"Jessica brought this on herself. Who told her to cling to Walter so shamelessly? If she hadn't meddled, Charlotte and Walter would have reconciled years ago."
"Some people have thick skin. She doesn't even look in the mirror to see if she's worthy. Ugly women always try the hardest. Our bro and Charlotte are the perfect match."
They took turns tearing me apart, mocking my dignity. And through it all, Walter—my husband—didn't offer a single word of defense.
It was as if he agreed.
Yet only last night, tangled in the sheets, he had whispered in my ear that he loved only me.
"Alright, knock it off. She's been with Walter for years, after all..."
A coquettish, silvery laugh rang out. Charlotte Matthews had been in there the whole time. She sounded like she was defending me, but her tone dripped with condescension.
To them, I was a joke.
I retreated to the hallway. Wiped my face. Steadied my breathing. Then I dialed Walter's number.
He answered on the first ring. "Baby, are you back from the hospital? What are the results?"
Warm. Concerned.
If I hadn't just heard the truth, I would have been played for a fool until the bitter end.
"...It failed again," I lied, my voice hollow.
Walter paused. I could practically hear him forcing a smile. "It's okay. We'll keep trying. Next time, for sure."
"I don't want to do it anymore." I whispered, testing him one last time. "It hurts too much."
"Jessica." He sighed, his tone shifting from coaxing to that familiar, unyielding hardness. "Wife, didn't you say you love me? I just want a child of our own. Can't you do this for me? Just endure it a little longer, okay?"
Silence stretched between us.
The last shard of hope in my heart shattered into dust.
"Okay," I rasped.
I hung up.
Through the door, I heard him scoff. "Useless. Failed again."
His friends immediately clamored to comfort him. Through the crack in the door, I watched as Charlotte boldly settled herself onto Walter's lap.
Someone raised a glass to her, but Walter's hand shot out, intercepting it.
"What is a girl like her doing drinking this stuff?"
He downed the glass in one gulp.
The room erupted in cheers. I turned away, nausea roiling in my gut.
Walter was severely allergic to alcohol.
In the past, whenever we attended social events, I would drink for him until my stomach burned and my head spun, shielding him from every drop. He never once offered to take a sip for himself.
But for her...