Hi Eli,
I know I’ve ended it between us, and thank you for respecting my wishes and not contacting me.
I feel nauseous. Maybe he never really cared. Maybe that’s the reason he gave up on me so easily. What if he thinks I’m a crazy bitch who likes playing games, and never replies? That would completely destroy me.
But something’s happened, and I would really love to talk to you. Please reply when you can. :)
Gabriella
* * *
The next two days are pure torture. I obsessively check my phone, and every single time, there’s nothing. I start to wonder if I’ve really gone crazy. Maybe I should talk to someone, a professional. I don’t cry in my pillow, but I do cry in the bath, on the floor of my en-suite, and my walk-in closet. What was I thinking? The man does think I’m a crazy bitch. I picture him with some young hot blonde. I picture John with his pretty brunette. I pull at my hair, trying to erase the images. I can’t go on like this.
Theo finds me kneeling on the plush carpet of my closet. I’m crying into my pink bathrobe, the one with little rainbows all over it.
“Mommy?” he says. I never usually cry in front of the kids — this must be a shock for him. “What happened?” he asks. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Did I hurt myself? Yes, I did. I made my own bed when I willingly embarked on this relationship with a seductive stranger. And John has hurt me too, so much.
I smile up at him, and in that small precious moment, I remember that I still have my wonderful children, no matter what. John can’t take that from me. “I did,” I tell him. “I knocked my head on the corner of that dresser. It hurts a lot.” I press the palm of my hand on my forehead.
He pouts and inches closer. “Can I kiss it better?”
His words make me cry even harder. “Yes.” I pull my hand away, and he presses his soft tiny fingers in my hair and kisses my forehead.
I grab him in my arms tightly, and never want to let go.
* * *
Sorry, I haven’t checked my e-mail for a while. Very busy in the studio. I was surprised to hear from you. What’s up, Gabriella?
His message catches me by surprise – I’d almost given up on him. I’d almost given up on John too. I’ve been angry and miserable. I just want to do this, and get all this over with.
I want my old life back.
Can we video chat?
About an hour later, he replies.
Sure. When?
I check my watch — it’s two in the afternoon. The kids are at school, and John is at the gym.
Now?
I anxiously check my phone, and about fifteen minutes later, he replies.
Sure.
A few minutes later, we’re on Skype, and I’m looking right at his beautiful face. It’s exactly like I remembered. His hair is a scruffy mess, he has five-day stubble, and wears a worn grey t-shirt. He looks like a bum, yet he’s still gorgeous. His eyes are as amazing as ever, and laced with concern.
“Did something happen?”
“Yes, you could say that.”
He cocks a brow, very curious.
My gaze shifts to the vase of flowers on my desk — I can’t look at him. “I found out about two weeks ago that John has been having an affair.”
