family photograph catches my eye.
I feel like such a prick. He just fucking died. I shake my head and scowl. She doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need some prick bossing her around and using her like I am. I swallow the lump growing in my throat and pull my pants up. I need to get the fuck out of here.
She deserves better than this. Better than me.
I huff a humorless laugh and push my emotions down. She’s too good for me anyway. And I have no place in my life for her. I start to open her bedroom door, but I can hear her humming a lullaby to her little boy. My heart clenches, and tears prick at my eyes. I don’t fucking cry. She said she hates me. Told me to get the fuck out. That’s fine. I can do that for her.
I take a peek down the hall. The door is only cracked. I clench my fists and walk silently past the door and keep going. I don’t look back or even wince when the floorboards squeak on the stairs. I don’t stop moving until I’m at the front door. I hesitate, but only for enough time to hear her words in my head over again.
She hates me.
I take one last look at the house before opening my car door. Her picture-perfect home that I forced myself into. I climb in my car and leave her behind.
It’s only after I’m halfway home that I realize I forgot my tie. At least she’ll have a piece of me to hold onto. Sadness overwhelms me.
I’m sure she’ll just throw it the fuck out. I would.
Becca
I wake up to the sound of Jax squealing into the monitor. My hands fly to my eyes to rub the tiredness away. They’re so sore. It hasn’t been that long since I’ve cried myself to sleep. Divorce and death will do that to even the strongest women. So I’m not ashamed of that.
But I am filled with shame.
I roll over onto my back and stretch my sore body. My pussy hurts from last night. Evidence of what happened. I let it happen. I wanted it to happen. My throat closes, and my chest feels hollow. I can’t cry over this. I don’t even want to believe it happened. I wish I could just forget him.
What’s even worse though is how sad I was when I heard him leave last night. It fucking hurt listening to him sneaking out and hearing the door close. I held Jax longer than I needed to. Long after he’d fallen asleep in my arms, I just couldn’t let him go.
As if on cue, he screams, “Mommy!” and my room fills with the sound of his little voice. The hint of a smile graces my lips, and I climb out of bed. Time to get ready. I way overslept. But it’s Tuesday, so at least there's no weekend rush. I can get him ready and off to preschool before heading in to the restaurant. Sarah will pick him up, and I’ll make spaghetti. Jax’s favorite. I shake my hands of this numbing anxiety racing through my body.
It’s over. I ended it. My heart pains as it twists into an unforgiving knot in my chest. It shouldn’t hurt this much to do the right thing.
Why does it hurt so much? I’m so tired of being in pain.
I hate the start of the week. There’s always so much shit that needs to be done. I need to make sure everything is correct with inventory first. I’ve got to order everything by two to make sure I'll have it all by lunchtime on Friday. I breathe in deep. I have my checklist on the laptop. I’m supposed to interview managers and another assistant manager today. But I don’t have the time.
I know I should make the time because it would really lighten my load to have the extra help, but there’s just so much to do. And I really try so damn hard to be home every day by five, six at the latest, so I can be there for Jax. Of course, I almost always have to go back to work using my laptop as soon as he’s asleep. But as long as I’m there for him when he’s done with preschool and at soccer practice, that’s what matters.
I can’t miss this time with him. They don't stay kids forever.
I park my car in my spot. The same spot I've parked in every