Page 13 of Absolution (Infidelty #3)

Jackie April, 2024

The city is so beautiful. I didn’t expect that. Boston is bright and bricked, charming in a way that feels both fresh and rooted in history. It’s my first time here, and even with the early summer heat and the endless rush of people, something about it feels peaceful.

Kyle has been spending a lot of time away from home lately. Ever since his dad recovered, he started working with him again, at Greyson and me enough to make something of ourselves. It’s not some grand inheritance, but it’s enough to cover college and childcare for a while. It took a long time for the insurance to pay out and we decided to wait for the market to recover before selling the house, which ended up being years.

Kyle and I have had this distance between us for a long time now. And every time I try to name it, he tells me it’s in my head. That we’re fine. That I’m overthinking again. But I know the man I married. Or at least I used to.

This version of him, the one who thinks I should stay quiet and be grateful for scraps, I don’t know him. I don’t understand where he came from. It’s like my sweet, supportive husband disappeared in the night and in his place, left this cold, unfeeling man. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still the same with the kids, it’s just me he can’t stand anymore.

We need to talk. Really talk. And not in a house full of interruptions or whispered tension. I thought maybe, when he called his mom for help when I was gone, when he couldn’t manage the kids alone, he’d understand where I was coming from. I thought it would shift something. Build some empathy.

If anything, his help with childcare disappeared completely after that. Like taking care of the kids alone, for once gave him a permanent get-out-of-parenting-free card.

So, here we are. Boston.

I came to be with him. To talk. To maybe remember what being us even feels like.

I want us to be happy again. Like we were before the pandemic. Before the deaths, and the funerals and the breakdowns. We survived the death of a child; we got through nearly losing another. We’ve been through hell and somehow clawed our way back. If we can survive all that, surely we can survive this too.

At the hotel, I make my way to the elevators. I already called. Yes, it was sneaky. I pretended to be his secretary, told the front desk I needed to confirm his room number to have some documents delivered. They gave it to me so easily, I felt guilty. But not enough to stop.

Now I’m in the elevator, checking my reflection in the mirrored walls, touching up mascara that’s already a little smudged from the plane ride. My bag sits at my feet, heavy with all the things I’ve been too scared to say.

I hope he’s not too busy. I hope I’m not interrupting something important.

But come hell or high water, I need to know where we stand. Not for his sake. Not even just for the kids.

For me. For us. For whatever’s left to fight for.

Nervously smoothing my lipstick, I stand in front of his hotel room door. I wonder what his reaction will be. Will he be surprised? Happy? I haven’t told him I’m here. Maybe I should’ve.

I raise my hand to knock but pause. Curiosity wins. I try the handle. Kyle always forgets to lock the door at home and apparently, he forgets in Boston too. For someone raised in New York, he’s surprisingly careless about security. Then again, he had people for that.

Stepping in, I take a breath. The room is elegant, sleek. A food cart sits beside a small sofa. I drop my bag by the door and glance toward the bathroom. It's dark. Maybe he’s out. Maybe I should just wait.

I move toward the bed and step on something soft. There are clothes scattered across the floor. At first, I think they might be Kyle’s, until I pick one up and turn it, slowly. Way too small to be his.

Scanning the room, I see heels by the dresser, a bra slung over the lamp.

Oh God.

Panic rises in my chest. I must be in the wrong room. Please, let this be the wrong room.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I see some movement through the balcony doors.

Drawn by instinct, I turn.

And I see them.

A woman. Bent over the balcony rail. And him, my husband.

He wouldn’t.

He would.

Even from behind, I know it’s Kyle. The way he holds himself. The slope of his shoulders. The band of his watch catching the light. And just to confirm the sickening truth, he turns his head slightly, enough for me to see his face.

It’s him.

I stumble back like I’ve been hit. I can’t breathe. I can't think.

Grabbing my bag blindly, I bolt.

I don’t wait for the elevator. I take the stairs, hands shaking on the rail, legs threatening to buckle with every step.

How long has this been going on? Is this an affair or just a convenient fling?

But no woman lets a man bend her over like that unless she trusts him.

Oh my God.

A voice breaks through the fog.

“Miss? Are you all right?”

I blink. The doorman is standing in front of me, his grey hair catching the light. I manage a nod.

“I have to get out of here,”

I whisper.

He studies me for a moment. Maybe he’s seen this before. Maybe he knows what heartbreak looks like.

“I’m sorry, all our cars are out for a wedding party,”

he says gently.

