Page 5

L eaving the house felt like peeling off a mask I barely held in place. Sloane had eventually said goodbye with that same exhausted caution in her voice, but I could sense a shift in her.

The kids waved through the window and I knew they were both already chattering about the trip. I waved back, even smiled, but inside I was rotting. My sense of self felt strained, the grim realization that I was struggling to fix things. Thank God they were still too young to realize it.

As I pulled away from the curb, the air inside the truck was thick with the scent of sweat and new leather. The sun glared down, too bright as I tried to plan my next step from here. A few blocks out, I passed the gym and my gut turned.

It was a sterile-looking place: sleek windows, steel trim, bold lettering. You'd never guess it was the site of my unraveling. I stared at it like a man watching the scene of a crime he'd committed. Fuck, I needed to cancel the membership.

That's where I met her. Angie .

She hadn't simply strolled into my life; she roared in like a wildfire looking for something to consume and I let her burn me. Hell, I kindled her flames.

But that fire didn't start with her. It was already smoldering in me, a dry brush left untended. Ego. Resentment. Years of unspoken bitterness I'd never admitted, not even to myself.

It had started on a Tuesday morning. I was skipping client calls, pretending to be productive while wasting time in a place where no one asked questions.

The gym had become my temple of self-pity, a distraction wrapped in sweat and narcissism thanks to the sculptured six pack I had carefully created.

I wasn't working out simply for health, I was trying to escape the monotony of life.

I ran on the treadmill, sweat pouring down my shirtless body, bored, angry, restless for reasons I couldn't name. It felt like I was breathing through gauze. Like the walls of my life were closing in and, instead of fixing it, I scratched at them.

That's when she walked in. Angie, the newest member of the gym and talk of the town thanks to her corporate daddy funding the next set of businesses looking to set up shop.

Tight black leggings and flawless makeup even at 9 AM.

She didn't belong in that place full of moms in oversized t-shirts and dudes sweating through their cheap tank tops.

She smiled at me while I was getting water. She wasn't coy, wasn't innocent. Fuck, she knew how attractive she was. I was helpless, caught up in the way she carried herself, completely unable to look away.

"You always scowl after cardio, or is that just for show?" Her rouge-painted lips curled into a smile that was all confidence and temptation.

I grunted some half-laugh and shrugged as I finished my water but already I was hooked. It had been months, maybe longer, since someone looked at me like I was interesting, not a walking to-do list or a constant disappointment.

The next day, she was there again… so was I.

It started off harmless: idle chatter, lifting tips, cardio jokes, dumb flirty jabs. She told me she was single, no kids, did some marketing consulting from home. She liked my sarcasm. Said I had "Alpha energy" which fed some starving, ugly thing within me that I hadn't known was there.

I should've turned away. I should've thought of Sloane's tired hands washing dinner plates after a ten-hour shift. Or the way Liam had started biting his nails until they bled from test anxiety. Or the way Violet still asked if I'd be home every night.

But I didn't. I looked away, ignoring the problems at home and focusing on this fantasy.

Each time we met up, Angie smiled like she already owned me. And a part of me, some bitter, broken part, smiled back.

Because I wanted someone to see me.

Because I wanted to feel wanted .

Because I was too damn selfish to appreciate the woman holding our family together with both hands while I whined inside my own head about how hard life was.

The mental gymnastics started early. It disgusts me to remember the things I said to Angie as I slipped deeper into the fantasy I was constructing.

"We can just be friends."

"Sloane and I haven't really talked in weeks."

That turned into flirtation, into inside jokes, into late-night texts that Sloane never saw. And Angie? She fed it.

"She sounds cold. "

"You're not like other guys."

She knew exactly what strings to pull, and I was too arrogant to see I was another puppet.

I thought Angie was freedom. I thought she was validation. But she was a mirror, reflecting every ugly part of me I refused to face. Every choice I made with her came from a place of rot I hadn't treated and I justified it. Again and again.

I was bitter towards Sloane because she wanted to work.

She loved the clinic and couldn't imagine a day without it.

Ten or twelve-hour shifts, emergency surgeries, cases where some kid's dog came in mangled and she came home with its blood still under her nails.

She was exhausted… always moving. The kids needed school lunches, rides, help with homework, doctors' appointments, orthodontist referrals.

I helped. Or, at least I thought I did. My self-centered ass couldn't see all the little things. I focused only on the obvious stuff: trash, dishes, the occasional school pickup when I "could spare the time." The mental load was always on her.

I had my phone, my secrets, my delusions of control. I made her the villain in my head just so I could feel righteous while betraying her. What I didn't see, the real weight, was how she carried it all. Emotionally. Logistically. Alone.

I only ever saw my own hunger.

Sloane had no idea. How could she? She was holding up the weight of our world, endlessly carrying the burden of our entire family and her career day in and day out like Sisyphus.

Hell, I'd come home to find her asleep at the table after grading Liam's science project or helping Violet practice reading.

The house was clean because she cleaned it.

Groceries were stocked because she planned every list. Doctor appointments?

Calendars? Gift wrapping? Thank-you cards? Magic fairies didn't do that. She did.

I noticed all of it, but I didn't value any of it. Not the way I should have. Old Me had been incapable of appreciating her, because he was too busy feeling resentful that he wasn't being doted on. He was too blind to see she had nothing left to give.

So when Angie asked if I wanted to grab a drink one Friday night, I said yes. I said yes without thinking. Without guilt.

That night I met her, the bar was dim, music low, our booth tucked into a corner like a secret.

I'd cleaned up after the gym, doing my best to look sharp and hoping to make an impression.

But when I saw her, everything else vanished.

I was star struck, blindsided by her presence.

The rest of the world had slipped out of focus.

Angie wore red lipstick and a skin-tight dress that accentuated the tits her father had bought her. She touched my arm when she laughed. She asked, "Do you feel seen at home?"

I didn't answer right away.

She made me feel wanted, smart, and desirable. With Angie, I wasn't just a husband and father who mowed the lawn and cleaned out the gutters. She made me feel like me again. Except it wasn't me. Not really. It was a narcissistic sickness within me that needed to be the center of the universe.

"I see you," she said, dragging her fingers along the inside of my wrist. "I bet your wife doesn't even appreciate you anymore."

I could have stopped it right then. I should have stood up and walked away.

Instead, I kissed her.