"Roland Harding, I'm hurt, and you're still doing this? How long are you going to keep this up?!"

Her tone was pure bewilderment.

In her mind, the affair wasn't even that serious.

After all, once I'd broken down—screaming, crying, falling apart—she'd started deleting the messages on a regular schedule. She'd even changed all her passwords to my birthday.

So she genuinely couldn't understand why I was still "throwing a tantrum."

I ran my thumb absently over the rough, faded scar on my hand and said nothing.

That was when her phone rang.

The same ringtone. The familiar one that had been going off in the middle of the night for almost a year now.

Ida had told me once it was the company's emergency line. I hadn't questioned it.

Not until her birthday. I'd been at the grocery store picking out the salmon she loved, debating whether to make her pan-seared filet or a lemon-butter bake, when I looked up and saw her across the aisle—wrapped in another man's arms, the two of them browsing snacks together like any other couple.

That was the moment it finally hit me.

Ida had been cheating on me for God knows how long.

And the man was someone she'd mentioned once in passing—her childhood sweetheart, Humphrey Sawyer.

Maybe because the confrontation and confession were already behind us, Ida didn't bother making excuses this time.

She answered the call right in front of me.

"I'm on my way. Wait for me."

After she hung up, she didn't bother with the wound on her hand. She just grabbed her car keys and rushed for the door.

At the entryway, she stopped and turned to look at me, her eyes dark and unreadable.

Her voice was heavy with disappointment. "You never used to be like this, Roland."

Never used to be like what?

Offering her my whole heart on a platter, only to let her shred me to pieces?

I'd cared too much. I couldn't bear to let go of ten years together.

And at the time, she'd been pregnant.

So I swallowed the pain and chose to forgive her.

She promised to keep her distance.

And how did that turn out?

The scar on my hand was proof enough of how stupid I'd been.

I ran my thumb along that scar. The old wound felt like it was splitting open again, oozing, the pain so sharp I couldn't breathe.

A sudden slam shattered my thoughts.

Ida had walked out and let the door crash shut behind her.

I knew where she was going. Back to Humphrey.