Isn't that just typical? Our marriage always played by her rules, my needs and words forever in the backseat.
Jane throwing everything away for Winston wasn't a shock.
But her skipping our daughter's funeral to be with him? That I never saw coming.
Holding onto a faint hope, I had expected at least a sliver of remorse from Jane on that call.
None came.
Her earlier apology wasn't for Emily—it was out of fear I knew about her fling with Winston.
It felt like a slap across my face, the sting fierce and burning.
My fingers shaking, I typed out a message.
[Jane, let's get a divorce.]
I sent it, and then immediately pulled it back.
It almost slipped my mind—we never did get that marriage license.
I headed back from the cemetery to what she calls home, really just a pit stop for Jane.
She's glued to Winston, only gracing our home with her presence if I plead enough for her to see Emily, just for a night.
By morning, she's out, treating us like the plague.
I cleaned Emily's room meticulously, wiping away the dust and setting everything in order.
Then I tossed out all of Jane's things and told her assistant to haul them off.
But the assistant never showed—Jane did.