“She attacked me first!” I shouted, pointing at the mess of my hair, the torn edge of my shirt, the blood beading on my cheek.
Denver didn’t even hesitate.
“Alicia, what is wrong with you? Are you insane?”
“She started it!” I yelled, eyes wide. “She provoked me! She said—”
“Shut up.” He snapped the words like a whip. “God, you’re pathetic. You’re always the problem.”
I stood there in shock as Patricia sniffled behind him, clutching her fake wounds.
Denver looked me in the eye, with the coldest look I had ever seen on his face. “You’re nothing compared to your Patricia. She’s elegant, composed. And you? You’re just a bitter mess.”
The room went silent. The silence after betrayal is different. It’s heavier. More permanent. He didn’t even bother checking up on me.
I am his wife! But none of it matters now.
That night, I cried myself to sleep. The scratch on my cheek throbbed, but the pain in my chest hurt far worse.
The morning after I made up my mind, Denver asked me to go with him to shop for the upcoming gala event. I said yes for the last time.