Chapter 2
You didn’t leave me any choice
“What the fuck is happening here?”
Three months later, I walk into the house expecting silence. Instead, I find Rhys mid-thrust behind a redhead, gym shorts pooled around her ankles, both sprawled across the kitchen table. Our kitchen table.
Their heads shoot up when they hear me, and the redhead hurries to pull up her tiny shorts.
Her hips wiggle as she strains to pull the clingy fabric over her sweaty skin, struggling to manoeuvre in the small gap between the worn wooden table and Rhys, who doesn’t bother to move.
He holds up his hands in a placating gesture, then finally shuffles back a couple of steps and pulls up his boxers and grey joggers.
I try, and fail miserably, to form words.
Little-Miss-Gym-Body speaks instead, snapping me out of my daze.
“You said she wouldn’t be home!” she hisses at Rhys as she straightens out her ponytail.
“I wasn’t,” I say, finding my voice. “But I am now, so can you fuck off?”
She looks between me and Rhys, huffs, and marches through the living room towards the front door.
“There was no need to be so rude, Matilda,” Rhys sighs once we hear the front door slam. He grabs one of the chairs and collapses into it as I stare at him in disbelief.
“Excuse me?” The air rushes from my lungs as the reality of the situation sinks in, and I reach for the kitchen counter to keep me steady.
His reaction has to be some bad attempt at a joke, right?
“Are you being serious right now? You were fucking someone else in our kitchen! On the table where we eat together! I trusted you—”
“What did you expect?” he interjects calmly. He looks at me as though I’m being stupid. When I just stare at him, confused, he continues. “Look, I don’t want to pass the blame here…”
“How could I possibly be to blame for this?”
“…but you have—”
“What? Forced you to bring home a stray off the street? Blackmailed you into putting your dick—”
“I really wish you’d stop being hysterical for a minute and let me speak,” he snaps. “This is why I end up with people like Olivia.”
Did he just say ‘people’? As in plural?
“No mood swings. No nagging.” He checks them off on his fingers as he shatters my heart. “At least they make an effort. They actually give a shit how they look!”
Not trusting my legs to hold me any longer, I stagger my way to one of the chairs at the kitchen table, staying clear of the contaminated half.
My mind races and my lungs feel like they’re working at half-capacity as I consider what Rhys said.
He’s sleeping with other women because I’m not good enough for him anymore.
It’s true that when we met, seven years ago, I was a leaner and more carefree version of myself.
I ate well, and while I’ve never been a lover of exercise, I was active in my daily life, and it kept me fairly trim.
Not that I realised it at the time. I’ve always had issues with my body image and have never felt happy in my own skin.
My thighs always too wobbly; my teeth, too crooked; my hair never shiny enough.
I was never comfortable in my clothes, but I still put effort into my outfits and regularly had my hair and nails done.
I enjoyed making the effort, and it gave me a small feeling of control over my body.
We got married two years after we met, and soon after that, real life got in the way.
My teaching job had me working long hours, and the stress of that and the two miscarriages I suffered took their toll on my body.
I put on weight that no amount of dieting would shift.
Fasting, support groups, hypnotherapy – I tried it all, with little to no success.
Now I’ve settled into a routine of good old-fashioned calorie counting.
Every bite and sip are measured and logged in my calorie counting app.
Rhys suggested it and even has a login for my account so he can ‘keep me accountable’. Fat lot of good it’s done me.
“Look, I’m trying with the diet,” I say apologetically. “I haven’t gone over my calorie allowance once in weeks!”
Rhys sighs and runs a hand over his clean-shaven face. His dark hair is uncharacteristically mussed up, which I’m choosing to believe is because he’s been at the gym and not because Olivia has been running her sweaty hands through it.
“It’s not a big deal, I guess. Lots of married couples stop finding each other attractive when they’ve been together for as long as us, right? It doesn’t mean we don’t still love each other.”
My heart shatters anew as my worst fear becomes a reality.
I instinctively get up and walk over to Rhys when he opens his arms and gestures for me to go to hug him, stopping next to him while he remains seated.
Rhys wraps his arms around my waist and rests his cheek against my belly, snuggling into it like a soft pillow.
“It’s okay, Muffin,” he sighs, using the nickname he knows I hate. “I forgive you. We’re just going to have to come up with some sort of compromise.”
“You forgive me?” I ask, confused. Taking a step back so I can see his face, I say, “I know I’m not the young woman you married anymore, but you made the choice to be unfaithful, not me.”
“But this is what I’m saying!” Rhys’s frustrated yell makes me jump. “You didn’t leave me any choice but to go after other women when you refused to make an effort! If you’d just tried a bit harder—”
“I’m sorry. I really did try. But regardless of who’s to blame here, I can’t stay with you when I know you’ve been cheating on me.” The words have left my mouth before I even realise I’ve made that decision.
“For fuck’s sake, Mat, don’t be so dramatic…”
Despite my best efforts, the blood, sweat and tears I’ve put into our relationship, I wasn’t enough for him. And I never will be.
“I’ll pack a bag and be gone in an hour.”