Kenneth was more than a friend. As my classmate, he watched the whole story unfold—me making a fool of myself over Margaux, trailing her like a shadow, then pretending I didn’t care while she chased that reckless fling with Archie.
Even after Archie left her, I kept holding on. He saw me at my lowest: holding Margaux when she broke, when she drowned herself in liquor, when she spiraled into depression, and when she attempted, more than once, to end her life.
Every time that happened, I stayed.
I was the one who wrapped her up in my arms and whispered, "I'm here, Margaux. I'll always be here. I won't leave you."
As I was reminded of that, I didn't answer Kenneth immediately.
But my voice came out calm, even when I finally said, "She went to the airport to pick him up."
A heavy silence fell between us.
Kenneth went quiet. He didn't have to ask who I meant.
Archie.
That name alone was enough to twist something inside me. The guy wasn't just a chapter from the past. He was the wound that never healed. Not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to throb every damn day.
Even after six years of marriage, Margaux never really let him go.