okay then. Not feeling the same way about someone was okay. A simple “I can’t explain it. I just don’t feel the same,” was enough. There were usually hard feelings for a while, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Giving up after four kids and twenty-two years of marriage felt like the end of the world.
Why was I okay with letting the world end?
“What? Just tell me what I did to make you feel this way.”
“It’s not …” I blew out a slow breath and forced my tear-blurred gaze to meet his again. “It’s not one thing, Craig. Like it wasn’t one thing that made me fall in love with you. It’s a whole bunch of little things.”
“Like what? Elle and Shaboink?”
“Yes.” I glanced out the window, grieving with more tears. It all made sense in my head. Everything put together made sense. It was enough. I just didn’t want to tell him everything because I knew it would be heartless and self-centered. It would sound petty. And saying it was unnecessary because it wouldn’t have changed anything.
“And?” he prodded.
“Let’s not do this.”
“No.” His tone held a sharp edge. “If it’s over, then we’re sure as hell going to do this.”
I shook my head and batted away the tears. “No,” I whispered.
“Fine.” He stepped closer to me. “I’ll go first.”
“Craig …” I continued to shake my head. I didn’t want to do it.
“You’re a fucking nag all the damn time. Always nagging me about leaving the cap off the toothpaste. I don’t make the bed right or load the dishwasher right. You’ve been riding my ass about fixing the shower drain, but the reason it doesn’t drain right is because of all your hair clogging it. When I don’t use perfect English, you just can’t help yourself. You always have to correct me like anyone else gives a shit if I say ‘ain’t’ or ‘gonna.’ And why the hell should I make some grand effort to woo you when half the time you shoot me down? Are a dozen roses really going to get you to spread your legs for me? Shouldn’t you do it because you’re my wife and I work my ass off to be a good provider?”
“No! I don’t spread my legs for roses or a paycheck. I’m not a whore, Craig.” I fisted my hands and gritted my anger through clenched teeth. “If you want me to spread my legs, maybe you shouldn’t pick your nose, roll it up, and flick boogers all over the house! Maybe you shouldn’t overeat like a garbage disposal and burp in my face two seconds before kissing me! Maybe you shouldn’t wink at every woman you see and play it off as you being friendly and me being a snob!”
“You are a snob!” He pointed a stiff finger at me. “A food snob. A book snob. A cleaning product snob. If someone smokes, you look down on them. If someone drinks more than two drinks, you look down on them. Gordon uses chemicals on his lawn, but you just know his kids and dog are going to die from cancer, yet they haven’t. We’re the last to arrive at parties and the first to leave. Snob … snob … such a nose in the air snob.”
I opened my mouth to spew a second round of insults. Then I closed it, cupping my hand over my mouth, and pinching my eyes shut as I silently sobbed.
Twenty-two years.
Four kids.
Memories I would cherish forever.
Why did it have to end like that? Slinging insults.
Because it’s real … and truly heartbreaking.
“W-what’s going on?”
I choked on my emotions, swallowing them back down my throat as my eyes flew open, landing on our daughter, Bella.
Craig grabbed his truck keys from the counter and brushed past our daughter in her long, red nightshirt, black hair like his—but long and ratted like mine in the morning—eyes like a raccoon’s from not removing her makeup before bed. “Ask your mom. She’s the one who’s trying to break up our family.”
Two seconds later, the door slammed behind him, and a confused Bella redirected her attention to me—eyes unblinking with confusion as Meadow sat at her feet. “Mom?”
Chapter Two
I love him, but I don’t love the fifty pairs of stinky socks in his trunk.
* * *
Finn made his way downstairs shortly after Craig stormed out. He was home for the holidays, and the twins were arriving the following day. I sat Bella and Finn down for some real talk, knowing