I’m just afraid that version is one that doesn’t include being married to his dad.
Now that I know we’re still married, I’m scared.
There was safety in knowing I didn’t have to make the decision anymore.
Those fake divorce papers were my safety net.
Now it’s gone and I’m left in limbo, completely helpless and terrified.
As if sensing the direction my thoughts are going, he enters the room, a sleeping Adrian on his chest. I look up, and for the first time in a week, I don’t let my eyes fall away from his.
It’s a subtle change but he catches it.
He’s comes to a standstill, his hand still on the knob as he searches my eyes.
He must see something in them that has his jaw clenching and his blue eyes swimming.
In a flash, he sets our son in his crib and sits a few feet away from me on the edge of the bed, cautiously giving me the space I need to get through this conversation.
“Ree.” He begins tentatively, voice hoarse with emotion.
My throat suddenly feels drier than the Sahara Desert and I have to shut my eyes to stop myself from breaking down. He’s always been able to read my mind.
I may have loved that before, but now I loathe his ability to read me so easily.
My defenses are up, and I feel myself get angry once again.
In the back of my mind, I recognize the fact that my anger isn’t fair to Noah.
He didn’t do any of the things they said he did.
I don’t want to lash out before we even have a conversation, but I can’t seem to access that sensible part of my brain.
I don’t even know if I have it in me to feel anything other than brainwashed. I’m in too deep, drowning in my trepidation and wallowing in my fears.
“Will you look at me? Please, Ree?” His whispered request cuts into me and my eyes fly open to find his face displaying so many emotions I get whiplash from it.
“Don’t call me that.”
I can’t help it. When he calls me anything other than my name, the voice that urges me to kick him out of my room and my life starts screaming in my head.
It belies common sense. I don’t get it either. This level of anger I have for him is consuming every part of me and we have yet to say more than a few words to each other.
“You’re still my wife. I’m still your husband,Ria.”
“On paper, Noah.”
His shoulders set in a severe line and his gaze drops to my left hand.
“Where’s your ring?”
“Where’s yours?” I counter.
His hand goes to the collar of his shirt and he pulls out a chain with his wedding ring.
He’s been wearing his wedding ring around his neck this whole time.
“Answer my question, Alessandria.”