Without a Word

My wife stands in the doorway of my hotel room, silent tears streaming out of pain-filled eyes, washing away all my hopes and dreams with them.

I set the undressed woman, her icy blonde hair now curtaining her face, away from me, and turn around.

"God!" I'm raging as I rush to throw some clothes on. Why is she here?

I grab my hair and yank at it while yelling her name.

She's left me behind without a word. Not a single word.

---

DREW

The wet warmth encompassing me as I ease myself forward is one of the best feelings I've ever experienced. It doesn't matter how many times I've done this exact thing; the feeling never dulls.

While it feels amazing, it's not enough to stop the memories that tease my mind back to the first time I looked upon my wife and knew I loved her. The day I knew I would want her to be my wife, take my name, grow old beside me.

We were so young then. I was just seventeen. She was two years younger; not old enough to drive a car, but she drove me crazy. June was always flitting around her house when I was hanging out there with Reed, her brother. He's my best friend, brother more like. June would storm into the room and suck up all my attention, all my oxygen, with her thick mane of mahogany hair and angelic face, always buried in a book.

A deep hum of pleasure makes my manhood twitch and brings me back to the present. This happens often, nearly every time. My mind reminding me of all the reasons I fell in love with June, bombarding me with scenes while I intercourse my way through them. I can't ever seem to block them out, no matter how I try.

Every push, I go deeper. She's good at this. She can take it. I move my hand to tangle it in the hair at the back of her head and guide her farther down my shaft, nose pressed to my groin, and I hold. Just a few long seconds, just a few stolen breaths, before I pull her back and set a faster pace.

The day I knew June was the one for me, I'd gone over to the Turners' after practice. I had been feeling under the weather for days, fighting through it. Both my father and my coach wouldn't care that I needed extra rest, not with the State Championship game coming up. Push through it, they'd say. Just push through it. At the Turners', I would have a chance at some peace, maybe a nap. I was asleep in Reed's room when she tiptoed in, wearing too short cutoff shorts and a thin white tank top, a pink bra strap falling off one shoulder. She carried a tray laden with soup, an enormous glass of water, and some vitamin C. I stared at her as she placed it down on the bedside table, then put her small hand on my forehead to check for fever.

I sensed the life flow to me from her cool hand. I know now that it was love. June was always giving everything she had to me or Reed, taking nothing in return. She was everything I dreamed of. Caring, smart, beautiful. Mine.

I stared up at her perfect face, sweet, rose-colored, heart-shaped lips. I knew it, even then. She's still perfect now, a dozen years later. Even with the scars she's collected over the years.

It was not the first time my eyes lingered longer than they should on my best friend's kid sister. Not by a long shot. I always tried to hide my longing for moments when no one else was likely to be paying attention. Including June. Me, being the idiot teenage boy that I was, it still didn't make me unaware of June's schoolgirl crush on me. I knew. Reed knew, and if he thought I reciprocated at all, he would take no pause in ham-fisting his way right through my skull.

I was a little prick, but I wasn't stupid. Defiling a young June wasn't a path I was going down for a multitude of reasons, Reed only being one of them. Besides, I wanted her pure, virginal. She was those things when I did, finally, allow my filthy hands to touch her, though she'd likely not claim to be pristine.

I had little good in my life at that point. Reed and June, their parents—they were my good. The only light in my dark world. I spent most of my free time at their house. Not that I had much of it between school, football practice, training, games. Mrs. Turner always fed me when I dropped in. She'd lecture me on homework and grades. She was the mother I needed before I knew I needed one.

Mr. Turner enforced the importance of reliability, being a man of your word, a standup guy, a gentleman.

I should have appreciated his efforts more, taken his words and actions to heart. If I had, maybe I'd be different now. Maybe I wouldn't be so full of chaos.

Slender fingers slide from where they've been gripping my hip, gradually traveling down to the inside of my thigh, then back until they reach my sack. They cradle softly, then begin a slow massage, around and around. Both of us know what comes next, and I widen my stance in preparation. Leaning my head back, I take in how the lights of the active city outside are playing on the ceiling of our darkened hotel room. Globes of pink filtering through the drapes trace across my vision, flashes of white too. I hear the thrum of a bus as it travels by, the honk of a car horn, so many voices adding to the constant noise in my head.

It all quiets as my abs constrict. Peace as I push the head back away from my manhood and spill over the flushed cheeks and pretty, swollen lips. It's a gorgeous sight, one much needed after the hard game I played tonight and the even harder hits I took. Something like drunken double vision takes over, though I'm completely sober. One eye seeing the sight in front of me, one seeing the innocence of my wife the first time I had her in this position. A few hard blinks wash the sight away.

