Unhinge - Calia Read Page 0,83

I could pack up my clothes.

I saw Sinclair frequently, but we weren’t living together; there was a big part of me that was terrified of what Wes would do to Sinclair if he had the chance.

I shuddered at the thought.

My heart was still this fragile thing, slowly trying to piece itself together, but I loved Sinclair. He knew the basic facts, but he didn’t know why. It was bad enough that I had to face the truth of my relationship with Wes; why would I have wanted to share that with the world? I felt embarrassed¸ humiliated.

Every day Wes called me begging to talk. Every day I pressed IGNORE, because I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t get sucked back down into his life, even if I couldn’t completely ignore it.

As much as I wanted to hide beneath my covers and avoid everything, I had to face reality.

I stared down at the screen for a second longer and pressed CALL.

It rang twice before he picked up.

“Victoria? Victoria?” Wes sounded out of breath, as if he had run to get to the phone.

I took a deep breath. “We need to talk.”

—

In my mind, I saw this conversation going south. All I saw was Wes getting angry.

In fact, I was counting on it. That’s why I wanted to break up during dinner. In public. With witnesses. I picked out a restaurant that he took me to frequently when we were still in love. It had good memories. There had been so much darkness in our relationship since then that I just wanted to hang on to a small piece of good.

“Sorry I’m late,” Wes rushed to say. He kissed the crown of my head, a gesture he used to make all the time in the beginning of our marriage, but rarely now.

“It’s fine.”

Wes didn’t offer an explanation for being late and I didn’t ask; I already knew the answer. Work.

He sat down across from me, scanning the menu with focused concentration. The waiter got our order and there were no more distractions.

We looked at each other. He gave me a wide smile and asked me about my day, seeming genuinely interested in what I had to say. It was disarming.

But that was his MO: a long stretch of kindness and short bursts of anger. If I kept that fact in the forefront of my mind, I could get through this.

“Victoria, are you okay? You look a little pale.”

Before I replied I downed the rest of my wine. My hands were shaking. I laced my fingers together and waited.

The first course arrived.

Now or never, I told myself. You have to tell him.

“I can’t live like this,” I blurted out.

The truth can do one of three things: free you, break you, or complete you.

I hovered among the three, just waiting for Wes’s reaction. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and frowned. Confusion was written across his face. “Like what?”

“This. Right now.” I gestured at the space between us. “I can’t do this anymore.”

I braced myself for an outburst. Violence. But instead I was met with silence. It was unnerving and threw me off guard. Maybe I was making a mistake. Maybe things could go back to normal. Maybe…

No, my mind whispered fiercely. You have to do this.

Swallowing my nerves, I said very quietly, “I want a divorce.”

The words were just as painful to say as I thought they would be.

Wes dropped his fork. His hand moved across the table for my hand. I tensed, but at the last second he pulled away, looking like a man at war with himself. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered gruffly.

I didn’t reply, just carefully tracked every move he made.

“Where did this even come from?” he asked.

His shoulders drooped in defeat and he hung his head, staring blindly at his food. He said nothing and the conversations at other tables drifted around me. On some level, I think he knew this was bound to happen.

Ignoring the others around us, he reached out for my hand. I pulled back at the same time. Only our fingertips touched.

“I love you. I thought everything was perfect between us.”

At that, I frowned. “Perfect?”

“Everything was stressful because of work and you not being able to get pregnant—”

“This has nothing to do with work or pregnancy,” I quickly cut in. “At the beginning I might have thought that. But, no, this has everything to do with how you treat me.”

“I treat you fine. I give you everything, Victoria. A few fights and you’re