Page 9 of Shattered Dreams

I splash cold water on my face as I try to regain some kind of grip on reality, failing massively when I catch sight of my reflection. Mom's eyes stare back at me. Same shape, same shade of brown. It's been fifteen years since the accident that took her, but sometimes the resemblance still catches me off guard. I wonder what advice she'd give me now. If she'd tell me to fight for my marriage or walk away with my dignity intact. Unlike my father, who walked away without a second thought when I was just a kid.

My skin no longer holds the youth it had when we met. My body lost its tightness years ago. Happiness meant eating whatever I wanted, curves growing slowly until my pregnancy with Poppy.

Poppy.

My heart fractures again—this wasn't justmehe cheated on. It washer.

My sweet, innocent, beautiful girl.

I drag myself up, inhaling deeply as I walk back to the foyer, staring blankly at my surroundings.

The house's size means nothing; it never has. Despite Roman's NFL success, I'd begun teaching a creative writing class in the summer. I'd left to raise Poppy, but we'd discussed having another baby...

How could he have those conversations while fucking someone else?

My eyes catch my phone buzzing against the foyer table. I don’t even have the strength to pick it up, but notifications illuminate the screen. Missed calls. Messages. Mentions.

Then—my stomach lurches.

"NFL Star Roman Muller: secret affair EXPOSED"

My eyes squeeze shut, head shaking. I can't facethat.

I can’t.

I climb the stairs numbly, eyes falling to our bedroom at the hallway's end.

Darkness envelops it, but the outline ofourbed stands clear.

For a flicker of a second, I remember the night we moved in—him carrying me over the threshold, tossing me onto that bed, kissing me like he couldn't believe I was his. He'd whispered, "This is our forever, Ava."

Now those same sheets feel contaminated, poisoned. I want to rip them to fucking shreds.

Nausea sweeps through me as I turn away, seeking a guest room.

I can't face our room.

I collapse onto the bed fully clothed, face buried in the pillow as sobs wrack my body. The pain cuts to the bone—every memory of Roman now tainted with another woman's shadow. I cry until I'm hollow, yet the tears keep coming. I stare at the wall, then the ceiling, chasing sleep.

It’s pointless. I can’t.

My life has been ripped from under me. My husband is a liar. A cheating...liar.

My heart constricts, breath catching, memories of happiness haunting me.

What happened?

We argued, but every couple does, right? Poppy adores her daddy, and he is amazing with her. He hasn't spent as much time with her lately because he’s so busy?—

Oh my god.

Busy.

Doing what, exactly?

I'd trusted him so completely that I'd missed it. The reason he didn't spend time with Poppy was because he was having a fuckingaffair.

With who?