Page 42 of Desert Loyalties

I watch her, standing there like she’s never had to fake a smile a day in her life.

She's in leggings and a hoodie, the kind of casual, effortless look that takes some kind of magic to pull off. Her hair looks like she rolled out of bed, but not in the way that makes you want to curl up in a ball and pretend the world doesn’t exist. No, her bedhead is perfect.

Her skin is glowing like she’s some sort of walking Instagram filter, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s ever once cried in a bathroom stall at work. I know I have.

"Hey," I say, my voice a little too casual, a little too practiced, like I didn’t just die inside a little when I saw her. "Didn’t expect to see you today."

She shrugs, completely unfazed, like she’s not the kind of person who makes everything look easy. "Class got cancelled. Figured I’d stock up."

Must be nice. Must be so nice to stock up on groceries using the credit card your parents pay off every month. But, of course, I don’t say that. I never say it.

They like to act like we’re equals. Like she’s not their miracle baby and I’m.

.. well, whatever the opposite of a miracle is.

I put myself through college while they were busy “recovering from bad investments,” which, shocker, magically resolved just in time to foot the bill for Kiera’s tuition. Funny how that works.

Her eyes flick down to the sad, wilting broccoli in my cart, and I can almost hear the judgment. "Trying something new?"

I force a smile, tight and brittle. "Just cooking dinner."

"For Mike?"

"Yeah," I say, a little too quickly.

She nods, a half-smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Cool."

And then I see it. The hoodie. That fuckin’ hoodie. The one I’ve been searching for, desperately searching for, since last weekend. I freeze for a second, because there’s no way... right? It’s hers. She’s wearing it. My hoodie. The one I thought I lost. My fingers twitch at my side.

“Is that mine?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them. I don’t even know why I’m asking. I’m already pissed, already spiralling into a mess of unnecessary emotions.

She looks at me, eyes widening slightly, a nervous tension creeping into her voice. "Uh... yeah, I guess I must’ve borrowed it."

I stare at her, blinking hard, because what the hell? "Don’t remember giving it to you."

She’s fidgeting now, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. "It’s just a hoodie."

"It’s not just a hoodie," I snap, before I can stop myself.

She rolls her eyes, and the tension thickens. "Why are you making such a big deal out of it?"

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm. "I’m not making a big deal. I’m just asking when you took it." It’s supposed to sound casual, but the words come out too sharp. Too loaded. She can tell, I can tell, and now we’re both stuck in this weird, uncomfortable space.

Without another word, she pulls the hoodie off, right there in the middle of the aisle, tossing it at me like it’s some kind of insult.

"Fine, here’s your precious hoodie," she snaps, her voice cold as ice. And then she storms off, leaving me standing there, holding my hoodie like it’s some kind of prize I never wanted in the first place.

People are staring, and I can’t tell if I want to scream or just melt into the floor. Instead, I stand there, awkwardly clutching the damn thing while the world continues to spin around me.

I finish my shopping in a daze. I can’t shake the weird, sharp taste of that moment.

It sits in my chest, heavy, making everything feel rawer than it should.

When I finally get to the car, I’m almost relieved just to be away from the store, away from the world, even if I’m still stuck in this mess of a feeling.

The moment I sit down in my car, I do the thing I’ve been trying so hard not to do.

I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe in, hoping to stop this weird, acidic knot in my stomach from eating me alive.

My fingers are still curled around the hoodie, like I’m holding onto the last bit of control I have left.

I’m not even sure why it matters so much. It’s just a hoodie. Right?

But the thing is, it’s not just a hoodie.

It’s my hoodie. And I’ve never been good at sharing things that are mine.

Not since... well, since I stopped pretending that everything was okay.

The way she tossed it at me, like it was some unwanted thing, it felt like she was tossing something else.

Something I couldn’t quite name. It was hers now, somehow. And I hated it.

I turn the key in the ignition, but the engine’s just a low hum, and it feels too loud.

Too exposed. I just want to leave. I need to leave, to forget this.

But I can’t stop thinking about her or the way she looked at me, like I was some kind of inconvenience.

She was perfect. So perfect. And I wasn’t. I never would be.

I grip the wheel a little too tight, so tight I can feel the muscles in my arms tense and strain. My thoughts race, all jagged and messy, looping around the same damn thing. “It’s just a hoodie.” That’s what she said. But it’s not, is it? It’s never just a hoodie.

I remember the first time I wore it. I was freezing, and Mike wrapped it around me, all close and warm and.

.. God, he smelled like everything good in the world.

He didn’t care that it was old, that it had that stupid logo on the back.

He just held me, like it meant something.

Like we meant something. And now, here’s Kiera, wearing it, acting like it was hers from the start.

That hollow feeling creeps in again.

“Stop,” I mutter under my breath, slapping my hand against the wheel. I’m spiralling again, getting lost in shit that doesn’t matter.

But it does matter, doesn’t it? Everything matters. She matters.

I glance down at the hoodie, crumpled in my lap. It feels like something stolen. The way she just took it without asking, without care. And I…I…I let her. Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.

I let out a shaky breath and slam my hand on the steering wheel again.

It’s just a damn hoodie.

It’s not just a hoodie.

God, I can feel it now, like something inside me has been unravelling for months, and I just refused to look at it.

The way he’d come home late, his excuses slithering out of his mouth like slick oil.

The way he looked at me sometimes, like I wasn’t really there, like I was just..

. background noise. I buried my head in work, told myself that if I just kept busy, if I just kept pushing through, I wouldn’t have to deal with the fact that my husband, the man I chose, was slipping through my fingers like sand.

But now, here I am, sitting in this stupid car with his hoodie in my lap and the truth punching me in the gut.

I’d told myself I was being paranoid. Told myself I was just tired, just stressed.

But no. It’s like the fog’s finally lifted, and I can see everything clearly now, the missed calls, the late nights, the secretive texts.

The way he’s been distant for so long, and I kept telling myself it was just.. . life.

But now, I don’t have work to hide behind. Now, I’m forced to see what I’ve been ignoring. And I hate myself for it.

I hate myself for letting it get this far.

The hoodie isn’t just a hoodie. It’s a symbol. Of everything I should’ve noticed. Of everything that slipped right past me while I was too busy being the wife I thought I was supposed to be.

I can hear Kiera’s voice in my head now, all casual, like she didn’t just throw gasoline on the fire. "For Mike?" she asked, her tone sharp, but sweet. Like she knew something I didn’t. Like maybe she knew what I was only just starting to piece together.

I can’t pretend anymore. Not with the way my heart’s beating like it’s trying to escape my chest, not with the way I feel like I’m drowning in this mess of my own making.

I don’t know what’s worse: knowing or not knowing. But I think I already know.

My husband is cheating on me.

Letting Go

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