Page 37 of The Husband I Left

“You are a selfish, cruel idiot.”

“I know. I know I am. I saw you in that ballroom on Evan’s arm, and it was like the universe smacked me upside the head.” He looks down. “I’d spent months so pleased with myself for being three moves ahead of everyone, and then you walked in and it was like the floor dropped out of the building. I couldn’t breathe. I stood there in front of two hundred people and I could not breathe.”

The tears I’ve been holding back finally spill over, and I swipe them away with the back of my hand. I stand up. My legs feel unsteady beneath me, but I ignore it. I walk over to where my bags wait by the elevator, my back to him.

“Genny, please.” His voice follows me, desperate. “Give me a chance to make things right. I know I screwed up. I know I hurt you. But I love you. I love you, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I promise.”

I pick up the overnight bag and sling it over my shoulder.

“Genny, please. Please wait.” I hear him get up. “I’m not asking you to forgive me tonight. I’m not asking you to forget any of it. I’m asking you for a chance. One chance to make this right. Whatever that looks like, however long it takes—”

I grab the handle of the suitcase and tip it onto its wheels.

“Please.”

I reach out and press the call button.

There’s a soft thud behind me. I turn around.

Oliver Sinclair is on his knees.

“I know I screwed up,” he says, and his voice is shaking. “I know I screwed up worse than any man has ever screwed up anything. But I love you. I love you, Genny. Please give me the chance to prove it. Please. Please don’t walk out that door.”

For a long moment, I just look at him. I look at him, and I feel everything. The love. The hurt. The rage.

“Fuck off, Oliver.”

I step inside the elevator. The door shuts. The elevator descends. I lean back against the wall, close my eyes, and let myself cry.

Chapter 12

Oliver

The whiskey burns on its way down, but not enough to scorch away the memory of Genny walking out the door. I signal the bartender for another. I’m not sure how many that makes now; the surroundings have started to blur at the edges, but it’s not enough yet to let me forget that she’s gone.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” a familiar voice says beside me. “Though I hope you’re watering his down at this point.”

Leo slides onto the stool next to me. Despite the late hour, his suit is pristine, every hair perfectly in place. Leo has been my best friend since we were kids, and there are very few people who know me better than he does.

“Any luck yet?” Leo asks, accepting his drink with a nod.

I don’t answer. I just glare at him and take another long swallow of my drink, feeling it burn all the way down. The question is so stupid it doesn’t deserve a response. If I’d had any luck, would I be sitting here trying to drown myself in alcohol?

Leo chuckles, the sound grating against my already frayed nerves. “I’ve got to say, I wouldn’t have thought Genny had all this in her. Sneaking strippers into one of your mother’s parties? Right under Frederick’s nose? Masterful. And walking out on you after getting you to confess everything?” He whistles low. “The woman’s got more fire than any of us gave her credit for.”

I still don’t answer. Because the truth is, I didn’t expect any of this from Genny either. Not the defiance, not the revenge, not her walking out on me without even once looking back. My Genny always smiled and went along with things.

From the moment I met her, she let me set the tone and pace of our relationship. When we got married, she did everything my mother demanded of her. She straightened her wild red hair, traded her colorful clothes for tasteful neutrals, learned how to behave at the events my mother dragged her to. She bent and adapted and conformed, and I… I let her. No, more than that, I expected it.

Genny has a collection of stuffed animals, gifts that I brought back from business trips, souvenirs from our travels together. If the animals had suddenly become sentient and savaged me, I wouldn’t have been more surprised than I was by this new version of my wife who appeared these past few weeks. This Genny who schemed and plotted, who showed up to the gala looking like sin itself with another man on her arm, who ordered male strippers to her graduation party in order to humiliate my mother and me, I don’t know this woman. All I know is that I don’t want to lose her.

“—even listening to me?”

Leo’s voice cuts through my foggy thoughts, and I realize he’s been talking this whole time.

“What?” I ask, my tongue feeling too thick for my mouth.

“I said,” Leo repeats, looking amused, “it’s actually kind of hot, isn’t it? Realizing what Genny is capable of. All that passion, that fire. The way she just took control of everything. Makes you wonder what else she might be hiding.”