A soft tongue licks me clean, like it's her job. I guess it kind of is; she knows what I like, how to please me after all this time together. Once she's done, I run my hand down her head and cup her cheek. She stands and turns to walk into the bathroom. I watch with appreciation as her hip bounces away.

I hear the call of room service over the knock on the door. Pushing my legs into my boxer briefs and grabbing a few bills I set on the dresser, I go to let them in.

"Hey, can you just drop it on the table?" I ask and point to the other side of the room and drop the bills on the tray, turning my back to the young woman. She looks barely legal, and I wish I had thrown on a T-shirt and sweats before opening. Keeping my back to her and the door, I grab the remote and flip channels until I find the sports highlights.

I try not to watch these, knowing it's always better to wait for the official film review with Coach. He doesn't like his players to listen to commentary, and I don't like to hear it. I want to see what went wrong tonight, though. They sacked me four times. Four times. Bruised and battered is a feeling I'd like to avoid the next time we face this defense.

I've been a starting NFL quarterback for only a handful of seasons. If I have any more games like this, my career will be short. But not sweet. I'm young and I'm fit, sure. Even I can't take too many beatings like the one I took tonight. I never look at our offensive line as the first to blame. I'll always look at the other team first. Maybe they were just that much better. Tonight, I have my doubts; we were off. If there is a broken link on our team, I need to find it and repair it.

My goal has never been to be one of those quarterbacks who play well into their forties, but we've hoped for a solid decade of excellent play. This life is hard. Hard on my body, hard on my time, but hard on June, too. It's taken a heavy toll on her career and she has a hard time settling and making friends. Ballers' wives and girlfriends are a lot higher maintenance than June is used to. I've made promises to her for things to come, after the sacrifices she's made for the sake of my career. I want to keep them. Not just the promises I've voiced to her, but the ones I've made to her in my head, the ones I've left unsaid. I owe her all her dreams... and more.

Guilt knots in my stomach as a quiet voice says, "You're all set, sir." A moment later, the room door opens as she leaves.

"Dollface, dinner is here," I holler into the bathroom, its open door just to my right.

"I'm coming. You got release in my hair, babe. That takes a minute to get out," she responds.

I give a little laugh. I know she hates that . "Sorry, next round, I'll save it all for that tight hip of yours. I know that's your favorite and I neglected it last time."

She walks out and wraps her lithe nakedness around me, then shoves her hand in my boxers, waking my manhood back up.

"Mmm, yes, you did." She pouts.

It's the soft whimpering gasp that stops her hand. A gasp that sounds as loud as a bullet ricocheting several times off metal walls.

Right before it lodges in your heart.

A gasp that turns my blood cold.

I know that sound. I've heard it before.

It's the sound my wife makes when she's scared or hurt. The same sound she made two years ago when we received the call that her dad had perished in an auto accident. The sound she made just over five years ago when she woke up in a hospital bed, terrified, after being attacked by a man who had stalked her relentlessly. It's the sound that marks every horrific experience of June's life. The sound she made each time I had to wake her from her nightmares, for months. A sound that would have me rushing to her side, sliding my arms around her. Promising her everything will be okay and that I'll be by her side as we get her through whatever the problem is.

But everything will not be okay. Not now. It can't be. Maybe it never will be again.

Finding some strength inside me, some courage I didn't know I possessed, I remove the hand from my body. I set the undressed woman, her icy blonde hair now curtaining her face, away from me, and turn around.

My wife stands in the doorway of my hotel room, silent tears streaming out of pain-filled eyes, washing away all my hopes and dreams with them.

"Junie," I whisper, but it echoes in the still silence occupying this tomb.

She turns and walks out, shutting the door with a careful snick behind her. Calm. So composed, apart from that one small whimper and noiseless tears. It's such a June-like reaction, always so restrained when there is an audience. She only ever let her temper fly in private with me or Reed.

"God!" I'm raging as I rush to throw some clothes on. Why is she here?

Lorelai is quiet, unmoving. She's like a statue frozen in the middle of this hotel room. Pale, cold stone. A goddess with smooth, unblemished skin, ready to be worshiped by anyone who happens by. I don't have time to dwell on her or her panic, though. Not while my wife is running away from me with who knows what thoughts ravaging her mind.

