Page 3 of October: The Odd Ones, Stories of Love and Grovel

Thomas has always had a controlled and workaholic nature.

I used to love that about him.

The way he carried himself—always composed, always prepared, always thinking three steps ahead.

Thomas was the kind of man who made lists for vacations, who color-coded his calendar, who ran the family company like it was an extension of his bloodstream.

He was disciplined. Stoic. Unshakable.

And once, I thought that made me safe. That same discipline, that commitment, that ambition—I used to admire it.

I thought it meant he was building a future for us. But now...

now it feels like all of him belongs to that company. To his plans. His image. His father's expectations.

And to Laura.

Not to me.

I walked into the building with my baby in my arms, a fire simmering under my skin. I must've looked like a storm in soft clothes, because people glanced at me, then quickly looked away.

His assistant smiled when she saw me—tight-lipped, like I was interrupting something sacred.

"He's in a meeting," she said.

"I'll wait."

Then came the voice. Her voice.

Laura.

"Oh—October,"

she said, blinking like she couldn't quite believe I had the audacity to show up.

"Or is it November? I always get it mixed up."

My jaw clenched.

"It's October."

She gave me a practiced smile.

"Right. Creative, I guess."

"I'm here to see my husband."

She tilted her head.

"If he was expecting you, I'm sure he would've told me. He's in with the regional team. Very important meeting."

And yet, somehow, when the baby let out a soft cry, Thomas appeared almost instantly.

The second he saw me, his face shifted, confused and concerned

"October? What's wrong? Is the baby okay?"

"We need to talk."

His eyes flicked to the conference room, then back to me.

"Now? I have—"

"Now."

He sighed like I was another problem to be solved, another unexpected variable in a day full of carefully managed chaos.

Then he opened the door to his office and waved me in.

I stepped past Laura.

She didn't move.

She didn't need to.

Inside, I placed the carrier on the couch.

My hands didn't shake, but something deep inside me did. I pulled the envelope from my bag and dropped it onto his desk, watching him flinch like it was a bomb about to go off.

He glanced at it, confused.

"What is that?"

"You tell me,"

I shot back, trying to keep my voice steady.

He opened it, his face changing in a flash from confusion to frustration as he saw what it was.

"It's cash. Until your real gift comes in. I told you I'd get you something special."

I could feel the heat in my chest, the sting in my throat.

"You mean after you skipped out on my birthday and ran off to look for Laura's damn cat?"

He froze.

"That's not fair,"

he snapped, his voice rising a little.

"It was a lost animal. She was upset. We didn't expect it to take so long. I was just helping her out."

"It was my birthday, Thomas,"

I ground out, my voice barely holding together.

He shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening.

"I was going to surprise you, okay? With the kids. We had it planned. And then—"

"You prioritized her."

His eyes narrowed, frustration bubbling up like a pot on the verge of boiling over.

"That's not true. That's not what happened at all."

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but it only made the pain worse.

"And then this—this envelope."

I gestured to it, still sitting between us like a mocking reminder.

"What is this, Thomas? What the hell is this supposed to be?"

My voice was trembling now.

"You leave me an envelope of cash like some... like a prostitute? Like I'm some kind of transaction you can just pay off when you screw up?"

His face flickered with shock, but then, almost immediately, he hardened.

"Oh God, you're exaggerating,"

he said, as if he couldn't understand how deeply it cut.

"It's just cash, October. I didn't have time to get anything else. I'll get you the gift I promised. I just didn't think it would be that big of a deal."

I felt like the air had been knocked out of me. How could he not see it.

"You didn't think it would be a big deal? You didn't think that a gesture like this would be insulting? That this—"

I looked at the envelope again, disgust crawling through me.

"—wasn't a real apology? That you're treating me like a chore? Like something you just throw money at when you don't feel like showing up? When did you stop caring? When did you stop caring about Your Wife instead of your workwife!"

His eyes flashed, his defenses slamming up like a wall between us.

"Workwife? What does that even mean? You think I don't care about you? You think I'm not doing all this—everything—for us? For the kids? You think I like this? I've got meetings, targets, deadlines, my father coming in today, and you waltz in here, throwing a tantrum, accusing me of being a bad husband? This is who I am, October!"

I stared at him, hurt flashing through me like lightning.

"I used to know who you were. I used to admire it—your dedication, your ambition. But now..."

My voice faltered for a moment.

"Now, it's just a wall between us, and you know what? It's a wall that Laura has no problem climbing over."

His breath caught. He stared at me for a long moment, and then he sighed, like he was trying to calm himself down.

"Maybe you're just hormonal or tired. It's been a long week, okay?"

I recoiled, the words stinging like he'd slapped me across the face.

"Hormonal? Is that what you think this is?"

He didn't even seem to notice the way his words cut.

"We'll talk at home. Later. When you've calmed down. We're both just... on edge."

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking frustrated.

"I don't have time for this right now. My father is coming in twenty minutes, and you're just being dramatic."

I shook my head, the pressure of everything mounting until I couldn't breathe.

"You disappear on my birthday and goes to Laura and you think I'm just being dramatic?"

"October, I'm doing the best I can,"

he said, his voice softer now, but still defensive.

"She's just a coworker. There's nothing between us."

I took a step back, the truth sinking in with sharp clarity.

"She's your priority,"

I said, my voice cracking.

"Something goes wrong in her life, and you drop everything. You're there for her."

