Does he have a mistress?
It is sad that I hope he does because then I get to keep the kids when he leaves me. I don’t know what he has in his trust, and I really wouldn’t care if I get it or not. I have plenty of money from another coldhearted man who just used my mother as a punching bag.
During my free time, I research about adopting a baby. It turns out that if I foster to adopt, it might be a lot easier. Also, married couples get preference over a divorcée. God, am I already thinking about the divorce? Is that too premature?
I look around the empty house and realize that I’m fooling myself by sticking around. We are over.
We’ve been over for a long time.
When I look at Buster and Daisy, I wonder if bringing a kid might change Pierce’s mind. We could adopt or at least foster some children. There are four empty bedrooms upstairs that could be filled with the laughter of kids who need love.
But would it change anything?
I could adopt a dozen kids, but that won’t make him love me.
The fleeting infatuation he had for me never changed from anything more than just lust and desire.
A small voice inside me asks, what if he’s scared, and that’s why he’s running away from us?
If only I knew who this Carter guy was…maybe his boyfriend? Pierce could be bisexual, and he’s trying to block that part of his life. Well, now I’m turning this into a drama.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” I scream, and my voice echoes all through the empty house.
It’s lonely and cold, like my heart.
Just like Pierce’s attitude toward me.
Similar to a sad January winter, ironically this is an unseasonable week in June. Muggy, cold, and dark.
For a long time, I can’t bring myself to think that this is over, but I can only lie to myself for so long. Today is the day I confront him and turn the page. We either finish this sentence and start a new paragraph with a brighter beginning, or we close the book of us forever.
So, I wait for him in the living room, which is very close to the house entrance. His eyes find mine the moment he steps in the foyer. It’s way past midnight. He bows his head as he takes off his shoes.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
“As long as you don’t bring up the subject of having a child,” he states.
“What’s the point of being married?” I ask.
“We wouldn’t be the only couple without a kid.” His voice is forceful.
“You could’ve told me before. We could’ve discussed it years ago,” I argue. “I’m so angry at you and myself. I have come to realize that we never speak about anything important. Our plans go as far as the next vacation or what we’re having for dinner.”
I huff. My eyes narrow slightly when I realized this conversation should’ve happened a long time ago.
“That was before, when we would spend some time together,” I amend. “I’m not blaming you for everything that’s happening. It’s my fault too. I let you get away with vague responses and deflection. We acted out of infatuation. There’s nothing tangible between us.”
“That’s the conclusion you came up with because I don’t want a fucking baby. You dismiss three years together because you’re not getting your picket-fenced-two-point-six-children suburbia dream,” he argues. “I’m tired and not in the mood for a round of nonsense, Leyla.”
Being with a lawyer for so long has taught me one important thing. He knows how to twist, switch, and change the narrative.
“No, what I get out of it is almost three years of living with a man who likes to avoid important subjects,” I answer. “The kid is just the last drop in this little charade that we call our lives. You didn’t give me an option to decide if I wanted to marry you despite your life choices.”
He runs his fingers through his hair. His expression morphs into despair, but it’s gone immediately. I hate when he uses his lawyer in the middle of court manners. “What if you chose not to be with me?”
My hands move to my hips. I stare at him with rage and disappointment. I want to yell at him. The air around me steams with anger. My gaze averts to where the door is, and I wonder if he’s going to leave or if we’ll be able to finish this conversation. For the sake of fixing something,