Dressed, I shove my feet in some shoes, grab my room key, then dart down the hall to the bank of elevators.

This makes no sense. She shouldn't be here. She has never once in any of our time apart sprang a surprise visit on me. Never. She shouldn't be here. The look in her eyes—so raw, so much pain. Worse than after her attack, even. Those brief seconds will haunt me forever. if I don't deserve that.

None of my rushing is of any use. By the time I've stepped out onto the lobby floor and almost taken out an elderly couple as I push outside to the street, June is closing the door of a cab and pulling away.

I grab my hair and yank at it while yelling her name.

She's left me behind without a word. Not a single word. I crave the quiet moments in my life. The few brief seconds when my guilt isn't plaguing me, or my hate isn't pushing me in directions I ought not to go. But June's silence is never a good thing. It's not something I look forward to or seek. When June is quiet, it's because she's internalizing, she's hurting, she's haunted. I never wanted to cause that, and this time it feels like the calm before my entire world implodes.

I'm not sure how long I've been standing on the sidewalk, staring at the fading taillights. They've blended into the traffic now, indistinguishable from the rest. I blink a few times, then move to head back into the hotel, only to notice several people with their cell phones out, all pointed at me.

My heart racing, I hang my head and make my way back inside.

Back to Lorelai.

Into the arms of a woman who is not my wife, but my relief.

A woman I don't love, but I cherish. A woman who has saved me in some ways, yet is also my greatest downfall.

JUNE

Nearly three hours on the flight back to Seattle, and my mind still feels like pebbles rattling around inside a tin can. There hasn't been a single second of mental quiet since the scene in Drew's hotel room. I'm moving on adrenaline alone. If I stop now, I'll pass right out.

I can't believe any of this is happening. We've seen so little of each other these past few weeks. I thought it would be a pleasant surprise to show up after his game. Stay with him until he'd be traveling home with the team tomorrow. I guess I now know why Drew has been having me travel with him less and less these past months.

The air I try to drag into my lungs feels stifling as tears well in my eyes. I don't want to lose my mind in the middle of the airport. There's something horrifically tragic about a lone person breaking down in public. Pitied by all the passersby, choking on the awkwardness of it all.

Besides, people here will recognize me as the wife of their beloved home team quarterback. Drew has never kept me in the shadows. He often has me with him at public events, charity fundraisers, visits to the local children's hospital. They know me as a woman in love with her husband, proud of his accomplishments, supportive of every move he makes.

Right now, I don't feel proud at all.

What would they see if they looked at me now? A shattered woman with no hope for the future? Feeling it is one thing, allowing the world to see it is another. I've accomplished so much over the past five years and I can feel it all fluttering away, as if the rope I've been climbing is finally too much to hold on to.

How could he do this to me? To us? I've lost count of the number of times I've asked myself that, since fleeing his hotel. The other question I keep asking is, for how long has this been going on? I witnessed the familiarity with my own eyes. The ease with which they spoke, in how she touched him. My husband. My Drew.

Maybe that isn't what he is anymore. Mine. I can't help but wonder if he ever truly was.

My brain tells me it wouldn't be any different if I knew this was a one-time hookup. Cheating is cheating. This still feels like a much larger betrayal, though. A bigger hurt.

I'm so lost in my head that I don't notice the body stepping in front of me until it's too late. Strong arms engulf my small frame and I soak up the warmth and comfort only Reed's hugs give me. I texted him when I was back at LAX and had secured a seat on a flight home. Failing to tell him why I needed him to pick me up earlier than planned, I knew he'd be here, regardless. However, I'm surprised to see him waiting just outside of the security gate when he'd usually be waiting in the cellphone lot to pick me up on the curb.

Raising my head to look at him, I know he knows. The look in his overwrought eyes says it all.

"Drew called you?"

I haven't turned my phone on since I landed back in SeaTac. After texting Reed in Los Angeles, I immediately shut it off. Drew had called twice, which I ignored. He'd also sent several texts, which I also ignored. They still sit unread. He must have given up on me and called the one person he knew I'd run to.

Reed nods and squeezes me a little tighter.

"I'm going to kill him, June. Forget about being a divorcée, you're going to be a widow." He doesn't mean it, of course. Reed's a relatively passive dude, even if his size would suggest otherwise. Standing at six-foot-four, he's a commanding presence. The broad shoulders, tattoos, and thick lumberjack beard don't help any. That's not to say he wouldn't physically cause some harm in the defense of me. He would, he likely will, but he loves Drew, too.

