Page 25 of The Humiliated Wife

Now she felt humiliated, running away to Sweetwater.

And Dean—Dean was left here. Alone. Heart pounding. Appetite gone. Trying to fix coffee he wasn’t even sure he’d drink.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

He checked his phone again. No answers to his texts. No returned calls.

His jaw flexed. The silence felt like punishment.

Didn’t she realize this hurt him too?

The kettle shrieked. Dean turned it off and poured the water, watching it bloom over the grounds. He’d automatically grabbed two mugs.

He stood there a long moment, staring at the cups on the counter.

She was his wife. She’d stood under a canopy of imported orchids and promised him forever in front of two hundredguests and a wedding planner with a six-month waitlist. To love and to stay and to talk things through—not bolt the second things got hard.

And what—he was supposed to be the villain now? For what? For having a sense of humor? For finding the things she saidcharming?

Sheknewhe worked in advertising. She’d always said she admired how his brain worked—how he could find the heart of a message and make people feel something. Well, that’s what he’d done. He’d bottled her weird, lovable brain and shown it to the world.

If she couldn’t see that—if she was too sensitive to take a joke, too dramatic to stay and work through this like adults—well, that wasn’t on him.

Dean slammed one of the mugs into the sink. It clattered against the porcelain but didn’t break. Just echoed too loudly in the empty kitchen.

Maybe she liked being the victim. Maybe she wanted people to feel sorry for her. Run home to Sweetwater, where everything was soft and slow and no one ever challenged her. Let her sister fuss over her, bake some cookies, play the heartbroken martyr for a few days.

He picked up his phone again. Still nothing. No apology. No explanation. No "I'm sorry for walking out."

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, pacing now.

Instead, she left him here. Madehimthe abandoned one. Like he was the problem.

Dean stared out the window, jaw tight, the city already awake and humming below. He’d built a life for them here. A good one. Stylish apartment, great job, interesting people. He’d given her a seat at a table most people would kill to be invited to.

And she threw it away over someonline captions?

He shook his head. It wasn’t a big deal. She’d be back.

CHAPTER 14

Fiona

The bell hadn’t even finished echoingdown the hall before the room filled with the sound of chairs scraping and backpacks hitting the floor. Fiona moved through the space without thought, flipping on the string lights that lined the whiteboard, plucking yesterday’s objectives off the chart with a flick of her wrist.

“Okay, team,” she said, clapping her hands twice. “Let’s shake off the weekend brains.”

Groans answered her, but they were half-hearted, the kind that meant her students were glad to be back even if they’d never admit it out loud. A pencil rolled off a desk and clattered to the floor. Someone was already asking about snack time.

Fiona smiled and pulled her cardigan tighter around her.

This was her rhythm. Her terrain.

“Work’s on your desk. You’ve got five minutes. Bonus sticker if you use a semicolon correctly.”

A chorus of groans again, more dramatic this time, but pencils began to scratch against paper. Fiona circled the room slowly, checking in without hovering. Lucas had his hoodie pulled low over his eyes. Marley was chewing the end of her braid. Isaiah had already finished.

“Miss Fiona?” It was Rae, her voice quiet.