Back home and as far away from her as possible.
LEX
Nine Years Ago
I was lying in bed reading Time magazine—the only thing keeping me sane these days.
Samantha walked into the room not saying a word. Unlike her usually talkative self, she remained awfully quiet removing her earrings, sorry, one earring. Why would she wear just one earring? Shaking my head, I ignored the unusual fashion choice and watched her slide out of her dress. Despite our strained marriage, she looked sexy in this newly purchased red dress she had worn to some dinner tonight with her sister and friends.
As she stood near the dresser, her naked body reflected off the mirror. The growing stomach was evident. My lips pressed together in a slight grimace as my eyes caught sight of it. Slipping her nightgown on, she climbed into bed.
I was just about to ask her how her night out with the girls was when I smelled it—Brut.
Pulling at my ear, my gaze fixates on the wall straight ahead. I had my suspicions, having spent months sneaking around behind her back having an affair, I knew the signs. But what the fuck could I do? It wasn’t like I was innocent in all this. I had been the one who broke our marriage vows first, but what kind of marriage were we trying to fix when both of us had succumbed to our desires to be with someone else.
She looked down at her hands where I noticed the missing wedding ring.
“Alex, we need to talk.”
“About the fact that you smell like Brut, or that you aren’t wearing your wedding ring?”
Samantha snapped her head sideways, her face turning from sad to bitter. “I don’t need a lecture. I fucked up, just like you did.”
I put the magazine down knowing all too well we would have this conversation again. No matter what I did, she held my affair with Charlotte over my head. How the fuck were we supposed to raise a baby in this? Our relationship had turned all shades of fucked-up, and both of us together were toxic.
“Alex, the baby, it’s…” Her eyes began to water, and suddenly, very unlike Samantha, tears fell down her cheek. They came hard and fast, quiet sobs as her chest heaved from the outburst of emotion. Seeing her in this state was a rarity, and unable to hide my own guilt, I patted her hand willing her to calm down.
“The baby… it’s not yours,” she cried out.
My eyes widened as my gaze became unfocused. With words trapped beneath my running thoughts, I tried to ignore the hardening of my stomach while continuing to grasp her words.
“What did you just say?”
As silence fell upon the room, time only fueled my anger. Baring my teeth, my eye began to twitch as the adrenaline kickstarted into attack mode.
“It’s not your baby. I lied. I’m sorry! We didn’t make love that night. You were out drunk, and I saw you… I saw you holding her. I saw the way you looked at her. I couldn’t handle it, and, well… Christopher was there.” She continued crying before reaching over to touch me.
“Don’t you dare touch me, Samantha.” I pushed her hand away, jumping out of bed in a fit of rage. “You fucking spiteful bitch! Do you know what I gave up for this baby? And now it isn’t even mine.”
I could feel my body shaking, my fists clenched, and without thinking, I smashed my fist through the bathroom door, my hand throbbing in pain, but the physical pain so much more bearable than the pain inside my chest. Pacing the space in front of me, I was struggling to come to terms with the fact that I had lost Charlotte all because of this vindictive bitch.
“I thought I was doing the right thing for our marriage, but no matter what, it always comes back to her. I’m so sick of living in her shadow. Do you know you talk in your sleep at night asking her to come back to you? Do you know how it feels to be second-best?” she screamed. “Chris is different, he wants me and our baby.”
Her voice calmed down, yet too bad for her, all I could see is red.
“Fucking hell, Samantha, I’ve lost Charlotte because of you!” I stormed into our closet, changing into my jeans and sweater. I grabbed my overnight bag putting in some spare clothes. Leaning into the back of my closet, I rummaged around in my old football helmet. There, in a loose cavity in the lining, was the one thing I kept—a picture taken of her on prom night. I allowed myself after three months to finally look at the picture, my heart sinking as I didn’t expect the tsunami of emotions that came with seeing her face again, even if it was only a picture. Placing the final things in my bag, I walked out of the closet. Samantha was still sitting on the bed sobbing.
“I’m so sorry, Alex,” she wailed.
I walked over to her, my anger intensifying. Sliding my wedding ring off my finger, I placed it on the bedside table. This should’ve been done months ago, and if I had been strong enough to have done it then, I’d still have the girl I love in my life.
Leaving the house in a rush, I threw my items into my car knowing exactly what I had to do.
I grabbed my phone, dialing my sister’s number praying she’d pick up. The second I heard her voice, relief washed over me.
“Adriana, can you meet me at the airport in two hours? Bring your passport.”
“Yes, Alex.”