Chapter 12
Gabrielle’s POV
I’m trying not to cry. I really am. I wanna be that strong person that my mother had raised me to be.
She was strong, stronger than anyone I knew.
My father is a strong man too, while my mother was a logical one in the relationship.
My father is strong and compassionate, not afraid to beat down anybody who would dare put their hands on any of us.
But my mom, I wish I had her here right now to talk to her.
Honestly, if it weren't for the pictures I have of her, I'm embarrassed to say I would have forgotten how she looked.
I don't know why, but she's the person I love the most. And for the life of me, if I'm not staring at her picture, most times I can't remember her face.
I don't wanna cry.
My knees crumple the minute I step inside of our house, this cold house where Lincoln barely lives because he's always at work.
This house that makes me feel so alone. It's much bigger than our apartment.
My mind travels back to the past when we were just two young couple members in love, laughing and making love to each other, not a care in the world.
And now it's like I don't even recognize my husband.
My heart still holds out hope that he's a good man, that he's the same man who told me that wherever we are together, wherever I am is where his home is, that he knows he can make it through anything if he has me.
He said those things, and his actions had backed them up. But they certainly didn't tonight.
My heart is breaking so bad, and what makes it feel worse is that he didn't come after me.
He hasn't called me to see if I got home safe.
He just stayed at the dinner party with Sarah.
I don't have to be there to know that he's with Sarah, because what other reason would he have for not coming home with me right away?
It's eleven o'clock at night when I hear him walk through the door.
I'm angry, broken, and made up in my mind already that I'm not gonna speak with him.
My back is to the door of our bedroom as I lie down on my left side, hearing his boots, his car keys that he carries around all the time, even though he barely drives the car.
With the house keys and everything else on it clinks onto our dresser.
He exhales.
I can tell that he's not looking forward to having a conversation with me. Of course he's not. What is he supposed to say? Now I know for certain that he's been talking to Sarah about this, so I wouldn't put it past the both of them having talked about me when I left.
Feeling him sink down into the bed behind me, my nerves spike and my anger climbs, but I say nothing.
He inhales again, slow.
Then exhales.
"Baby?" His voice drifts toward me like a cold breeze in the dark.
The sidelight clicks on, and my tears spill even as I stay curled. His hand rests on my waist, shaking me slightly, pretending like he thinks I'm asleep. But I know he knows better.
"Babe?"
"Leave me alone," I whisper crisply.
"We should talk."
"The time to talk should have been when I left. You should have followed me. You should have been here. You didn't even call to see whether or not I made it home."
He exhales again.
There it is.
Confirmation.
No excuse.
No half-lie about a message not going through.
Nada.
"I was upset."
"Too upset to care whether or not I was safe."
"Baby, I—" His voice trails off.
I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling before letting my eyes slide toward him. He’s sitting beside me with his back turned, legs hanging off the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped. I can’t see his expression.
"I'm so sorry."
My heart pounds, terrified he’s about to confess something unforgivable.
"I was angry with you, honestly."
"Angry with me about what?"
"Because you embarrassed me in front of my coworkers."
"How did I embarrass you? You ignored me the entire night. And if anyone were asking, they would probably believe that Sarah was your wife."
"Gabby."
"Is something going on between you and Sarah?"
"Nothing is going on between me and Sarah."
He turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder at me.
"Do you want something to be going on with me and Sarah?"
My mouth falls open in outrage.
"How can you say that to me?" I choke out as fresh tears spill down my face.
"Like, what the hell is actually wrong with you? Who are you right now?"
"It just feels as though you're looking for something to happen to justify you being angry with me just because you're bored or something," Lincoln replies.
"Because I’m bored," I repeat, my voice full of outrage, anger, and disbelief. "I cannot believe you right now. I am trying my fucking hardest to be sane and to be level-headed with you and not get overly emotional, but you feel as though you're trying to pull me in that direction."
"I'm not trying to fight with you. I'm just telling you what I see."
I press my fingers to my temples, my jaw tight, then slap my thighs in frustration.
"You come home super late, super early in the morning, I should say.
" My voice grows louder, my hand making a circular gesture, pointing out the endless cycle.
"And I'm not supposed to say anything about that, right?
I'm not supposed to feel my feelings. I'm not supposed to be worried or concerned or ask any questions or be suspicious as to why you're staying later and later and later with no explanation, no text to let me know that you're okay. "
"I never said that."
"But your actions and the things that you say are telling me that. So should I go out in the middle of the morning and not tell you where I'm going?"
"No, baby. That's not what I'm saying," he murmurs quietly, like I’m a child throwing a tantrum. It only makes the anger flare hotter.
"You tell Sarah everything, don't you?"
"No, babe. I don't."
"Stop talking to me like that and actually say something."
"What do you want me to say?" he asks, his voice tired but rising a bit.
"Is something going on between you and Sarah?"