“I can get you a rideshare. It’ll be the only one available right now.”

“Fine,”

I say, choking back the burn in my throat.

Minutes later, a car pulls up. I try to hand the doorman money, but he shakes his head.

“You’ll be all right,”

he says softly.

I nod, barely, and slide into the back seat.

“Where to?”

the driver asks.

“The airport.”

She nods.

“I’ve got another pickup, but it’s on the way.”

I don’t reply. I just close my eyes and lean back.

My husband is cheating on me.

The thought settles like a stone in my gut.

He was with another woman, touching her the way I used to crave being touched. We used to have a healthy sex life, once. Sure, it changed. It’s hard to keep the spark alive when you’re stuck in a three-bedroom house 24/7 with three toddlers. I didn’t always have the energy. But I tried. And I thought he understood. I thought we were in this together.

But this?

Did I drive him to this?

Pathetically, I open my eyes. There's a girl sitting beside me, practically glued to the far side of the car. She's pretty. Young. And just like her. Bile rises in my throat.

"Are you okay?" the girl asks.

I nod, then whisper, "Talk to me. Please. Just distract me."

She hesitates, unsure, but something in my voice must’ve convinced her.

“I’m moving to Silicon Valley,” she says.

“Oh? Got a job?” I ask.

She laughs, self-deprecating.

“No, nothing like that. I’m not smart enough for all that. I’m… well, I was, a model. My boyfriend just got hired out there. So, we’re moving.”

“You quit your job?”

I ask, my voice dull, sceptical.

She sees the look on my face and straightens, defensive.

“Yeah, but I supported Nate through everything. It’s his turn now to support me. That’s what love is.”

I let out a bitter laugh.

“You wanna know why I’m getting sick?”

“I thought you said you were car sick?”

she says, confused.

I shake my head slowly.

“I came here to surprise my husband. The one who told me not to bother with college because he’d take care of us. I signed the prenup his parents drafted because I was in love and stupid.”

I swallow hard.

“Walked into the hotel room thinking I’d find him working.”

I blink, remembering.

“He was working, alright. A blonde. Half his age probably. Bent over the damn balcony railing.”

Her hand flies to her mouth.

“Oh my god.”

“He didn’t even hear me come in,”

I go on.

“That’s how far gone he was. I just... left. Ran. Booked the first car I could find.”

I look out the window, voice going quieter.

“That’s why I’m sick. I’m humiliated. And I have no fucking clue what to do now.”

I keep staring at the road ahead, not really seeing anything.

“I don’t have a degree. No parents. No job. If I leave, I lose my kids. The house. The only stability I’ve got.”

A pause.

“If I stay... I die a little every day.”

From the front seat, the driver clears her throat. Her voice is low, gravel-rough, Boston-tinted.

“Screw that,” she says.

We both turn to look at her.

“Men cheat,”

she continues.

“They cheat on their first wives, their second wives, even the side pieces. It’s not you, honey. It’s that fucktard. They’re so damn empty inside, they think shoving themselves into every hole they see will fix it.”

Silence falls. A thick, brutal solidarity.

We stop outside the girl’s place. She opens the door but pauses when I speak.

“Don’t be me,”

I say softly.

She nods, but I can tell she doesn’t get it. Not really. She tosses a half-hearte.

“Good luck”

over her shoulder and disappears.

The car pulls away, leaving me to the sound of my own heartbeat and the low hum of the tires.

The driver was right. He fucked someone else. That’s on him. Not me.

I need a plan. He’s got money, connections, a prenup airtight enough to strangle me in court.

I need leverage. And I’ll find it.

The thing is... I don’t know if this was a break in character or if this is who Kyle really is.

My parents, they warned me. One of our biggest fights was about him. They didn’t like that he was older, didn’t like that I said we wanted to start a family right away. They told me to slow down, to think. They tried to make me see it for what it was: a trap disguised as love.

But I didn’t listen. Didn’t tell them about the prenup. Didn’t tell them I gave up college becaus.

“we’d figure it out together.”

I thought I was being loyal. Now I just feel stupid.

I can’t stay. Not after this.

God, his behaviour lately already pushed me hard, but this? This is different. This is betrayal with intention. This is planned. Rehearsed. Comfortable.

He can’t come back from it. And honestly, I’m not even sure he’d want to.

I’ve seen that other side of him, the lawyer. The man who smiles in court and slices someone’s future apart in three sentences. The man who cut his own grandfather out of his life and never looked back.

That side of him used to make me feel safe. Now I know better.

