Jade steps aside to let me pass, eyeing the bag like it’s a loaded bomb. "You don't have to keep cooking for me, Devon."
"I want to."
She doesn't respond, following me into the kitchen. I unpack ingredients while she leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching me.
"How was work?" she asks finally.
"Fine. Busy." I arrange avocados on the cutting board. "How was your day? Did you write anything?"
Shit.It’s the wrong thing to ask; I see it in the way she flinches.
"No."
"That's okay." I reach for a knife. "There's no pressure?—"
"Iknowthere's no pressure, Devon. You don't need to manage me."
I set the knife down, turning to face her. She looks tired. Beautiful and tired and so far away from me.
"I'm not trying to manage you. I'm trying to—" The words catch in my throat.
Tell her.
"Trying towhat?"
Fix this. Fix us. Make you look at me the way you used to.
"I'm trying to make things right,” I finish weakly. "That's all."
Jade stares at me. For one second, I see the woman who used to curl into me on the couch, who laughed at my terrible jokes, who made me feel like I was enough exactly as I was.
Then she looks away.
"I'm going to take a shower before dinner."
She leaves before I can respond, and I stand alone in our kitchen, surrounded by ingredients for a meal that won't fix anything, wondering how much longer I can carry this secret before it destroys us both.
My phone pings again.
I don't even look this time. I delete the message without reading it.
But my hands are shaking as I pick up the knife, and the guilt sits heavy in my gut.
I did this to us.
Chapter Twelve
JADE
I wait until Devon leaves for the gym before I start investigating. Yeah—investigating, because that’s what it’s coming down to. Not trusting my husband in the slightest means I’m hunting down the truth instead, like some sort of psycho bitch.
So, yeah, I’m searching for evidence that my husband is lying. I’ll either find it or prove I’m losing my mind.
I’m not sure which I prefer.
I pour coffee I probably won't drink and sit at the kitchen table with my laptop open, telling myself this is normal. Wives check things. It's not crazy to want the truth.
Our credit card statement loads first.
