Page 1 of My Only (My First, My Last)

A yla

I sighed, trying to stop my stomach muscles from twisting. When that didn’t work, I rolled my tongue around in my mouth, immediately tasting the bitter aftertaste of the coffee, I’d had two hours prior.

And Hassani was still not home.

I shook my head and attempted to loosen the tension in my jaw, but it clenched right back.

The kitchen was dimly lit, with only the stovetop light on. The soft orange glow cast faint shadows around the room. It seemed like the shadows grew darker the longer I sat there.

My eyes drifted to the plate of food still sitting on the kitchen table across from me. I rubbed my lips together at the sight of it.

I’d peeked at it too many times since I placed it there hours ago—before I’d woken up, after turning in at nine, only to realize my husband still wasn’t home.

My eyes burned like hell. Beyond the exhaustion from lack of sleep, my mind had been working on overdrive, creating scenarios to fill in the blanks reality had left.

I was alone in this big-ass house… again.

I rolled my eyes and turned toward the fresh cup of coffee I’d brewed. My second cup. The first was at midnight. I made both just to stay awake—because I couldn’t bring myself to fall asleep in our bed again, only to wake up wondering how late he got home this time.

His absence was because of the Greene Gardens Project.

Hassani becoming the principal architect responsible for the commercial and residential properties in the new upstate development had been a thorn in my ass I couldn’t pull out.

Sure, his involvement had changed our lives in great ways, but it also had him staying out late, spending time with a particular person he had no business spending time with, and pissing me off every fucking day.

I should’ve said something sooner. When his late nights started happening too frequently, I should have spoken up instead of worrying about sounding like the proverbial nagging wife.

Because this was ridiculous.

My focus snapped to the clock on the stove just as the time changed to 2:05. My attention kept bouncing between the plate of food and the time… constant reminders that he wasn’t here.

I inhaled a deep breath and stood. Padding my way to the kitchen window, I leaned over the sink, trying to get a glimpse of the front of the house.

I didn’t know what I expected to find. Maybe a part of me half-expected to see Hassani’s car in the driveway. Or to see him stepping out of it just as I went to look.

And would that have made shit any better? Would it have been any less fucked up to see him arriving home at two in the morning?

I pressed my lips together and bit the inside of my cheek as I ruminated on that question.

The thought of calling him had crossed my mind at least five times.

First, when I got out of bed. Then, when I checked our home office, thinking I’d find him sketching in that sketchbook of his, like always.

If he had been in there, I would have teased him about it like I always do, saying that sketchbook was his Bible.

Twice, I thought about calling him as I sat at the kitchen table for the past four hours.

And now, the thought returned.

Because something had to have happened for him to still be out this late.

Despite my concern, my thoughts kept drifting to deceit and betrayal.

I returned to my seat at our kitchen table, slid my coffee closer, and took a sip. A few minutes later, the lock on the front door clicked, breaking the silence in the house.

I turned my head in that direction, setting my mug down. Hassani’s footsteps were heavy as he made his way down the corridor from the front door to the kitchen. I picked up on the faint sigh and suppressed groan that escaped him.

His silhouette made me straighten in my chair. Even in the dimly lit kitchen, I could tell his appearance was disheveled. When he flicked on the kitchen light, my heart sank the moment our eyes met.

“Oh, shit!” He slapped a hand to his chest. “Baby?” He chuckled nervously. “Damn. I ain’t even know you were in here.”

I said nothing. Still too busy analyzing his appearance.

His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone and slightly wrinkled. His sleeves were rolled all the way up to his forearms—something he only did when he was home and trying to relax before getting undressed.

I squinted as I continued assessing him. And the longer I observed, the angrier I got.

He froze in front of me, the forced smile on his lips disappearing. His eyes darted along my face.

The guilt in his hazel-green eyes was so evident I could touch it.

“Baby,” he started, his tone soft, almost apologetic. “Why you just sitting there all quiet?”

I said nothing.

I couldn’t move my tongue from the roof of my mouth long enough to speak. The disheveled clothing, the late arrival home, his tone, his body language… I felt myself short-circuiting.

For the past year, there were so many nights I’d stayed up waiting for him—watching the clock, listening for the door—before finally giving up and just going to bed.

It started with him coming home late once. Then it became twice a week. Eventually, it was an every-night thing. Sometimes, I only knew he had returned when he caressed my skin in the middle of the night, waking me from sleep. If not for that, I would’ve thought he never made it home at all.

And I always gave Hassani the benefit of the doubt. Always assumed he was just working late. The Greene Gardens Project was massive, so I figured work was keeping him away.

Tonight, though?

Shit just felt… different .

“Ayla,” he said. “Why are you still up?—”

“Where were you?” I interjected. My voice was hoarse and heavy. I almost didn’t recognize it.

He opened his mouth to say something but then closed it. All I got from him was a hard swallow.

I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping me. I exhaled every ounce of air in my lungs, not wanting to ask my next question but knowing I had to.

“Were you out with Harper, Hassani?”

He shut his eyes and sighed. “Ayla?—”

“Yes or no,” I spoke over him, my chest rising and falling so fast the influx of air made me lightheaded.

“I was ,” he admitted. “But then my?—”

“God.” I exhaled sharply. After a brief pause, I said, “Hassani, I can’t do this shit anymore.”

I shook my head slowly. The moment the words left my lips, I felt the sting in my nose, the welling of tears in my eyes.

“I can’t do this, and I don’t want to.”

“Ayla—”

“Every fucking night since you started this project, Hassani, has been hell for me.”

He closed his eyes and dropped his head forward.

“This woman you’re working with… hmph .” I laughed bitterly once more but inhaled a deep breath after, one that ached in my chest. “She is up to something, and I’m tired of telling you about her.

Tired of you making excuses. Tired of you making me feel like I’m acting crazy.

And yet, here you are, walking into this house at this hour, telling me you were out with her. ”

“Nah, man,” he tried. “You didn’t let me finish?—”

“Were you or were you not out with her, Hassani?” I exhaled.

“I… I was, but, baby, not for?—”

“I want…” The words were right there, caught in my throat, suffocating me as I tried to hold them back. I shook my head, squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the tears well behind them. The words burned as I tried to swallow them down.

“A,” Hassani started, “Baby, I?—”

“I want a divorce.”

Hassani staggered back as if I had physically struck him. His hand fisted at his chest, right over his heart.

If the house had been silent before, the silence doubled now. My words carried weight, crashing to the floor between us, cracking the stone beneath our feet, breaking something between us, too.

“Ayla,” he said, stepping toward me. I held up a hand, stopping him.

I had thought about it before but never actually said the words out loud. Never thought I’d ever have to.

But I’d had enough.

My resolve was clear, and for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was carrying a heavy anvil on my heart.

I wanted out of this… out of these feelings, away from these doubts.

And I wanted out now.

I stood from my seat.

“A. Boogie,” Hassani whispered, his voice breaking.

That almost made me falter. Almost.

But I kept moving, my steps quick, determined.

He reached for me as I passed, but I slapped his hand away.

“Fuck, Ayla, come on, don’t do this right now.”

I turned back, my lips trembling as I fought like hell to hold in the cry threatening to burst through.

“I’ve been losing you for months, Hassani.” I inhaled shakily. “But tonight?” I met his gaze, my voice barely above a whisper. “You lost me .”

The pressure in my throat made it impossible to breathe as I walked toward the guest bedroom.

“Ayla, please?—”

His voice shattered behind me as I stepped inside and slammed the door shut.