Because that version of Kyle? He’s coming for me next.

He might apologize. Might say all the right things. But the second the veil of family harmony slips, he’ll be ruthless. And he’ll come for the kids.

I need a lawyer. But who? He’s worked with practically every civil firm in Austin or knows someone who has. The second I walk into an office, he’ll find out.

And that’ll be it. No warning. No second chance. No space to breathe.

If I want to survive this, I have to be smarter. Smarter than the man I once trusted with everything.

Because now, I’m on my own. And I’ve got three kids to protect.

The trip home is long. And painful. I left the kids with Marianne at our house. She’s been staying there a lot lately. Took a break from her job as a surgeon, something Cory and I both thought was long overdue. She worked in the ICU straight through the worst of Covid, barely sleeping, barely breathing. We were scared she’d break the same way I did.

Thankfully, she didn’t wait for the crash. She stepped away, choosing herself.

Cory, ever the EMT, said she earned a hundred breaks and then some. So when she offered to watch the kids, even suggested I take the trip, I said yes.

Now here I am, racking my brain for the name of a lawyer who isn’t already in Kyle’s pocket. I know plenty, but all of them, every single one, I met through him.

And I know how this works. One wrong move, and he’ll be the first to find out.

I really want to Google it. Search divorce lawyer, Austin, prenup, custody. But I’m scared of the rabbit hole. What I need isn’t a name right now, it’s a lifeline.

So, I search something else.

Support group for being cheated on.

A dozen results pop up. One in particular stands out. A small group that meets at the community centre near our neighbourhood. Kyle wouldn’t be caught dead there. Neither would anyone from his circle.

It’s exactly what I need.

Now the bigger question: Do I tell Marianne and Cory?

My siblings love me. And their first instinct will be to drive straight to where Kyle is and punch him in the throat. That won’t help me right now. I need strategy, not emotion.

Still...they’re my people.

I’m still going back and forth when the cab pulls up outside the house. It’s dark. The porch light’s on. The kids are probably asleep. I unlock the door and walk in.

Marianne and Cory are on the couch watching TV. The second they see me, they stand.

“Hey,”

they say in unison.

“Are the kids asleep?”

I ask, barely holding it together.

“Yeah,”

Cory says.

“We wore them out in the pool today.”

I nod. And then I break.

I collapse in tears, sobs shaking my entire body. I cry so hard my knees buckle and Marianne has to hold me upright. She pulls me to the couch and sits beside me. Cory grabs tissues and sits on the coffee table across from me, silent.

When I finally calm down enough to speak, Marianne gently asks.

“What happened?”

Through hiccupping sobs, I manage to choke it out.

“He was screwing someone else.”

Cory blinks.

“Wait, what?”

Marianne whispers, like she’s piecing it together aloud.

“He cheated on you?”

“I walked in on it.”

I say.

“Kyle had her bent over the balcony. He didn’t even see me.”

“What the fuck?”

Cory jumps up.

“I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”

“No.”

I shake my head. “Don’t.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to forgive that asshole.”

“Cory,”

Marianne warns.

“I’m not forgiving him,”

I say.

“I’m just… I don’t know what to do.”

Cory disappears for a second and returns with a glass of water. I drink all of it in one go.

“I can’t leave him,”

I whisper.

“Why not?”

Marianne asks softly.

“How?”

My voice breaks.

“I don’t have a degree. No job. No money of my own. No experience. He has connections. He has everything. I’d lose the house, the kids, everything.”

“You have us,”

Cory says.

“We’ll pool our inheritance, hire the best damn lawyer in the city.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Jackie-”

“No,”

I say again, standing up.

“I did not spend ten years with that man, holding this family together, smiling when his boss called me a ‘hot piece of ass’ at dinners, just to walk away with nothing.”

I don’t even realize I’ve started pacing until I see the shock on their faces.

“You know what’s really fucked up?”

I ask, voice shaking.

“When I first found out, I blamed myself. I thought maybe I wasn’t enough. That I wasn’t pretty enough, fun enough, young enough. But no. No. This is his fault. His misogynistic, cheating, arrogant fault.”

My fists clench at my sides.

“I’m not leaving this fucking marriage with nothing, I will not lose my children, my home. Even if it means staying in that fucking house and looking at his smug fucking face every single day, I’ll do it.”

Cory and Marianne just stare.

I don’t know if it’s because their sweet, pushover little sister is suddenly breathing fire or because I just said “fuck”

three times in one sentence.

I don’t care.

I’m done.