Chapter 8
It doesn’t matter how long I sit here in my parked car and look at the date on my phone. It doesn’t matter how many times I call random businesses to ask them what day and year it is. I’ve called a restaurant, a hospital, a school, a retail store, a bakery, and a petrol station. I’ve gotten the same answer every single time.
February 14, 2025.
It doesn’t make sense, though. How did an entire year pass by in a single night?
I let out a shaky breath as I toss my phone in the passenger seat next to me. And then I close my eyes and press my fingers to my temples, hoping that will ease the tension that’s been building in my skull the whole day.
It doesn’t.
I give up and open my eyes. And then I see them.
I see Tristan, Carly, and their baby trot from their front door to their car. I watch as Tristan holds Carly’s hand and cradles their son in his other arm. I watch as he opens the back door of his car and gets him settled in his car seat. I watch him make a funny face at his baby before shutting the door and rounding the car to the driver’s-side door. I watch him drive off, a cloud of numbness, confusion, and pain washing over me.
If this time jump is real, if I’ve missed an entire year, then that means we were married for just a year before I found out about his affair.
I start doing the math in my head, over and over, just to be sure. I get the same number every time.
Six. Six months.
If this is real, then that’s how long Tristan and I had been married when he likely got Carly pregnant.
I don’t know their son’s exact age and birth date. But judging by his appearance, he’s got to be around nine months old, which means he must have been born in May or June of 2024.
And if he’s that old now on February 14, 2025, then that means he was conceived around August of 2023.
We were in full-on newlywed bliss then. Or so I thought.
I think back to all the spontaneous date nights, the times he surprised me with champagne, the sleepy and slow middle-of-the-night sex we’d indulge in whenever he’d work so late I fell asleep before he came home. Acid burns my throat and chest.
I think of the long weekend away in the Cotswolds that Tristan surprised me with in October of 2023 after an especially busy few weeks of work for him. Carly was pregnant then.
My stomach churns like I’ve downed a bottle of acid. Hot bile creeps its way up my throat.
I gag before throwing open my car door and spewing chunks onto the road.
Footsteps sound around me. “Darling, are you all right?” a voice above me asks.
I nod, even though I’m still spitting up. I’ve never been a quiet vomiter. I’m loud as hell, retching and choking as though I’m exorcising a demon deep inside me. Spit dribbles from my lips, and my eyes are so watery that I can’t even make out the concrete below. All I see is a blurry pale-orange mass on top of a blurry gray mass.
“Fine,” I groan. “I’m fine.”
“Oh, my dear. Are you sure?”
I wipe at my eyes and mouth, then look up to see an elderly lady gazing down at me, her brow furrowed, a million worry lines etched all over her face.
“Yes. Just a bout of food poisoning,” I lie through my trembling lips.
“Oh goodness. Here.” She pulls a ginger candy from the pocket of the long sweater she’s wearing. “To settle your poor stomach.”
That single gesture breaks me. I sob as I scoop the candy from her tiny palm. The simplicity, the purity of it, is what hits the hardest. She’s a total stranger—she doesn’t even know me. And here she is showing me such kindness and generosity, while my husband was fucking his ex behind my back for who knows how long.
“Dear, you sure you can get home all right by yourself?”
I sniffle and nod. “Yes. Thank you for being so sweet.”
She nods, too, then steps back to give me enough room to shut my door, but her concerned look remains trained on me. As I pull away and head down the street, I see her reflection in my rearview mirror. She stays standing there, gazing at me until I turn the corner and lose sight of her.
I don’t know how long I drive or where I’m going.
I never knew being cheated on could be so disorienting. Sickening, sure. Infuriating, of course. But to have it flip your entire sense of time and place upside down is something I never anticipated.
I drive until the city skyline of London disappears in my rearview mirror. It’s just roadway and rolling emerald-green hills ahead. The sky turns from the gray-blue of daytime to sunset orange to indigo. I pull off to the side of the road when it gets so dark that the signs become too difficult to read through my swollen, tired eyes. I pull my phone out of my bag and see multiple missed calls, all from Milo, along with a half dozen texts. I must have set my phone on silent by accident, because I didn’t hear it at all.
Hey. Are you okay?
Do you think you’ll be back soon?
I get that you need space today, but will you just let me know that you’re safe?
I called your store, but they said you didn’t stop by. I’m worried, Riley.
Please let me know you’re okay. I’m going nuts here.
I read the messages over and over again, unable to shake just how disorienting it feels to hear him sound so concerned about me. Even over text message it’s clear he’s worried sick. I’ve never seen him like this. This isn’t the same Milo who gives me shit every time he sees me, who joked behind my back that I’d never be anything more than a trophy wife.
Guilt lands like a rock in my gut. I don’t know what is going on, how I got here, how I went to sleep on Valentine’s Day last night and woke up a year later, my entire life in shambles. I don’t know how Milo and I got to this point, where he’s being so kind and affectionate toward me. I don’t know if today is some unexplainable blip in the universe, a time warp, or if that one time I dropped acid at a music festival with Poppy years ago is now resurfacing as a disorienting and nightmarish trip.
Whatever the reason, Milo is genuinely worried about me, and I should let him know I’m okay.
Hey. I’m safe and okay. I just need some time by myself.
He replies instantly.
Milo: I get it. Thank you for letting me know.
Milo: If you need me for anything, at any time, just call or text me. I mean it. I’m here for you in whatever way you want me, Riley.
I gaze at the words on my phone screen, taking them in over and over. In this parallel universe or bad acid trip, Milo and I are friends. It’s the weirdest feeling ever ... but it’s also the biggest comfort, even if I don’t know what exactly is happening or what to do about anything.
Me: Thank you.
I tuck my phone back in my bag, lock the car, and crawl in the back seat. There’s no way I have the strength to make it back home after I’ve depleted every last bit of my energy today. I need to sleep. And maybe tomorrow when I wake up I’ll have the faintest idea of where to go from here or what the hell to do.
I curl onto my side, my eyelids growing heavier and heavier each time I blink. It doesn’t take long before I’m out cold.