Her silence was answer enough. Okay. I walked back to my chair, sat down, picked up my book. You should pack a bag. What?
A bag, Rachel. Clothes, toiletries, whatever you need for a few days. I think it's best if you stay somewhere else for a while. James, please. This isn't negotiable.
You violated our marriage. You lied to me for 6 months. You used our money to fund your affair and now you need to leave. We'll figure out the rest later, but right now, tonight, I need you to not be here. " She started sobbing deep, gasping, so that shook her whole body. I don't have anywhere to go.
You have parents 20 minutes away. You have friends. You have Marcus. I opened my book to a random page. You'll figure it out.
You're good at figuring things out behind my back. I love you, she said desperately. I still love you, James. This thing with Marcus, it doesn't change how I feel about you. I looked at her over the top of my book and maybe she saw something in my face that scared her because she flinched.
Rachel, you spent the last 14 days in paradise with another man. You swam in the ocean with him, slept in his arms, woke up next to him, planned a future with him, and during all of that, how many times did you call me? Three, three, five minute conversations where you fed me lies about conference schedules and networking events. So, don't tell me you love me. Don't cheapen that word more than you already have.
She sat there for another minute, maybe hoping I'd change my mind. Maybe trying to find some combination of words that would fix this, but there was no combination, no magic spell, no way back to the morning when she'd walked in glowing with sun and secrets. Finally, she stood up and walked upstairs. I listened to her moving through our bedroom, opening drawers, pulling clothes from hangers, the sounds of a life being dismantled, one article of clothing at a time. 20 minutes later, she came down with a duffel bag in her laptop case.
She paused at the door, looked back at me. What happens now? Now you leave, and tomorrow we start figuring out what the truth costs. I really am sorry, James. I know you are.
That's the saddest part of all of this. I genuinely believe you're sorry. You're just not sorry enough to have not done it in the first place. She opened her mouth like she wanted to say something else, then thought better of it. The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Her car started. The engine faded into the distance. And then I was alone. I sat down the book I hadn't been reading and walked to the window. The storm had passed, leaving everything wet and clean and new.