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It hurt so fucking bad.
Two of the most important relationships in my life—gone in seconds.
One of them I’d had for more than ten years and had been with me through hell and back.
People would question why I didn’t simply walk away this morning when I’d found the texts and the pictures on his phone. Why I didn’t approach them in private, let them know what I’d found, and talk about it like adults?
That would be because…why the hell did I have to be the bigger person?
Why did I have to walk away with my heart in shreds while they skipped off into the sunset like they weren’t the ones in the wrong?
No.
Fuck that.
Call me vindictive.
Call me petty.
But as I rushed through the foyer at the rear of the church and out the double doors, I didn’t regret one damn thing.
And if that made me the villain, then I’d be the villain.
The sunlight struck me directly in the eyes as I stumbled out into the fresh air.
Lifting my dress, I kicked off my shoes, the offending objects flying into the manicured hedge that bordered the building. It took some skill to get down the stairs on my own. This dress is not only completely impractical but also heavy as lead. The gravel of the parking lot dug into my feet and ripped and practically tore shreds off the bottom of my dress as I fought my way across it to the footpath while trying to remember which street in this small town I’d seen the sign for a bus stop.
My pride refused to go back and ask for a ride—a small detail I hadn’t considered when I’d concocted this plan a few hours ago. Until now, anger and hurt had fueled me, and those were the only two things I’d been able to focus on.
We were at least an hour from Boston—from home—and my cell was back in the cottage, so calling an Uber or a cab wasn’t going to happen either.
I was on my own.
But it wouldn’t be the first time.
Probably not the last.
And like every other time, when I glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone was coming after me, there was not a single soul. No one calling for me to come back, no one yelling for me to wait so they could stand with me in solidarity. Nope, when I said on my own, that’s precisely what I meant.
It was what I got for standing and speaking rather than sitting and shutting up. My heart did not allow me to see something was wrong and instead merely watched on, especially if it was hurting someone I love. As a result, I’d been arrested, I’d been in the news, and I’d been thrown out of the house—to name a few.
I’d also learned a lesson about who I could and couldn’t trust.
At least, I thought I had.
But seems like a couple had slipped through the cracks.
The road I was now walking was the main road through the small town we were in, meaning cars were flying by, people honking their horns or practically sticking their heads out the windows of their cars to get a good look as I waddled down the street. I couldn’t blame them, really. Unable to keep from staring at the disaster in front of you, it was like driving past a car wreck.
Now, I was that disaster.
Finally, I made it to a street corner with a handful of signposts, one pointing toward the bus station, which was in the opposite direction, back past the church. I bit hard on my lip, fighting the tears, but determined to keep them at bay until I could get somewhere on my own, where I could finally process exactly what had happened today.
I didn’t know what to do next.
So I did nothing.
I collapsed onto the grass next to the sidewalk and leaned back against the picket fence bordering the house at the corner. It was almost impossible to breathe, and now I was on the ground it would take at least another person to help me get back up.
