His nose had turned bright red from the cold, but he never complained. Not once.
When I was sick with a fever, he'd stayed up all night at my bedside.
He'd even cried when I was too delirious to wake—actually shed tears because he couldn't bear to see me suffer.
Then he'd doused himself with cold water in the middle of winter until he caught a fever too.
"I can't stand watching my Jade hurt like this," he'd said. "Let me hurt with you."
But that was five years ago.
Now, Warren Gilbert was rotten to the core.
He was out there cheating, flirting with other women, chasing after young girls.
He'd lost all shame.
The only reason he kept dragging his feet on the divorce was because I earned more than he did.
We'd had screaming matches. We'd threatened to end it a hundred times.
But his cold silence always won. Every fight died without resolution.
I'd spent years wondering: Do people's hearts really change that fast? Or had Warren Gilbert been wearing a mask from the very beginning?
Five years, and I still couldn't tell.
I waited until he'd completely disappeared from view downstairs before pulling out my phone and dialing a number I hadn't called in a long time.
It connected instantly.