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And now, I was back home—attempting to clean out my closet.
I mean—our closet.
The puppy loved jumping into the baskets with Trey’s clothes.
Trey enjoyed that a lot less than she did.
So, the guilt finally got to me, and I decided to make some room for his stuff.
I’d taken everything off the top shelf and set it on our bed.
It was mostly suitcases and sweaters that I never wore anyway.
If I could stuff a smaller suitcase into Trey’s bigger one, that would free up a ton of space.
In the process of opening his suitcase—a few orange bottles tumbled out.
I snatched them up so the dog wouldn’t.
“No, no, no,” I whispered to myself as I felt a hot flush travel through my body.
I plunked down on my ass beside the suitcase. “Please don’t be what I think you are.”
I turned the bottles around in my hand.
My stomach started to roil.
Then I went through the other bottles in the suitcase.
It took a bit because there were so many of them.
I read the drug type.
And the dates.
My heart stopped beating.
My ears stopped working.
My brain tried to come up with every excuse as to why he’d have these.
My eyes refused to blink.
The dates were all after he’d promised me he was done with the painkillers.
He’d told me he could quit them.
He’d said he didn’t need them.
And here was the evidence of his lies.
I knew what this meant.
If anyone in the world knew—it was me.
My heart cracked straight, directly in half.
I knew how this story ended.