Reed moved with us to Seattle when Drew landed his contract here, and he's very much embraced the Pacific Northwest lifestyle. Flannel shirts and all. He's completely acclimated in the year we've been here. I wonder how he does it. I still feel like I'm floundering.

"You didn't know, then?" I ask, but I know the answer. I guess I just need the reassurance that he's on my side and not his best friend's.

Reed's eyes narrow and he holds me out at a small distance so he can see me better.

"Of course not. Do you honestly think I'd keep something like that from you? Or that I'd even allow Drew to carry on with screwing around? Jesus, Ju."

"No. I know you wouldn't. I'm just feeling wounded here, Reed. Did he tell you what happened?" A tear leaks out of my left eye and I shrug my shoulders in defeat.

"Not in so many words. Come on, let's get on the road where we can talk without extra ears around." Wrapping a protective arm around my shoulders, he leads the way. I snuggle into him, partly to lean on his strength, partly to help hide my shame from the rest of the travelers.

I shouldn't feel ashamed. Drew should. Yet, I do. His cheating makes me feel unworthy. As if I'm not good enough to be his wife. Or maybe I'm not enough to keep him satisfied sexually. That is an area that needs improvement.

That thought can lead me down too many paths I'm not ready to face yet. But one thing I can't help wondering is if this woman is the only one.

There could be many. There probably have been many. My stomach rolls, and bile rises, stinging my nostrils.

Drew didn't have girlfriends in high school or college, but he hooked up constantly. I never saw him with the same woman more than a few times before he replaced her with the next. As if there were some invisible expiration date only he knew about.

Questions bombard me. Maybe he never wanted to marry me at all. It was such an unexpected proposal. He'd never expressed an interest in dating me, much less marriage. Never pecked me until I woke up in that hospital bed and witnessed fear in his eyes. My family had been taking turns sitting with me. I woke up on his watch, and when my vision cleared, it was him I saw. It was Drew who held me tight in his arms as the memories of being attacked rushed through me. Drew who weathered that pain with me.

I finger the long, puckered scar at the base of my neck. It's an involuntary motion. A habit I have yet to break and a constant reminder of that night.

Drew has always been aware of my love for him, much to my utter mortification. I'd assumed for years that he loved me too but needed to sort that out in his head. Always believing he'd come around eventually, and he had. Hadn't he? It didn't bother me it was my near-death that finally woke him up to it. I clung to whatever he gave me. The reason for his affection wasn't an issue for me as long as it was there. Fragility and fear are not the best bedfellows when making major life decisions. I can admit that now, considering my marriage is in shambles and apparently nothing about Drew has changed.

Guessing for days wouldn't get me any closer to understanding how he could tear our marriage apart in such a way. Knowing his motives won't help. There is no justification for such cold-hearted infidelity.

Before I even realize we've made it to the car, Reed is loading me into his SUV. I must have completely zoned out because he's even buckling the seat belt on me like I'm a child. I feel like one, too. Weak, too small to care for my own self.

We're already on the freeway before either of us speaks. The smell of tension fills the air. Panic and confusion on my end, pure anger on his. Reed has always been the protective older brother. He had misgivings when Drew declared he wanted to marry me. Somehow, Drew convinced Reed that his intentions were honorable. Reed won't take pleasure in being right in his concern.

"Tell me what exactly happened, Baby Girl. Don't spare details to help him look better than he is, either."

"I missed him, you know? Thought it would be nice to surprise him, and I had some news to share. He'd texted me the hotel and room number like he always does, in case of emergencies or whatever. I decided to just show up. When I got there, room service was leaving. I entered just as she left."

Calming my heart rate that has picked up again, I watch as Reed's fingers tense on the steering wheel. His knuckles whiten from the force. My hands rub along my thighs in a nervous gesture. I don't want to see the replay in my mind again. Not ever.

"His back was to the door, and he called out to someone. Dollface... he called her Dollface, told her their dinner had arrived."

I recount the rest of the story through a sheet of tears, watching the blurry cars fly by. Wondering if any of the passengers have ever walked in on a spouse and their lover. Certainly, at least some of them have experienced betrayal, but it's hard not to feel alone right now.

"God, Ju."

"Yeah. " I confirm, resigned to being a sad sack of depression and self-pity for the foreseeable future.

"I'm taking you back to my place. I'll go by your house tomorrow and grab whatever you need."

"No. Take me home. I'll pack a bag and find a hotel in the morning. I'm not sleeping on your couch. Or making you," I say.

