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“I was lonely.”
She wouldn’t be lonely if you’d kept up her end of the deal ten years ago when we met and had a conversation about our future. We’d have kids by now. Why does she think I threw myself into work so much?
I balk at her words. I don’t understand how she has time to be lonely. We’re both busy people.
“You wanted the prestige, not the reality of being married to a Bassett,” I declare. “It all takes work, every single day. If I drop all the balls and just concentrate on you only, what would happen then?”
“Correct, hence what I’m saying. You’re married to your work!”
“And why do you think that is!” I seethe. “I don’t see us living happily ever after, or have any kids running around. Our pact was made on our wedding day, Keira.” I get that people change their minds about some things, but she never came out and said, ‘I don’t want children now’. She just kept making excuses and putting it off, year after year. Giving me hope, and then nothing.
“I’m not as desperate to have a child as you are anymore,” she yells back at me. “There, I said it! I don’t even know if I want kids at all, Gray!”
“No fucking shit!” I yell back. Then her words actually hit home. I’ve known it for a long time, but it’s never been spoken out loud. It knocks the wind out of me.
She starts crying, holding her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, Gray. I really am. But I don’t know anymore.”
“You don’t know!” I shake my head, hoping to also shake off the memory of seeing them together. “Don’t you think you could have come out and said it? Here, I’ll help you out… ‘Gray, I’m deeply unhappy, you’re a shit husband, and I don’t want kids anymore. I think I’ll go shack up with the accountant!’ Not that hard, is it?”
She shudders from my yelling, but I don’t care anymore.
It’s the final straw in a long line of things that have played on my mind, but I chose to ignore them for a long time.
“It’s the lifestyle you want, K. Not me.” I walk to the bedroom and start shoving things into my gym bag. There’s no way I can stay here. I can't even look at her, let alone be in the same room or share a bed.
“Gray, don’t do this.” She makes the mistake of following me.
“I’m not doing anything,” I seethe as I walk. “I love how you take no responsibility for what you’ve done. I’m sorry I wasn’t around as much as you wanted, or as much as I should have been, but does that really justify having an affair?” We maintained a healthy sex life, or so I thought, which I didn’t think was bad for a couple that have been together for ten years. She can’t say I didn’t keep her satisfied. So what is really behind this?
Maybe she really is bored. I don’t even care to get into her justification right now.
“I needed you around more,” she whispers.
I stride to the walk-in closet and grab a bigger hold-all and start throwing more shit in. Unsure of where I’m even going. I left last night after kicking fuckface out and stayed at a hotel. Tonight I’ll do the same, only I’ll take some clothes this time.
“The time for talking is over,” I tell her, not evening looking back. “You need to leave me the fuck alone.”
That was the last I saw of her until I filed for divorce.
I grip my thigh, thinking back to the day I left her. Granted, she gave me some space for a while. I took myself to the nearest hotel to work out what I was going to do. It was all insurmountable in my head. The one thing I knew was that it was over. There was no coming back from cheating, no matter what her excuses were.
She ended up going to her parents’ for the week that followed so I could move my shit out in peace. She didn’t give up for weeks trying to convince me to come back. Until I got my attorney involved in starting the divorce proceedings, reality hit, and she got nasty. There were no more ‘I love you’s’ or ‘I’m sorry’s’. And I was glad about that part. I didn’t want to hear it anymore, anyway.
I reach for my wallet to tip the driver as he pulls up at the airport, knowing I’m ready to go home, even if home isn’t ready for me.
When I open my wallet, it’s then I see a white folded piece of paper just in front of the bills. My heart pounds and the blood rushes to my ears.
No fucking way.
I know it wasn't there last night. I haven't opened my wallet this morning. The hotel had my card on file to pay for all charges upon checkout.
I don't mean for my hand to tremble slightly when I pull out the small piece of paper and open it up. But I press my lips together when I see it’s a page out of the hotel’s small writing pad.
I stare at the words written in black and white. It’s a beautiful, soft, elegant script. Everything I would expect from her. And my shit-eating grin can probably be seen from wherever she is right now;
Thank you for the best night of my life.
Hartley x 1-617-555-7212
