"I can't. I don't trust you anymore. Every time I think I know what happened, there's something else. Another lie or another text from her?—"
"I blocked her." Devon's voice is urgent. "Yesterday, after you left. I blocked her number completely."
"You should have done that before."
"I know."
“I’m glad you didn’t, or I still wouldn’t know, would I?” I glare at him, and he has the grace to drop his gaze.
This fucking man.
Katrina shifts, and I remember we're not alone. That my best friend is watching my marriage fall apart in her perfect condo.
No wonder she’s single.
But I have to do something, because I still love him so fucking much, and as much as I’m trying to enjoy his agony, I can’t. But I’m in so much pain. I can’t just move on. Maybe we could try marriage counseling. Maybe?
“What about therapy?” I ask. "Both of us. Together and separately."
Devon nods immediately. "Anything."
I study him. We can’t really afford therapy, but we can’t move on from this in tatters. I need someone to help me. I literally can’t even face going home. I’m struggling to face him.
"And I'm not coming home yet."
I can’t.
Pain flashes across his face, but he nods again. "Okay. I understand."
"This isn't forgiveness, Devon." I need him to hear this. "This is me agreeing to try. That's all I can offer right now."
"It's enough." His voice cracks. "It's more than I deserve."
Then my phone beeps on the coffee table.
I glance down automatically, expecting my mom's name. She knew Devon and I were having problems, but I couldn’t tell her he’d kissed Mila. It hurts even thinking it.
It's a text from an unknown number.
UNKNOWN: Hi Jade. I hope you and Devon work things out. But if you ever want to hear my side of what happened that night, I'm here. Mila.
The blood drains from my face and I sway.
"Jade?" Devon's voice comes from far away. "What is it? What's wrong?"
I look up at him—at my husband, who was crying with relief thirty seconds ago—and I feel the thread between us snap.
"She's texting me now."
Devon's face turns white, and Katrina curses.
I turn the phone around so he can see the screen, and I watch him read the message, horror spreading across his features.
He stares at me, helpless. "I'll get a lawyer. A restraining order. Whatever it takes?—"
"Stop." I hold up my hand, and he freezes. "I can't do this right now."
I stand; my legs unsteady and walk toward the guest room. Devon doesn't follow. He knows better.
