Page 66 of The Humiliated Wife

“Yeah,” Fiona said quietly. “Performing.”

The word sat between them for a second.

Marcy tilted her head. “You don’t have to feel guilty for loving someone you thought was a good guy.”

“I just…” Fiona frowned down into her tea. “I feel stupid. Like I built him up so high that I didn’t see the cracks.”

Emma popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth. “That’s not a flaw, Fi. That’s hope. And you’re not the only one who’s done it.”

There was a pause. Fiona looked up.

Emma sighed. “Milo’s great. But he still thinks ‘emotional labor’ means I have a second job.”

“And Travis,” Marcy said, making a face, “gets overwhelmed when I ask him to schedule his own dentist appointment. I’m dating a grown man with the self-management skills of a cat.”

They all laughed.

“But you know what?” Marcy went on, her tone softening. “They try. It’s messy, but they try."

Fiona was quiet.

"You know what your next guy's going to be like?" Emma said, settling back with the popcorn bowl.

Marcy's eyes lit up on the screen. "Oh, we're doing this? I love this game."

"He's going to be the kind of person who asks what you need instead of assuming he knows," Emma said. "Like, actually asks. And then listens to the answer."

"And he's going to think your stories are charming, not material," Marcy added. "He's going to laughwithyou, notatyou."

"He's going to brag about you to his friends," Emma continued, getting into it now. "Not make you the joke at dinner parties."

Fiona felt something twist uncomfortably in her chest. She forced a smile. "Sounds nice."

"Oh, and he's going to love how you see the world," Marcy said, warming to the topic. "Like when you get excited about weird cloud formations or cry at commercials with dogs. He's going to find that beautiful, not embarrassing."

"Someone who gets that kindness isn't naivety," Emma said firmly. "Someone who knows the difference."

They kept going, painting this picture of some hypothetical perfect man, and Fiona found herself retreating further into the couch cushions with each detail.

She didn't want some theoretical next guy.

She wanted Dean.

Not the Dean who had betrayed her, not the Dean who had turned her into content for strangers. But the Dean who used to trace patterns on her back when she couldn't sleep. The Dean who brought her coffee exactly the way she liked it without being asked. The Dean who had looked at her like she was the answer to a question he'd been asking his whole life.

That Dean had felt like home.

That Dean had felt liketheperson. Not a person.Theperson.

"—don't you think, Fi?"

Fiona blinked back to the conversation. "Sorry, what?"

Emma was looking at her with concern. "I said he's going to be someone who makes you feel safe. Really safe."

"Right," Fiona said quietly. "That sounds... good."

But it didn't sound good. It sounded impossible.