I went home. Denise was lounging on the sofa, flipping through a magazine. Her hair was a bird's nest, lips swollen, looking thoroughly disheveled. Brandon stood nearby, buttoning his cuffs. As he stepped toward me, the scent hit me instantly.
Musk. Sweat. Sex.
It radiated off him, masking his expensive cologne.
“Maureen, baby, where have you been?” He rushed over, grabbing my hands, his face a mask of worry. “I’ve been texting you like crazy. Look.” He gestured to a vase on the table. “I picked these flowers for you. I prepared a dinner date. Just us. Shall we?”
I looked at the flowers. Then at Denise, who didn't even look up.
I forced a smile. It felt like cracking glass. “I’m tired, Brandon. I just want to sleep.”
He didn't argue. He was the picture of the doting husband. He guided me to the bedroom and pressed a glass of warm milk into my hands.
“Drink this,” he whispered, kissing my forehead. “It’s for your recovery. You need to rest.”
I took it. I nodded. But the moment the door clicked shut, I walked to the bathroom and poured the white liquid down the sink.
I didn't sleep. I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The house was quiet, but the walls were thin. All night, I listened to the muffled, rhythmic sounds of them moaning in the guest room.
“Yes, email the divorce papers.”
I spoke quietly into the phone, my back to the door, watching the city skyline from our bedroom window. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
I hung up and turned around.
Brandon was standing right there.
I nearly dropped the phone. He was leaning against the doorframe, still in his suit from work, his face pale, eyes wide with a panic I had never seen before. He had heard me.
“Divorce?” he choked out. The word hung in the air, heavy and dangerous. He took a step toward me, his hands shaking. “Maureen, what… what do you mean, divorce?”
My blood ran cold. If he knew, if he realized I was leaving, the game was over. He would lock me down. He would drug me again.
I forced a laugh. It bubbled up, light and airy, masking the terror gripping my throat.
“Oh, Brandon! You scared me.” I walked over to him, sliding my phone into my pocket with a casual grace. “No, silly. It’s Jessica. You remember her? My friend from college?”
He blinked, the panic not quite leaving his eyes. “Jessica?”