Page 5 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

And I see them.

But I can’t believe it at first.

Geoffrey loves that kitchen island. I mean he obsesses about it. Gets nuts if I don’t use a coaster.

And his secretary’s bare ass is just on it.

I’m standing there in my silk blouse, the one I bought because he liked it—because he liked the way it looked on me over the carefully chosen bra and tummy smoothing cami—and I’m holding my phone like it’s evidence.

Because it is.

And then he sees me.

“Clara! What are you doing home?” he accuses—like I’m in the wrong.

“I-I live here,” I mutter like a moron.

Stephanie—his secretary, squeaks and slides off the island, smoothing out her dress while he tucks his half hard dick back in his pants—he’s wearing a condom. Thank God.

Then he’s smiling the way he always smiles when he thinks he’s going to talk his way out of consequences.

“Now, Clara, don’t get emotional,” he tells me, voice syrupy with practiced patience. “Things have been very hectic for me. So, let’s not do this right now.”

I stare at him.

At the apartment that’s more showroom than home.

At the life I’ve been performing for.

At the version of myself I keep editing, cropping, filtering.

And something inside me—something quiet and tired and done—finally sits up.

“This was a one-time thing, Clara. Stephanie was just helping me through some tension,” he explains. “We don’t need to get into it right now.”

The look on Stephanie’s face says otherwise.

“Actually, Geoffrey, I think we do,” I say.

My voice comes out steady. It surprises both of us.

“As a matter of fact, we’re absolutely doing this right now.”

He rolls his eyes.

He actually rolls his eyes like I’m a child throwing a tantrum.

That’s the moment.

Not the proof. Not the lies.

Not the months of him making me feel like I’m too much and not enough at the same time.

Not the fact that he was screwing his secretary in the middle of our kitchen just a moment ago.

It’s the eye roll.

The casual dismissal.