Page 100 of The Marriage Mistake

“Don’t go,” she said.

“I have to.”

She pulled away, her face red and splotchy. Jack reached for her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she buried her face in his chest.

I was a monster. I met Jack’s gaze, and I knew he was thinking the same about himself. We’d been selfish and stupid and shortsighted to do this to Darby. The shame of it was overwhelming. All I could do was run away from it, leaving the two of them behind.

Three miles outside of Marswood Harbor, I had to pull over and sob.

Then I wiped my face, pulled myself together, and kept driving.

JACK

She left her rings on the bedside table in the attic room. I stared at them for a long time. She was gone, and that was good. We had our house back. Things could go back to normal. I would be able to focus on my daughter the way I had before.

I’d been selfish to get involved with Ember. It had been a massive mistake.

But it was over now.

Maybe if I kept telling myself that, it would eventually feel like the truth.

TWENTY-SIX

EMBER

My apartment smelled stale. I stepped onto the floating laminate wood-look floors I’d had installed two years ago. They had been a safe, practical choice: hard wearing, easy to clean, and cost effective. But when I walked on them, they sounded hollow.

As hollow as I felt.

After wheeling my bag inside, I stood in the middle of the room and looked around. The floors were a gray-toned fake wood. The walls were plain white. My cabinets were white. The countertop was gray. My couch was light gray. My rug was a swirly, abstract mix of cream and gray. The artwork above the couch was a black-and-white skyline of Chicago. I’d bought it because it was inoffensive. My lamps were chrome. The coffee table was beige wood, and I never put anything on it. My plants had died while I was gone, and they sat in brown, curled-up heaps in the corners of the room.

I lived in a sad, gray box. A mausoleum of safe choices. The culmination of everything I was and everything I would ever be. An exact replica of the person I was. Flat. Dimensionless. Boring.

I opened the fridge. A few condiments, but nothing more. I’d cleared it out, knowing I’d be gone for at least six weeks. The freezer held a few pre-prepped meals, labeled and dated. I took out a small container of chicken and rice. It would taste bland after I defrosted it in the microwave.

Bland like me.

It was no wonder Jack hadn’t actually wanted me. He’d fed me the same bullshit he shoveled at every other woman, making me feel special and beautiful and cherished. But the truth was right here in my home. There was nothing interesting or special about me.

I warmed up the chicken and rice and took a bite. It was indeed bland, but I still ate it. Then I unpacked my things, took a shower, and went to bed.

My life was remarkably unchanged. I slipped right back into my old routines without missing a step. I shopped for groceries and did laundry. I cleaned and cooked and worked. I listened to podcasts and read books. I existed exactly as I had before, but I felt like I’d died and somehow gotten stuck as a ghost, doomed to repeat the patterns of my life for all of eternity. Drifting through the world but never part of it.

I thought about the fact that if I died in my apartment, no one would find me until my corpse started stinking so badly the neighbors complained. And then my remains would get cleaned up, and I would be no more. I would leave no impact on the world. No one would miss me.

I’d spent a month feeling joy and love and compassion and frustration and understanding and pleasure. A month of light and laughter. Companionship. Love.

Now I made my little dinners and tucked myself into my little bed, and it all felt so fucking pointless.

I thought about my father’s money, and I told myself it would all be worth it once I got the payout. Then I could pay Jack his share and close the door in my mind that our contract had left cracked open. I could divorce him and be done with it.

When I got the money, I’d be able to fund my retirement accounts, build up my savings, and⁠—

And—

And what?

Go on vacation? Where? Why? What was the point?