one notification from the gossip account I hate-follow: “EXCLUSIVE: Rhodes Calloway seen leaving wife’s flower shop looking DISTRAUGHT. Is this the end for the city’s power couple?”
I drop my head against my knees and laugh until it turns into something else entirely.
The flowers are wilting in their buckets. The gardenias I abandoned on the worktable will need to be thrown out. There’s a consultation in two hours that I’ll have to pull myself together for.
But right now, in this moment, I let myself fall apart.
My phone buzzes again.
It’s Rhodes: I know you’re angry. I know I’ve failed you. But please don’t give up on us. I love you.
I stare at the message for a long time.
Then I type back: I filed paperwork this morning. You’ll have the separation documents by end of business today.
I hit send before I can change my mind.