Page 12 of Ravaged With You

“I—” I draw in a breath. I don’t want to go there, but I know I have to. “I asked him for a divorce.”

Beside me, I feel Red shift. I glance that way and see the surprise in his eyes. I’m surprised, too. He and Mel were best friends, but apparently this is news to him.

The detective must also have noticed Red’s reaction, because the next question is addressed to him. “You didn’t know? Your friend and partner, but he didn’t tell you that his wife wanted a divorce?”

“No. This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“We’d grown apart,” I say, though no one has asked me to elaborate. “We’ve been married five years, but the last three…” I trail off with a shake of my head. “It wasn’t working,” I say simply. “I kept hoping things would get better, but about six months ago, I told him we should separate. He said we should try harder, but nothing changed. Three months ago, I hired an attorney and drew up settlement papers.”

“I see. And what stage is the divorce in now?”

I shake my head. “He still hasn’t signed. I didn’t want to push or formally file with the court. I know him. He’s slow to wrap his head around things, but I knew he’d realize I was right. I—I’d hoped we could still be friends, but we couldn’t stay married.” I tug my hand from Red’s and clasp my own together. “We made a mistake getting married in the first place.”

The detective nods slowly. “And did you see any change in his behavior in the last three months? In his mood?”

“You mean any signs that he was suicidal?” I shake my head. “God, no. He was distant and hurt, but nothing like that.”

“Did he move out? Did you?”

She knows I didn’t, obviously, since the officer found me at the house.

“Not technically,” I say. “But he stayed away most nights.”

“Where?”

“He didn’t tell me.” I look at Red. “I assumed with you.” Red shakes his head, and a spark of anger rises in me. “Well, there you go. Another reason I was right to file.”

Red and the detective exchange glances, and I exhale, frustrated and angry. Angry with Mel for killing himself. Angry with myself for feeling like it’s my fault. And angry with the woman I am almost certain he’d been fucking behind my back, but he’d been too ball-less to admit as much even when it was clear the marriage was over.

“Another reason?” The detective was looking at me, compassion in her eyes. “Was your husband having an affair?”

“Yes. No.” I shake my head. “The truth is, I don’t know. But I think so. He has a friend—well, a new friend—who owns a hotel. And for about the last six months he’d stay there overnight sometimes. He’d text and tell me he’d drunk too much and that his friend comped him a room.”

“A hotel?” Red asks. “Which friend?”

“Just a guy he met in some CrossFit group. I don’t remember his name. But if it’s important, I can find out. I remember that this guy needed some corporate legal work done, and Mel referred him to one of the partners. I’m a legal assistant,” I add, though the detective probably already knows that.

“Did he end up working with your firm?”

“I don’t know. I work on the litigation side. Is it important?” I can’t imagine why it would be.

“Probably not,” she says, confirming my thoughts. “We’ll let you know if we need to pursue that. But I don’t think we will. I am sorry, Mrs. Swift. Dealing with suicide is hard enough without the invasive questions.”

“No, it’s okay. I want answers, too.”

“Was this the guy he was talking with about the supply contract?” Red asks.

“I don’t know. He never mentioned a supply contract to me. Which doesn’t mean anything. It’s been a minute since he talked to me about important stuff. But to be honest, I don’t think he was negotiating anything. I think—” I cut myself off. “Never mind.”

“Ms. Swift. Please.”

I don’t want to talk about it, but I know I have to. “I think that was bullshit to cover the affair, okay? He told me that if I didn’t want him at home, he’d stay in a room at the hotel, but he wasn’t going to tell me where. He said if I couldn’t stand not knowing where he was or what he was doing, then I must not really want a divorce, and I couldn’t have it both ways. He didn’t say so, but I assume he’d been using the room as a place to take his lover. Now, I don’t know. Maybe there was no hotel at all, and he was just going to her place.”

I swallow. “And the truth is, he was right. I didn’t care.”

Red puts a hand on my shoulder, and I draw a breath, letting his strength and compassion calm me. What I want is to scoot closer so I can put my head on his shoulder and cry, knowing he’ll comfort me. But I can’t do that now, not while this detective is asking her questions. And I shouldn’t do it later. Because with Red, there’s the danger of compassion turning to something more.

Or, more honestly, the danger is that I’d want it to.