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“Now Daddy has to go and train—will you sit quietly with Carrie here till Daddy gets back?” The boy nods again. With a quick smile and a light squeeze on my shoulder, David jogs back to the field where practice is resuming once again.
Harry’s too busy playing with the new soccer ball and doesn’t pay much attention to me till his ball slips away and I go to retrieve it.
“Do you like it here in the US?” I ask as I hand him the ball. The boy politely nods.
What do you talk to a five-year-old boy about? I’m stumped. Even though I love kids, I haven’t been around many, especially since I’m an only child.
“Mommy says that we are going to stay here forever,” he suddenly speaks up in the cutest voice possible.
“Really?” I try not to let on, but my heart sinks. I feel bad about asking the little boy questions but it feels like I have no other choice. I need clarity.
“Mommy loves daddy very much, huh?” I say slowly. The boy nods again.
“Mommy fights with daddy,” the boy confesses, with his big expressive eyes staring up at me. “But she says, you only fight with people who you love.”
If he were anyone else’s child, My heart would’ve melted at the cuteness but his words aren’t giving me any peace of mind. Children don’t lie and they're perceptive. Maybe there is something still going on between David and Lucy. The question is whether I want to stick around to find out what? I know the answer to that question.
“Mommy tells me Daddy will take me to Disneyland. And he will also get me a baby brother.”
I purse my lips, emotions all over the place.
“I don’t want to leave daddy again. I want to live in that big house with mommy and daddy,” he says, snuggling closer to Carrie. I hug him, as I don't want him to see the sadness on my face. Then ruffle his hair gently.
“Yes, baby. You'll live in that big house with Mommy and Daddy and you'll be happy forever.” Tears well up my eyes, as I stare yet another impending heartbreak in the face. I blame myself for getting too attached to David. I blame him for being so damned charming and I blame the universe for being so unfair to me. I deserve better. I don't deserve these failed affairs with famous men.
Sometime later, Scott walks up the bleachers and I decide to make my exit, leaving Harry in his care. There’s no need to wait for David anymore. There’ll be no more lunches, no more kisses on balconies and no more David Adams. It’s simply time for goodbye.
David has a happy family and there’s no place for me in his life. Besides, I can’t be the other woman. Maybe it’s okay for these rich and famous folk to treat flings as a common occurrence but it’s not for me. With a single tear falling down my cheek, I send David a text late in the night. ‘I'm sorry for everything. Goodbye!’
All the frustration, disappointment and resentment I’d build in my heart over the past few weeks take the form of tears that flow freely through the night. I’ll be okay, sooner or later. But I’m not going to forget the lessons I’ve learned anytime soon.
In the morning when I wake up, there’s a single text message waiting for me on the phone. Surprisingly, it’s from Max. ‘Check your email :)’
I have no idea what it’s about. Two emails are sitting in the inbox. The first one is a letter of termination issued from Coyote. Max could’ve asked me to put in a formal resignation so it wouldn’t look bad on my resume, but he doesn’t care. He’s already on a mission to destroy my life.
The second email is from Max. The subject line says ‘Enjoy!’. The body of the email contains a link to the Coyote website. No other text.
At first read, I’m confused. It’s an article about David, credited to me. Sure, I wrote an article on David but this is not the one… besides I didn’t hand over my article to Max. Still, there are plenty of sentences that were in my article as well. This is not a coincidence, I think, as alarm bells ring in my head.
The article, supposedly written from my point of view, slams David as a misogynist, bigoted, womanizer. It exaggerates his drinking and his wild lifestyle in general. I’m shocked. David’s nothing like that, and besides, I would never ever write such lies, especially about him.
My temper rising, my face becomes hot with fury and I hurriedly dial Max’s cellphone number.
“I was wondering when you’d call,” He says smugly.
“What the hell is this?”
“Why, it’s only the article you wrote for us, your previous employers.”
“I didn't write this.”
“That’s not what it says on there. Let me see, it says ‘written by Carrie Tucker.’ Yep, that’s you,” he laughs.
“So you just took my article and twisted and deformed it to fit your narrative.”
“I don’t know what you're talking about. This is what you submitted to us,” he chuckles.
“How the hell did you even get this? I didn’t send my article to you.”
