Chapter 3: Breaking Point

Emily sat across from me at the tiny table in our hotel room, pressing a cold towel to her swollen cheek. Her eyes were red, and she kept her head down, refusing to look at me. Her fingers twisted the towel, knuckles white, like she was holding on for dear life.

"Why?" I didn’t look up. I couldn’t stand seeing her face right now. Every time I saw her, all I could think about was her moaning in someone else’s arms, her hands tangled in another man’s hair.

"No reason." Her voice was barely a whisper, lips trembling.

"There has to be a reason. Was I not good enough to you?" The words scraped my throat raw, but I couldn’t keep them in.

"You’re a good person." She said it like a fact, not a compliment, and that made it hurt even more.

That was it. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I shoved back from the table, rage boiling over.

"I’m a good person, and this is what I get? I fly over a thousand miles on a business trip to solve a client’s problem, and end up catching my fiancée cheating on me. So being a good person means I deserve a bullet to the head?"

I started smashing things—knocking over the lamp, flinging the remote—trying to vent all my rage. The crash of the lamp barely made a dent in the silence. I hated myself for losing it, but couldn’t stop.

"You know you’re always on business trips. After you proposed, how many days have you actually spent with me?" She watched me with a bitter, resigned expression, the towel still pressed to her cheek.

"Ha! Fucking hell." I laughed, pissed off. "Why do I go on business trips? Don’t we need to buy a house to get married? Don’t I have to pay for the wedding? If I don’t travel for work, where am I supposed to get the money?"

"Did I ever travel this far before? It’s exhausting, you know? Why do I work so hard? You think I don’t want to stay home with you?" By the end, my lips were trembling, trying not to let the tears fall. My throat felt tight, and my hands shook.

"Oh, right, I haven’t asked—what does that guy you slept with do?"

"Anyway, he’s richer than you, and has more time than you." She spat the words out, almost defiantly. Her eyes were hard, daring me to challenge her.

I shook my head. I finally got it. This was what she’d been waiting to tell me. My heart felt hollowed out, like someone had scraped out all the good parts.

"Oh, so it’s all about money. Got it. Get out—go suck up to your sugar daddy, you bitch." The words came out colder than I meant, but I didn’t care. Not anymore.

She sneered, "You think you have the right to judge me?"

"What the hell did I do?" I shot back, voice rising. My fists were clenched so tight my nails dug into my palms.

"Have you always been faithful to me?" She glared at me, searching for some crack in my armor.

"What kind of bullshit is that?" I felt the anger flare again, red and blinding.

"How did you get that scar on your wrist?" Her eyes flicked to my right hand.

I instinctively touched my right wrist. The faded line was barely visible, but it was there—a scar from childhood.

"I’ve told you a hundred times, it’s an old injury from when I was a kid. Can you be normal for once?"

"Who gave you that injury?" Her voice was sharp, accusing, but I could hear the pain behind it.

"Are you insane?" I snapped. I wasn’t angry because I was guilty—I just felt she was being unreasonable. I swear, I never cheated on her. Now she’s just grabbing at anything to throw in my face.

Once I realized that, there was nothing left for me to miss about her. It was like someone flicked off a switch in my chest.

"Get out."

She still sat there, not moving. The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

"Get out!"

She covered her mouth and ran out crying, slamming the door behind her. The echo lingered in the hallway.

I muttered, "You have the nerve to cry?" But I couldn’t stop my own tears from falling, dripping down onto my shaking hands.