"Why aren't you freaking out? I'd expect you to be hysterical. You're kind of scaring me."

Me too.

"I don't know, Reed. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel. Do you suppose there is a manual for this? A book that will tell me how to act when I catch my cheating cherry of a husband with his mistress?" I sigh, pressing my forehead to the window. It's cool and the raindrops running down outside feel calming. Cleansing, somehow. As if they can wash it all away. I wish they would.

Reed chuckles. "No, Ju. No manual. But I feel like I'm closer to histrionics here than you are. I don't like it. It makes me worry."

Of course it does. It was always my way—keeping things inside. After my attack and therapy, I made strides to stop that behavior. To express my feelings, my concerns more. It's difficult still, erasing a lifetime of habits. Unhealthy as they may be, it doesn't happen overnight. But I've made small progressions.

"Part of me wants to be hysterical. Part of me wants to curl up in a ball and cry for a month. Another part of me thinks I should have taken a steak knife off their room service tray and chopped off his manhood. A bigger part of me doesn't want to become the pathetic wife who's made a fool of, time and time again by the philandering husband."

That much is true. Whatever way this all plays out, I will not be the villain in it. And, while I am the victim of Drew's duplicity, I will not act like one. I've been there and fought too hard to get out of it just to go back. Also, I'll be screwed if the tabloids try to turn me into a prudish prig wife or a psycho.

"Yeah, okay. I get that. Just, you know, don't hide from me, okay?" There's a deep concern in his voice. I get it, I do. And I hate that my past is the reason it is there.

"I'm not that same person anymore, Reed. I'm not saying this will be easy, or that I'll breeze through it. We both know that would be a lie. But I am stronger than I used to be. I'll be okay. Somehow," I say with as much reassurance as I can muster and try my best to believe the words.

Truth is, I don't know if I'll be okay. Catching the love of your life with another woman has a way of making you question your entire existence.

I don't say much else for the rest of the drive to my house. It's not a home. Especially not after today. But it never felt like one to me, anyway. When Drew was traded from San Diego to here, he rushed to find us a house. Because of a motivated seller, we got a good deal and could move in right away. The plan always being that if things worked out with the team, we could take our time to find something we loved.

I don't love this house. In fact, I kind of hate it. Never more than I do right now as I unlock the front door and step in. It feels cold, lifeless, and sterile. Ultra-modern, not warm or inviting.

Real estate is a strange infatuation I have. I don't want to be a real estate agent or anything like that, but I've always dreamed of restoring some crazy old homes or haunted mansions. Something about bringing a home full of history back to life completely fascinates me. I'll spend hours looking at real estate listings online, imagining what I could do to the house and all its pre-established personality.

Some people deep dive into serial killer documentaries. My rabbit hole is historically interesting homes. I can spend endless hours searching real estate listings online. Drew teases me about it, but often, when I find a good one, he falls in love with it, too.

Which only made his quick purchase of this house even more annoying. Finding a house was a distraction he didn't want to deal with. I understood because we were going through such a big relocation, and he was going through a big career change.

Maybe what he really wanted was a place to hide the wife away so he could quickly get back to his intercourse buddy.

I had done little to nothing to this house. There wasn't anything about it that inspired me.

"You sure you're going to be okay, Ju?" Reed asks as he drops my small suitcase inside the door.

"No, Reed. I'm not sure of anything anymore. I love him and I hate him. I don't know if I'll ever be okay again."

The tide breaks when Reed wraps me in another one of his epic bear hugs, and I let it. The tears flood, sobs erupt from my chest, and my knees give out. Reed takes the burden, picks me up, and hauls me upstairs to my bedroom. He gently lowers me to the bed and pulls the blanket from the foot up and over me.

"I'm not leaving you. I'll crash in the guest room. If you need me, you come get me."

I nod.

"I'll be okay. I'll sleep for a few hours, then pack what I need. If you're not up by the time I'm ready to get out of here, I'll wake you."

He leans over to peck my forehead, then exits the room, closing the door softly on the screaming of my dying heart.

DREW

I pace the hotel room, my phone pressed against my ear, listening to June's voicemail for the tenth time. My calls go straight there now. No rings, just her recorded voice telling me to leave a message.

"What the hell are you going to do now?" Lorelai asks, fully dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I need you to leave," I say, my voice hoarse with emotion.

"Drew—"

"Now, Lor. Just go." I can't look at her. Can't bear to see the woman who might have just cost me everything.

She sighs, gathering her purse. "Call me when you've figured things out."

