Page 118 of Big Dick Energy

He followed me to the door anyway, his barking having downgraded to suspicious grumbling.

I opened the door.

Sam stood on my porch like she'd stepped out of a corporate thriller; cream blazer sharp enough to cut glass, tablet clutched like a weapon, her dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Her smile was the kind that preceded either very good news or really bad news. With Sam, it was often difficult to tell.

“Sam.” I blinked. “Dallas isn't here. He's at the gym.”

“I know.” Her smile didn't waver. “I'm here to see you.”

Sam didn't make social calls. In the four months I'd known her, every appearance had come with an agenda attached.

“Oh.” I stepped back, pulling the door wider. “Okay. Come in.”

Ricky, apparently deciding this particular human was acceptable after a thorough sniff of her designer heels, abandoned his post and trotted back toward his bed with a huff. He circled three times before flopping down.

“Can I get you some coffee?”

“That would be lovely.” Sam followed me into the kitchen.

“So.” I kept my voice casual as I moved to the coffee maker. “What brings you by?”

Sam settled onto one of the barstools at the kitchen island, crossing her legs. She set her tablet on the counter, the screen dark but somehow ominous.

“I wanted to touch base,” she said. “Things have been going remarkably well. The public perception of your marriage is excellent: the viral podcast moment, the arena incident, the pap shots of you two looking sickeningly in love. The narrative has shifted completely. Dallas's reputation has never been stronger, and the dump them at twenty-three rumors… Gone.”

“That's... good?” I poured her coffee into one of Dallas's ridiculous oversized mugs.

Sam accepted it. “Very good. Which is why I think it's time to start introducing some trouble in paradise.”

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Nothing dramatic.” Sam waved a hand as if she were discussing a vacation instead of my marriage. “Just some subtle hints that all isn't perfect. You attend an event alone, looking pensive. Dallas is photographed without his ring at a gym, which is easy to explain away as he didn't want to damage it during training. We plant a few blind items, let the speculation build organically.”

I stood frozen at the coffee maker, my own mug halfway to my lips. The ceramic suddenly felt too heavy. Too cold.

“Why would we do that?”

Sam's perfectly groomed eyebrows rose. “To begin the separation narrative, of course. We always knew this would have a shelf life. The six-month mark was the minimum, but honestly, with how well everything's gone, we could probably start the transition now and have you both cleanly divorced by spring.”

The word divorced landed in my chest like a physical blow.

“Sam.” My voice came out strange like it belonged to someone else. “I think there's been some kind of miscommunication. Have you talked to Dallas lately? Because we decided, we agreed, that the divorce wasn't happening.”

Sam tilted her head, studying me. “I spoke with Dallas yesterday. He's the one who asked me to start putting together the timeline for the separation.” She scrolled through something on her tablet. “He even requested recommendations for divorce attorneys, good ones, he said, to make sure everything goes smoothly for both parties.”

The coffee mug slipped from my fingers.

It didn't shatter; it was too sturdy for that, but the noise it made hitting the counter was loud enough to startle Ricky from his bed. He came trotting into the kitchen, whining softly, pressing his body against my ankles.

I barely noticed.

“That's... that's not...” The words wouldn't form. My brain had stalled, gears grinding against information it couldn't process. “We decided... I thought we decided...”

I love you, he'd said.

Had I imagined that? Had I somehow constructed an entire alternate reality where my husband wanted to stay married to me? We’d never really discussed it. We hadn’t said the words we wanted to stay married, but it was definitely presumed when he said he loved me. Maybe it had only been presumed on my part.