"No. Nothing is going on between me and Sarah."
"Then why are you telling her our personal matters and our financial issues?"
"We work together all the time. Of course we're gonna get to know each other. She's my friend."
"I thought she was your coworker."
"Yes. She is my coworker, but we're on friendly terms with each other. We have to be. We have to have good chemistry for us to work our job."
"And it feels like you have better chemistry with her than you do with me."
"Well, maybe that's something that you need to work on."
"Woooooow. I cannot believe you're spinning this around on me."
"I'm not trying to spin anything around on you. Notice I'm trying to be calm."
"It's easy, Lincoln, for you to be calm when you're the one twisting the knife in my heart.
You're not the one feeling it. I'm distressed, and I'm upset.
And you told me in the past that we always assure each other.
And I can guarantee that if I did to you, or I was doing to you, what you're doing to me, you would be losing your shit with how jealous you are. "
"Do you wanna have a guy friend or a guy coworker? Go ahead. I don't know what else to tell you, baby. I trust you, and I'm hoping that you trust me."
"I wouldn't have a reason to mistrust you if you weren't doing things that caused me to not trust you."
"Like what, not telling you when I'm coming home? I do come home every night, don't I?"
"That's not the point," I tell him.
"That is very much the point," Lincoln counters. "I've told you nothing is going on. I'm not cheating on you. Nothing's going on between Sarah and me."
"Sarah, who you bend over backwards to defend?"
"Sarah, who you apparently have a bone to pick against, and she hasn't done anything to you. Please don't start drama with my coworkers. I have to see them every day."
"And the fact that you see her every day, it never occurred to you that while I'm at the party you should probably make me feel welcome?!"
"You are welcome, babe. You were fraternizing and talking with other people, other men, by the way, and I didn't say dick about that, did I?"
I just stare at him, stunned.
"Baby, you pawned me off to other people I didn't know," I remind him quietly.
"You were laughing and having fun with people. What am I supposed to do? Tell Sarah to get away from me like she's freaking garlic to a vampire? She's my coworker, and you were being really stink with her, and she thinks you hate her."
"Is that what she told you?" I ask, my voice small.
"Yeah."
"What else did she tell you, Lincoln? Did she whisper anything else in your ear about me, or how toxic I must be, or whatever the hell it is that you guys talk about me behind my back?"
"Babe…"
"Answer the question. Do you tell her personal things about us? Because if you're starting to include a third person into our marriage, this isn't gonna work."
He takes a breath, one of those long ones where he’s thinking about how to make himself look like the victim.
"I feel like you're pushing me away," he murmurs.
"And why do you feel that way? Because I'm asking questions that any sane person would ask their partner?"
"I'm just saying… I don't know. Ever since I started making more money and staying out later trying to provide for us, you've been acting—" He stops.
"Look. I wanna work through this with you, but I…
I am feeling a little bit burned out, and I can't feel burned out at work and then feel burned out when I come here. "
"So I should not ask you any questions about anything ever again. Right?"
"That's not what I'm saying, but I just don't wanna fight every time I come home."
"Okay. Fair enough," I reply, rising from the bed.
He twists around. "Where are you going?"
"I won't ask you anymore where you've been or what you're doing.
From here on out, I will just trust you.
And I'm asking you to trust me. So if you come home at four o'clock in the morning and I'm not home, you cannot call me or get mad at me because I didn't text you.
Right?" I challenge him, watching for the reaction I already know is coming.
"Babe, I have a very good reason as to why I stay out. You staying out late just to spite me is in fact very toxic," he says.
My mouth drops open. The room goes still. My heartbeat drums in my ears.
"And why is all of the blame on me for being toxic, Lincoln?"
The question hangs between us. We both go silent for a beat before he releases a tired puff of air and pushes himself to his feet.
"I'm just going to… I'm going to sleep on the couch," he mutters.
"Fine," I answer, feeling the warmth leave the room as he walks away with it.
He's really just going to give up like that? I lie there staring into the dark, my chest tight. I don’t want him to leave. I wanted him to fight for me, fight for us, and it feels like he does less of that every single day.
If he were any other man, some stranger or even just a boyfriend, I would have kicked him to the curb by now. But this is Lincoln. The man I fell in love with. The man I’ve known most of my life. The man I trusted more than anything… or at least, I used to.
Part of me wants to reach out after him, wants to grab him, kiss him, pleasure him, remind him of who we are, remind him that we’ve survived every storm so far.
But I can’t be the only one fighting day in and day out.
If I keep chasing him, he's not going to respect me, and the fact that he even pulled what he did tonight, and what he’s been doing lately, tells me I messed up somewhere in showing my worth.
For the rest of the night, I try not to lose my mind imagining Lincoln having sex with Sarah. I try to convince myself that despite all his ignorance, he would never do that to me… even though I know it's possible.
But he's not that far gone. Not yet.
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