“Yeah, man. I’ve been pulling the wool over her eyes since school. She has no idea. Tonight I’ll finally do what I planned,” I heard Aaron say.
My knees buckled against the wall.
I pressed a hand over my mouth so hard I tasted blood from my own lip.
Fifteen years rushed through my head all at once.
The locked drawer, the secret phone calls, the name “Vanessa” flashing on his screen at 11 p.m. two summers ago, the way he’d looked me dead in the eye and said putting the house in his name alone was “just for tax reasons,” and the way he insisted, even after the wedding, that we keep separate bank accounts.
Every little thing I’d swallowed down because I loved him too much to ask twice.
“Tonight I’ll finally do what I planned.”
I could’ve burst into that bedroom screaming or thrown the wine glass at the wall and demanded answers.