The door shuts behind her, and I'm alone. Properly alone. I dial Reed's number, knowing that's where June will go. He answers on the first ring.

"You son of a bitch."

"Reed, please. I need to talk to her."

"She doesn't want to talk to you. Can you blame her?"

I sink onto the bed, head in my hands. "Is she okay?"

His bitter laugh slices through me. "Is she okay? Are you serious right now? No, Drew, she's not fucking okay."

"What was she doing here? She never comes to away games anymore."

"Maybe she should have started showing up sooner," he spits. "She had news for you. Important news."

My stomach drops. "What news?"

"Not my place to tell you. Maybe if you weren't too busy getting your dick wet with some side piece, you'd know."

I wince at his words, deserved as they are. "Reed, I know I fucked up. Please, just tell her—"

"I'm not your messenger. Fix your own mess." He hangs up.

I throw my phone across the room, watching it bounce off the wall. What news could June have? My mind races through possibilities, none of them good.

I need to get home. Need to see her. Need to explain.

But what is there to explain? That Lorelai is just physical? That I've been weak? That I still love June more than anything?

All true, but none of it matters if June won't listen.

JUNE

I wake with a jolt, my face sticky with dried tears. The digital clock reads 3:17 AM. My head throbs and my throat feels raw. For one blissful moment, I don't remember why I feel so terrible. Then it all comes rushing back – Drew, the blonde woman, the casual intimacy between them.

My phone sits on the nightstand where Reed must have placed it. Sixteen missed calls, all from Drew. Twenty-three text messages. I can't bear to read them.

Instead, I open the drawer and pull out the small white stick I'd hidden there three days ago. Two pink lines. Clear as day.

I'm pregnant.

That was my news. The surprise I wanted to share with Drew in person. Now it feels like a cruel joke – creating life with a man who's been living a double life.

I slip out of bed, careful not to make noise that might wake Reed. In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and stare at my reflection. I hardly recognize the hollow-eyed woman looking back at me.

"What are you going to do?" I whisper to myself.

In this moment, I have no answer. Everything I thought I knew about my marriage, my future, has shattered. And now there's an innocent life involved.

I place a hand on my still-flat stomach. Whatever comes next, whatever choices I make, they won't be just for me anymore.

Morning comes with the gentle patter of rain against the windows. Seattle's perpetual gray seems fitting for my mood. I hear Reed moving around downstairs – the clank of a pan, the coffeemaker gurgling.

My phone buzzes with an incoming text. Drew.

"Please come home. We need to talk. I love you."

Three simple statements. The last one makes me laugh bitterly. If he loved me, truly loved me, we wouldn't be here.

I dress quickly in yesterday's clothes and make my way downstairs. Reed is at the stove, flipping pancakes.

"You're up," he says, sliding a mug of decaf tea toward me. I reach for it gratefully, then pause.

"How did you know I'd want tea instead of coffee?"

He gives me a knowing look. "The test in your bathroom trash last week. I wasn't snooping, just emptying the bins while you were out."

My eyes fill with tears. "I was going to tell him. That's why I went to LA."

Reed sets the spatula down and pulls me into a hug. "What do you need, Ju? Just tell me."

"Time," I whisper. "Space to think."

"You can stay with me as long as you want."

I shake my head. "No, I need... I need to get away from Seattle. From everything that reminds me of him."

Reed nods slowly. "Where will you go?"

My mind drifts to a listing I'd been obsessing over for months. A rundown Victorian in a small coastal town north of Seattle. Beautiful bones, as they say in real estate, but neglected for years. The owner had been trying to sell it for almost a year with no takers.

"I think I might know a place," I say, pulling out my phone and finding the saved listing. "Somewhere I can breathe."

Reed's eyebrows rise as he scrolls through the photos. "You want to live in this? It needs a ton of work."

"That's exactly what I need right now. A project. Something to focus on that isn't my imploding marriage."

He hands the phone back, concern etching his features. "What about the baby?"

"I'll be careful. But I can't stay here, Reed. Not with reporters who'll be all over this story once it breaks. Not with Drew showing up at every turn." I take a deep breath. "I need to figure out who I am without him. Who I want to be for this child."

Reed nods reluctantly. "I'll help you. Whatever you need."

As I sip my tea, a plan begins to form. A rustic house by the sea. A fresh start. A chance to heal. For me, and for the life growing inside me.

It won't be easy. Nothing worth having ever is.

But for the first time since catching Drew with another woman, I feel something close to hope.