Page 19 of The Husband I Left

“Just wondering,” I say as I pick out clean underwear and a bra and slip into them. I poke my head around the closet door. “A girl wonders about these things when she’s discovered her husband was unfaithful.”

“I’m not sleeping with Victoria,” he says, and there’s a pleading note in his voice now.

I study him for a moment and then shrug. “I don’t believe you.” I duck back into the closet and pull on a sundress. “But it’s fine, Oliver. Really. You have Victoria. And now I have Evan.” I emerge from the closet and pick up my hairbrush.

Oliver runs a hand over his face. “Genevieve — Genny, this isn’t you. You’re not like this.”

“How would you know?” I counter. “You barely even look at me anymore. You just look through me. When you’re even here.”

He shakes his head, at a loss.

I walk over to him and bend down so I can whisper in his ear, “The thing is, Oliver, there’s nothing you can do. I know the truth now, and the only thing left for me is to make you suffer. Just a little bit.”

I duck back into the closet before he can reply and start sorting through shoes. From the bedroom, I hear my husband groan. It’s a low, miserable sound.

I grin at my reflection in the mirror. Round two goes to me.

Chapter 5

Genny

I have a new problem, one that I did not anticipate prior to my showdown with Oliver. I cannot get rid of my husband.

For months, I felt like I was living with a ghost. I ate dinner alone while my ghost husband attended business dinners. I slept alone while my ghost husband worked late at the office. I talked to the empty air of our penthouse while my ghost husband flew to Chicago and London and Singapore with his very corporeal assistant at his side. I could go more than a week without seeing his face. The only proof of his existence was the yellow strip of light under his office door at night.

Now suddenly he’s everywhere and he won’t leave me alone.

The morning after our confrontation, I shuffle downstairs for breakfast only to find him sitting at the kitchen island. It’s a quarter past nine in the morning. On a Monday. But there he is, suit jacket draped over the stool next to him, scrolling on his phone and sipping his coffee and completely unconcerned with how late it is. He looks up when I come in, and I stop so fast that my socks skid on the tile.

“Good morning,” he says.

I look at him. I look at the clock on the wall. I look back at him. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Did somebody die?”

His mouth twitches. “Not that I’m aware of.”

Mrs. Stewart meets my eyes over his head, her expression bewildered. I just shrug. I have no idea what’s going on. I sit down, and she hands me a plate with an omelet and fruit. I eat, but I also can’t stop staring at my husband.

“Why are you still here, Oliver? It’s after nine. You’re never here this late. I used to have to set an alarm for five-thirty if I wanted to see your face in the morning.”

Oliver looks a little pained at that. “I just decided to go in a little late this morning. Have breakfast with my wife. Is that such a crime?”

“Whatever you think you’re doing, it’s not going to work,” I tell him, and then I stand up and walk away. I hear him sigh as I leave.

Next morning he’s there again. This time, he asks me what my plans are for the day. I tell him “stuff” and he asks “what sort of stuff” and I tell him “the kind of stuff I do without you” before walking out again.

He starts coming home on time for dinner. The first time he did it, Mrs. Stewart just stared at him in shock and then hurried to set another place at the table.

“I thought we could eat together,” Oliver says, looking at me hopefully. I decide this isn’t going to do at all and invent plans on the spot.

“Sorry, no can do. I have dinner plans with Evan. He just loves to cook for me.” Ignoring his crestfallen look, I walk over to the door and slip on my sneakers.

“You’re going out like that?” Oliver asks, taking in my sweatpants and faded t-shirt.

“Yep!” I tell him cheerfully. “I don’t need to put on a show with Evan. Don’t wait up!” And I walk out the door and I don’t look back.