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Wife?
Her grip releases, and my hand slowly lowers back to my side.
Wife.
I take a trembling step back.
Wife!
Beckett’s married?
My mom curses and my dad murmurs something before rushing out the patio doors to the backyard.
Mrs. Stoleman finally finds her voice, “I don’t understand what’s going on!”
The woman… Beckett’s wife… doesn’t look so cocky anymore. But she’s still here. In Beckett’s parents’ house. A welcome guest. And then it hits me. Like a brick to the face, the pieces slam together.
Sitting in this very house. Wearing my red velvet dress. Having Beckett talk to 15-year-old me like he actually sees me. And then she comes in. Kira. The lap-sitting, attention stealing bitch.
“Where is he?!” my brother’s angry voice slices through the air.
Mrs. Stoleman sputters before replying, “He’s getting cake.”
Cake? He’s missing this disaster because he’s getting cake?
A laugh starts to build in my chest, but as it rises, it morphs into something much sadder and I clamp my lips together to hold it in.
Wife.
The hurt doesn’t take over in a single moment. It’s not just suddenly there. But there’s something about it that just feels inevitable. Like I’m standing at one end of a long illuminated hallway, watching as the lights click off, one at a time, until the darkness is right in front of me.
Mom says something to me, but I can’t listen. I need to get out of here before that last light clicks off. Before the shadows swallow me whole.
“Elouise, honey,” Mom reaches out for me.
I take a step back. “I need to go,” I whisper.
“But-” she starts to argue.
But I shake my head, “It’s a misunderstanding.”
It’s not. It’s so not. Whatever this is, it’s malice. It’s awful. And I can’t be here for one more second.
“Please stay.” I plead, knowing that’s the only way I’ll be able to quickly leave.
“Yes, this must be a misunderstanding,” Mrs. Stoleman repeats, grasping for straws.
A mixture of anger and empathy fills my mom’s features, but she nods, letting me pass.
It’s not that I think anyone will have a nice lunch after this, it’s just that I need to leave right fucking now. Because if I wait, Beckett might come back, and I can’t face him right now.
Not now.
Not ever.
Keeping my head down I hurry down the hall.
Footsteps follow me, and I know it’s my brother before he even speaks.
