I’ve been—”
“It’s not just that,” he said. “It’s everything. You don’t take care of yourself. You don’t wear makeup anymore. You wear sweatpants every weekend. You don’t even try.”
I sat there with my hands in my lap.
“I’m tired, Max. I’m so tired.”
“Everybody’s tired,” he said. “Other women manage.”
Other women.
I should have heard it then. I didn’t.
Three weeks later, I found out.
I’m not proud of how. I looked at his phone. He’d left it on the counter while he was in the shower. It lit up with a text.
Can’t stop thinking about this morning.
The name said Claire Trainer.
I picked up the phone. My hands were shaking. I opened the messages.
They went back four months.
I’m not going to tell you what was in them. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to forget. But there were pictures. And
