Her words stung, but I couldn’t deny the truth in them. I had been blind. I had let myself believe that Braxton was something he wasn’t. But now, the cracks were showing, and it was only a matter of time before everything fell apart.
Later that night, Braxton came home, reeking of alcohol. I could smell it the moment he stepped through the door. His clothes were rumpled, his eyes unfocused, and he was holding a small gift box in his hand.
“Here,” he slurred, tossing the box onto the coffee table. “Got you something... a bag. Thought you’d like it.”
I stared at the box, then back at him as he stumbled toward me, arms outstretched, trying to pull me into a clumsy hug. I slipped out of his grasp, my patience running thin.
“You’re drunk,” I said flatly. “Go take a shower.”
Braxton blinked at me, surprised, but I didn’t give him a chance to argue. My tone was sharp as I added, “I mean it, Braxton. Go clean up. I don’t want to deal with you like this.”
He grumbled something under his breath but stumbled off toward the bathroom. As soon as he was gone, I opened the box, revealing a light green handbag inside. It was cute, delicate... and utterly meaningless now.