He stared at me, disbelief written all over his face. There was a knock, and then—without waiting—Laura entered again. Like she knew she could.

"I just thought I should let you know, people can hear,"

she said sweetly, eyes only for him.

"Might be best to finish this at home."

He nodded.

"Thanks, Laura."

And that was it.

Not we're in the middle of something.

Not please give us a moment.

Just thanks, Laura.

When the door shut, I stared at him. He shook his head. "

We will talk more at home. You can't just come to my job and make a scene."

"I made a scene because you forgot me."

"I didn't forget your birthday!"

"You forgot me."

He slammed a hand against the desk.

"God, do you even hear yourself? This jealousy—this obsession—it's exhausting! My father's coming any minute. I don't have time for your tantrum."

"tantrum"...and in that moment, it hit me; he would always believe the problem was me. My hormones. My exhaustion. My expectations. My feelings. Never him. Never the woman he runs to. Never the choices he makes, over and over, to make her feel safe and seen, while I sit at home wondering what I did wrong.

I didn't say another word.

I picked up the baby, kept my head high, and walked out the door, and I didn't look back.

I drove to small park nearby and sat on a bench, the stroller beside me, my chest tight. My hands still shaking. I called his sister.

When she picked up, I could almost hear her smirk through the phone.

"What the hell did my idiot brother do now?"

she asked, her voice carefree, a stark contrast to the heavy, suffocating air I was drowning in. I took a deep breath, trying to keep it together.

"I don't think he loves me."

There was a long pause on the other end.

I could hear her shuffling around, probably making herself a cup of coffee or cracking open a beer, just like she always did when she was in one of those carefree moods.

She didn't have a care in the world, a fact that both irritated and fascinated me.

But then, that was always her way.

She was the wild one—the one who never quite fit into the family.

Unlike Thomas and the rest of them, she didn't care about rules, status, or maintaining appearances.

She'd left years ago, chosen to live on her own terms, living a nomadic life that took her from one place to the next.

She'd traveled, explored, met people who actually saw her.

She'd given up the comfort of her family's rigid world, choosing instead to live out of a backpack and chase after whatever called her in the moment.

And, in doing so, she became the black sheep of the family.

Her decisions, her free-spirited ways, were a constant disappointment to her conservative, uptight parents.

They saw her as reckless, childish, lost, and for a while, I had agreed with them.

I tried to be the good daughter-in-law, the one who followed the path laid out for me, the one who worked hard to be accepted.

But now? Now, I envied her.

She exhaled into the phone, her voice softer now.

"Oh, baby... I'm sorry to hear that. But listen, do you want me to tell you the truth?"

I nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "Yes."

"The truth is... we've all seen it for a long time, October. The way you've always been in love with him, the way you've tried to make it work, even when it was clear he wasn't fully there with you. I get it, I really do. You wanted him to love you the way you love him. But he's always been distant, hasn't he? Cold. Like he knew you loved him enough that it would be enough for both of you. Look, October, Thomas never left home, did he? Never made his own path. He stayed right there, in that suffocating world where ambition and appearances are everything. He's a perfect replica of our father. Cold, controlled, obsessed with the family business and duties."

Her words stung, but I didn't interrupt her. I knew better than to argue, not now, not with the truth hanging between us like a thick fog.

"You've been choosing him over and over,"

she continued, her voice a steady rhythm of honesty.

"And it's time you start choosing yourself."

Her words felt like a slap, but not one meant to hurt. No, this was the kind of slap that wakes you up, that knocks sense into you when you've been lost in the haze of your own denial for far too long.

"You're not doing this for you anymore,"

she said, her voice dropping just slightly, but enough for me to feel the gravity in it.

"You've got to do it for your kids, too. You've got to show them what it means to value yourself, to love yourself enough to walk away from someone who doesn't."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, my hands trembling just a little as I gripped the phone tighter. I wasn't sure if I could keep going, keep listening to the painful truth she was handing me. But I had to. I needed to hear it.

She paused, then sighed, as if she were weighing her next words carefully.

"October, everyone knows how much you've loved him. Hell, it's been obvious to the whole damn world, but it is no longer enough, is it?"

I flinched, feeling the sting of her words pierce straight to my heart.

I didn't want to admit it, didn't want to acknowledge how painfully true it was.

But she was right.

Everyone knew.

They had always known.

I had worn my love for him like a badge, quietly, proudly, even though it had never been returned in the same way.

All those years, I had loved him with everything I had—more than he had ever loved me, more than he had ever thought to give.

I had wrapped my whole life around the idea of him, thinking that my loyalty, my sacrifices, my willingness to give up pieces of myself would somehow make him see me, make him appreciate me.

But it had never been enough.

It was like I had been playing a one-sided game, pouring everything into someone who never bothered to meet me halfway.

And I had been so blinded by my own love, by my own expectations, that I had failed to see how it was draining me, wearing me thin, until I was nothing more than a shadow of myself.

Her words hit me like a brick.

And though they hurt, they were exactly what I needed to hear.

My heart twisted in pain, but something inside me also cracked open.

I didn't respond for a moment, and when I finally spoke, my voice was hoarse.

"I don't know how to let go."

She was silent for a beat.

"You don't have to do it all at once, October. But you have to start somewhere. Stop choosing him. That's how you let go."

The truth stung, but it was what I needed to hear. It was time..