Kenneth was more than a friend. As my classmate, he watched the whole story unfold—me making a fool of myself over Margaux, trailing her like a shadow, then pretending I didn’t care while she chased that reckless fling with Archie.
Even after Archie left her, I kept holding on. He saw me at my lowest: holding Margaux when she broke, when she drowned herself in liquor, when she spiraled into depression, and when she attempted, more than once, to end her life.
Every time that happened, I stayed.
I was the one who wrapped her up in my arms and whispered, "I'm here, Margaux. I'll always be here. I won't leave you."
As I was reminded of that, I didn't answer Kenneth immediately.
But my voice came out calm, even when I finally said, "She went to the airport to pick him up."
A heavy silence fell between us.
Kenneth went quiet. He didn't have to ask who I meant.
Archie.
That name alone was enough to twist something inside me. The guy wasn't just a chapter from the past. He was the wound that never healed. Not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to throb every damn day.
Even after six years of marriage, Margaux never really let him go.
I still remember the day I accidentally opened a hidden folder on her phone and found over a thousand photos of Archie saved on her phone. Some were candid, some selfies, but all of them were worshipful.
When she found out, she flew into a rage, lashing at me, "Troy, do you have any manners? Who gave you permission to look through my things?"
After that, she didn't speak to me for a week.
She wouldn't touch the food I cooked and refused to wear anything I'd washed. Much worse, she moved into the guest room and wrapped herself up like I was a virus.
Eventually, I gave in and apologized.
I promised her that I wouldn't go through her stuff again.
She "forgave" me—with a cold nod as acceptance. No words were spoken, and we moved on, pretending we were okay.
Now, across the table, Kenneth looked at me with worry.
Finally, he replied cautiously but firmly, "Troy, this divorce is not just about how you feel. It will hit both of your families—your dad and Gerard. You think they'll just let you walk away?"
Then, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You know what I mean. Don't charge ahead and then crawl back later. Margaux already doesn't respect you. Don't give her another reason to look down on you."
I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes.