“Okay. Let me know even if I’m still on the call.”
She rolls her eyes because I’ve told her that about ten times a day. “Of course.”
Rosalyn and I met a month ago, marrying the same night after too much to drink in Vegas. It was the smartest thing I’ve ever done because letting her go isn’t an option.
As soon as I saw Rosalyn, I knew she’d be mine and I had to act before I lost her. She’d been at a bachelorette party, and I’d been at a bachelor party. They both got out of hand, so we ended up meeting outside a strip club. We took a cab to a bar, drinking and making out, finally stopping by a twenty-four-hour wedding chapel. Hours later, I had her ass on a plane, attached to me for the rest of our lives.
I’m back at work and clocking in more hours than usual since we returned from Indiana. Normally, I wouldn’t even think twice about the long hours, but since meeting Rosalyn, I’ve been obsessed. Being with her makes me so fucking elated. As sappy or corny as it sounds, I’m not whole without her.
I take the call with the Old Hill manager Rich and deal with this week’s hiccups. When it rains it pours and it seems lately like I’m living in a monsoon.
Owning a construction company that I built from the ground up and is worth millions makes me proud but keeps me busy. It took the past twenty years working my fingers to the bone to make it successful. My company built thirty significant buildings in Texas and Oklahoma in the past ten years among a bunch of remodels, repairs, and family homes.
As the boss, I went from wearing jeans and a hard hat to a suit in a boardroom, trying to keep my company prosperous. I’ve worked hard to prove myself, getting out of a poor neighborhood and making choices to keep on a steady straight path to success no matter how difficult it was. Everything I’ve done is to have a life worth building with someone I love, my Rosalyn.
It’s six-thirty and I’m calling it a day. For the first time in weeks, I’ve managed not to pull a fourteen-hour day, and now all I want to do is get home to my beautiful new wife.
It seems that for the past two weeks, everything that could go wrong at work—has. One worksite flooded due to a water main break, and another caught fire. It was a nightmare that left me little time for my sweet Rosalyn. She deserves all of my attention and as of late she hasn’t been getting any of it.
I call her cell to let her know that I’m on my way back earlier than usual, but she doesn’t answer. Damn it, I sent her a text with no response. Perhaps she’s asleep already. Checking my watch, it’s way too early for it, but who knows. Every single night this week I’ve come home to her already in bed in a deep sleep. It has put a damper on our lovemaking.
I pull up to the house, and the lights are off. Her car’s gone and no message or return call. Panic starts to build in my chest. This is a very safe area, and we have standard home surveillance, so I cross my fingers and hope she’s just shopping. “Where did she go?” I mutter aloud, looking around for any sign of trouble, but there’s nothing.
I go inside and look around the first floor. When I enter the kitchen I get my answer which is on the fridge’s dry erase board. At your sister’s, I’ll be back tonight. Why didn’t she just text me to say that?
That’s strange. I give Rosalyn another call because I need to hear that everything’s okay, but it goes straight to voicemail. Where the fuck is her phone?
I call my sister’s cell phone, and that goes to voicemail as well.
An unsettling feeling goes through me as I imagine something terrible happening to my love. I go into my office and tap on my laptop to open our phone trackers and security feeds to see where she is. When I click the internet browser, the landing page shows the search bar and the last three things searched as keywords.
I almost lose my fucking mind.
Divorce lawyers.
My heart and head can’t believe what I’m reading. This can’t be real. I know I haven’t been the best husband, but I love her. God, have I ever told her that?
I click on the words, hoping that she didn’t search sites, but I’m out of luck. The results show she checked out the top three. I read their names, feeding my ire irrationally. I want to wrap my hands around each one of those lawyer’s throats as if it’s their fault my wife wants to leave me. No. It’s all my fault. I’ve neglected her, didn’t make her feel loved, adored like the treasure she is.