Page 87 of Dirty Mechanic

“So that’s it,” he says. “What about our marriage? Fuck, is that even legal?”

But the sob stuck in my throat wedges there so deeply, I can’t reply.

He just stares. Not moving. Not blinking. Just standing there like if he shifts an inch, the whole world might crack open. Absorbing every word like a blade.

The storm rumbles outside, but inside, it’s worse.

I can hear the drip of rain off the gutters. The faint creak of the house settling. My own breath, ragged, like a child trying not to sob in church.

He’s not yelling. He’s not accusing. He’s just...quiet.

And it’s unbearable.

I reach for him. “Please?—”

He steps back. Slow. Deliberate.

Like my touch burns.

Like I’m poison, and he just figured it out.

His lips part like he might say something, might scream, or cry, or whisper something that could save us.

But all he says is, “Lock the door. Stay inside.”

Then he turns, his boots thudding dully against the hardwood.

The door opens. Rain rushes in. And then it closes with a soft, final click that splits my chest wide open.

I stare at the empty doorway, the silence deafening. My heart aches, heavy as a stone.

My gaze slips to my left hand, to the beautiful pink diamond apple blossom ring Derek placed there. My throat tightens. It feels wrong now. Like a lie. Like something I never earned.

I pull it off slowly, like it hurts. It does.

My fingers tremble as I slide it off, my skin colder without it. The ring sits heavy in my palm, catching the dim kitchen light, a reminder of promises I’ve already broken.

I leave it on the counter, glittering softly beneath the light. It doesn't belong to me, not until everything between us is real again.

I don’t know how long I sit on the sofa. Long enough for the rain to soak through the soundproofing and echo in my bones. Long enough for the air in the house to grow thick with everything unsaid. I stare at the door like it might bring him back. Like if I just will it open, he’ll return.

But he doesn’t.

The blanket around me suddenly feels too heavy. Too warm and not warm enough. I pull it tighter anyway, like I can stitch myself together with cotton and hope.

I let him build a life on a cracked foundation, all the while pretending the rot wasn’t spreading under the floorboards. I kissed him. Slept beside him. Promised him forever with a ring I had no right to wear.

And he held me like I was everything.

Now I’m scared to move. Scared to breathe wrong. Scared that this—this silence—isn’t a pause.

It’s the end.

Lightning flashes again outside, throwing his empty coffee mug into relief on the counter. The one he left there this morning. Like it was just any day. Like we had more mornings.

Bear and Kara are curled together under the kitchen table. The puppies are inside the laundry room with their mama, warm and sleepy.

I press my hand to my chest. Feel my heartbeat stutter. Everything in me is begging to rewind time. To pick a different day. A different path. A different girl. Maybe one who wasn’t so damn broken she mistook silence for safety.