3
By The Time I Got Home, It Was Already Past Midnight
As I opened the door, I was greeted by the sight of Luke Harrison standing in the entryway.
M
<
He had clearly been home for a while. The floor around him was littered with cigarette butts, and the sharp, acrid smell of smoke clung to his clothes.
Luke used to smoke a lot when he was first building his business, a way to cope with the stress. But after we had our daughter, he swore he quit. He’d even said it was for her.
Occasionally, he’d do things like that–small, thoughtful actions that felt like sugar after a slap. Little gestures to make me forget how cold and distant he could be.
I opened my mouth, ready to bring up the divorce, but before I could say a word, Luke did something unexpected.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
From behind his back, he pulled out a box of pastries–from my favorite bakery, no less.
I shook my head, but he didn’t stop. He rushed to pour me a glass of water, fussing around the kitchen like he was too busy to stop and talk.
By the time he was done, I’d lost my nerve.
It hit me, then, that Luke wasn’t just stalling–he was avoiding the topic entirely.
And for a fleeting moment, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years: hope. Maybe he didn’t want this marriage to end after all.
But then my eyes drifted to the urn containing our daughter’s ashes, sitting quietly on the table.
And that flicker of hope died as quickly as it had come.
“Luke,” I began, my voice steady, “I want a div-”
Before I could finish, his phone rang.
The sound shattered the moment, and Luke eagerly grabbed it, relief flooding his face.
At first, it seemed like he just wanted an excuse to leave the room. But after hearing something on the other end, his expression shifted to genuine concern.
He quickly grabbed his coat, shrugging it on in a hurry.
On instinct, I reached out and grabbed his hand.
For a moment, he stopped. He looked at me, guilt flickering in his eyes, before gently pulling away.
“Mason’s sick,” he said, his tone full of urgency. “It’s just a fever, but I need to go check on him. I’ll be back soon.”
It was the first time in years he’d offered me an explanation for his absence.
But instead of softening, my heart hardened.
I couldn’t stop myself.
“What about when our daughter was sick?” I shouted, my voice breaking. “What were you doing then, Luke? Where were you when I was calling you?”
Years of resentment, frustration, and heartbreak erupted all at once, like a volcano that had been dormant for far too long.
To my surprise, he didn’t slam the door and leave.
Instead, he turned back and looked at me, his expression torn, as if he were weighing something in his mind.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he broke the silence,
“Faye,” he said quietly, “I’ve already lost one child. I can’t lose another.”
DER
9:15 AM
<
And with that, the door clicked shut behind him.
I collapsed onto the floor, the strength draining from my body.
His words echoed in my mind, ripping open old wounds that had barely begun to scab over.
It was always like this. Every time I thought I was close to reaching him, to understanding him, he would pull away, leaving me further behind
than before.
For the first time, I began to question everything–the years we’d spent together, the love I thought we had.
Had I been living a lie all along?
As I sat there, numb, my hand brushed against a glass on the table. It tipped over and shattered on the floor.
Instinctively, I stepped forward, barefoot, and the sharp sting of broken glass cutting into my skin jolted me back to reality.
Pain has a way of clearing your mind.
I didn’t pull out the divorce papers I had prepared. Instead, I picked up my phone and made a call.
“Hello? I’d like to file a lawsuit against my husband–for infidelity.”
