Matthew
"Why are you smiling like that?" I ask Sarah.
She keeps smiling, that goofy little grin that used to drive crazy in the early days. The one that makes her eyes crinkle at the corners.
"Nothing," she says, but her voice has a lightness to it that wasn’t there before.
I cross my arms, studying her face. "Liar," I say and feel myself smiling back.
She steps closer, close enough that I can sll her perfu. Vanilla and sothing floral.
"I thought you tuned out," she admits. "Back then, when I’d sit in your office and talk. You always looked so... annoyed."
I let out a short laugh. "I was trying to concentrate on work while you sat there running your mouth."
Sarah’s cheeks flush slightly. "I liked talking to you."
She’s standing right in front of now, looking up with those eyes. I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, letting my fingers linger against her skin.
"And for the record," I say, lowering my voice, "Josh is full of shit."
Sarah rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling. "He is not! He is my friend."
"He’s trying to get in your pants," I correct her.
"You are wrong," she says.
But I know I am right.
"Why were you busy today?" she asks suddenly. "When I texted about lunch."
I arched an eyebrow. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"
"Yes, I would, actually," she says with such enthusiasm that I can’t help but laugh.
I almost told her because I know it will hurt her. And that’s exactly what I want, don’t I? To hurt her. That’s why I married her. Didn’t I? So I can punish her.
But as I look at her now, her hair slightly ssy from a long day at work, those eyes full of curiosity and that ridiculous smile just because I rembered her favorite flowers... I can’t bring myself to tell her I went to et Amanda.
"Have you eaten?" I ask instead.
"No. I ca straight ho," she says.
I nod slowly, my gaze lingering on her a second too long. "Let’s go eat then. Marishka made roast beef."
We reach the dining room, and the table is already set. Marishka always does that. Folded napkins, polished silverware, the works. Sarah sits down and watches as I pour her a glass of water, then one for myself.
"You’re being weird," she says.
I sit across from her. "Weird?"
"Yes, you are being nice." She pauses, picking up her fork. "It’s just... unexpected."
I lean back in my chair, eyes fixed on her. "So I’m not allowed to be nice now?"
"You are," she says with a small smile, stabbing a piece of roast beef. "It’s just... rare."
I smirk. "Maybe I’m trying sothing new."
"I’ll take what I can get," she says lightly.
We eat in a strange, comfortable silence. Every now and then, I catch her looking at , a small smile playing on her lips before she quickly looks away.
"So," I say, setting down my glass, "did I miss anything important at work?"
Sarah shakes her head. "Everything was fine."
After dinner, we move to the living room. Sarah kicks off her heels and curls up on the couch, tucking her feet beneath her. I sit beside her, not too close, but close enough.
"So," she says after a mont, "are you going to tell why you stayed ho today?"
"I had so things to take care of," I say.
"What things?"
I study her face. There’s no suspicion there, just genuine curiosity.
I decided to tell her right then. "I went to see Amanda."
Her smile disappears.
I watch her body tense, the way her shoulders stiffen just slightly. She doesn’t say anything at first, just looks down at her hands in her lap.
"You... went to see Amanda," she repeats slowly.
"Yes," I say evenly.
Sarah lifts her head again, her voice soft but steady. "Why?"
"I wanted to talk to her. She finally returned my calls and agreed to et ," I reply.
She nods. Quiet. Too quiet.
"And?" she asks. "Was it... good to see her?"
There’s no edge to her voice. No anger. That makes it worse.
"It was necessary," I say.
Sarah presses her lips together and looks away. I can see her blinking fast as if trying to hold back tears.
She stands up, brushing invisible lint off her dress. "I’m going to take a shower."
I watch her walk away, her back straight, her pace slow—but I can feel it. The sadness trailing behind her like a ghost.
I could’ve lied.
I could’ve kept it buried.
But I wanted her to hurt.
And now that I’ve done it, I hate myself for it.
I have the urge to go after her, pull her into my arms, and tell her that nothing has happened between Amanda and .
But I don’t do that. I wait about half an hour before sauntering over to the bedroom.
I push open the bedroom door. Sarah stands by the bed, her back to , dressed in a silk nightgown. It’s pale blue, almost silver in this light. Her hair falls in damp waves down her back. She must have just gotten out of the shower.
She doesn’t turn when I enter, but I see her shoulders tense slightly.
I lean against the doorfra, watching her pull back the covers.
"She said she is willing to forgive ," I say, my voice cutting through the silence.
Sarah freezes for just a mont before sliding into bed. "Did she?" Her voice is quiet.
I push off from the doorfra and walk further into the room. "Yes. I explained how you trapped . She was willing to listen this ti. I think she believes ," I tell her.
Sarah finally looks at , her eyes shining with unshed tears.
I ignore the feeling of pressure in my chest. I want her to hear this.
"We had coffee at that little place near her office," I continue, ignoring her question. "The one with those pastries you like. She’s cut her hair shorter. It suits her."
Sarah’s jaw tightens. She looks away, staring at the wall. "Why are you telling this?"
I circle around to my side of the bed, taking my ti. "Why not?"
"Did you tell her I am having your baby?" Sarah whispers.
"I told her you were pregnant," I say curtly. "And that, it could be anyone’s baby."
Sarah lets out a soft gasp and strides over to .
Her hand flies across my face with surprising force. The slap rings out in the quiet room, and my cheek burns hot with the imprint of her fingers.
Ah...this is the second ti Sarah slapped and I can’t say I didn’t deserve it both tis.
"How dare you," she hisses, voice trembling with rage. "You self-preening asshole."
I grab her wrist when she moves to strike again. "Sarah—"
"Let go of ." She hisses. "You know this baby is yours. You know it."
I watch her, the way her chest heaves with each breath, the way tears spill down her cheeks now. She is beautiful.
"I don’t know anything," I say coldly.
"Do you think you can just ride off to the sunset with Amanda?" she breathes.
"Why not? She’s willing to give another chance," I say.
"She said that?" Sarah’s voice breaks.
"More or less," I shrug.
She bites her lower lip. "You are doing this now because you want to snap and let you out of this marriage. You want to be angry at you and leave you so you don’t look like the asshole."
I don’t respond.
Because she is right.
I am doing this because I’m a coward. Because sowhere deep down, I hoped she’d be the one to walk away first.
That she’d make it easy for by giving up, so I wouldn’t have to keep pretending to know what the hell I am doing.
Sarah yanks her wrist out of my grasp and steps back, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "You don’t get to rewrite the story. We are going to be raising this child together."
The corner of my mouth kicked up. "Are we?"
"Yes, we are, Matthew. I won’t let you be with her again. I’d rather die," she says.
"That’s a bit dramatic." I try to sound casual, but my voice cos out strained. "Must be the pregnancy hormones talking," I say mockingly.
"Fuck off, Matthew. I swear to god if you don’t stop—"
I pull her against my body, wrapping my arms tightly around her slender shoulders. "Alright. How about you get so sleep? You look tired," I whisper into her hair.
Sarah struggles in my arms at first, pushing against my chest, her fists landing weak, frustrated blows that I absorb without flinching. But I don’t let go.
"Let go," she breathes, voice raw. "You don’t get to touch like this after everything you just said."
"I know," I murmur. "I know."
She stiffens in my arms, trembling.
I rest my chin lightly on the top of her head, breathing her in. The scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her skin, it undoes in the most cruel way.
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