Page 11 of One More Chance
She looked up, slow and exhausted. I saw in her eyes that I was simply another demand she had to meet. "I'm tired, Levi. Can we not do this today?"
"Right," I muttered, yanking open the fridge. "Tired. Always tired."
She sighed. "Because Iam. I just got home from work, Liam needed help with his homework, and Violet made herself a sandwich withyourwhole wheat bread. We really should consider being a gluten free home, Levi."
"But gluten free bread is gross," I said as I searched the fridge for a beer. "That's why I buy the good bread."
"I am too tired to have this argument right now."
I slammed the fridge shut. "You're always too tired. Too tired for dates. Too tired for sex. Hell Sloane, it feels like it's been weeks. It's like I'm invisible unless something breaks."
Her eyes flared, and I knew I'd crossed a line, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. The resentment was burning holes in my chest.
I asked, "When's the last time you even touched me like you wanted to? I get a pat on the back and a grocery list. That's it." I was grasping at straws, throwing out anything to get a reaction, anything to spark a fight, maybe even shout ourselves into some reckless, hot makeup sex.
She rose slowly. Her messy braids framed her face in wild loops and strands, a halo of chaos around a woman on the brink. Whatever angel she once was had long since handed the reins to something far more primal. I had summoned this version of her and now I was about to reap what I’d sown.
I saw the storm mounting in her eyes, fury rolling in with every breath. "You think I want this distance between us? You think I don't miss us too?"
"Then why won't you try? Why does it always feel like I'm begging for scraps of attention? Your sex toys get more action than I do most days."
"Because I'm drowning, Levi!" Her voice cracked. "I work, I parent, I clean, I schedule, I manageeverything.Then you waltz in acting like sex is going to fix what's wrong withus,but you barely contribute to this household much less our marriage." She slammed her phone down, the sharp crack of the screen startling Rufus from his nap. "How is it that I'm failingyouwhen I'm too exhausted to pretend I'm not broken anymore?" Her chest was heaving now, the tears in her eyes threatening to fall.
I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came.
She shook her head, her voice lower now, but no less cutting. "We're not young anymore. I get it. I'm not your fantasy, Levi. I can't climb into bed and pretend everything's fine. Not when I'm barely holding myself together and you're too wrapped up in your own bullshit to see that I need help, that I can't do this alone."
"Sloane, Idohelp," I said. My voice rose, getting defensive.
She blinked at me, then laughed, "Only when I beg, Levi." Her voice was brittle. "When I’m drowning in the mess and text you non stop,thenyou show up."
I opened my mouth, but she wasn’t finished. Her eyes locked onto mine with sharp clarity. “You want to know why I don’t want to have sex?” she asked. Her voice was cold and steady now. “It’s because I already feel like I have a third child. And newsflash Levi, having a man-child isn’t exactly a turn-on.”
That one landed square in the chest. A clean, merciless blow as she turned and walked away, her shoulders heavy with the kind of surrender that only follows trying too hard for too long.
I stood there in the kitchen, hands clenched, jaw locked, wanting to scream but mostly feeling completely, irreparably alone. The first thought that flashed through me like lightning, fast and furious was, "How dare she treat me like this?"
She acted as if I was some burden she had to carry, nothing more than dead weight on her tired back. Was she blind to how hard I had worked my ass off to get us where we were? Why did I have to beg for affection from my own wife? Why was I not good enough for her anymore?
Fuck… Old Me was such a petulant narcissist.
My phone was already in my hand before I knew what I was doing.
Wanna meet up?
The second I hit send, my stomach soured but not enough to stop me. I wanted to be seen. To feel wanted even if it was the wrong person. I was so consumed by my pain that I was blind to Sloane's.
Angie's text came back quickly.
For you? Always.
That was all it took to hook me. Those three words gave me immediate and uncomplicated validation. Not like at home, where every word felt as if I was walking a tightrope. Not like Sloane, whose exhaustion had turned love into duty. Angie's words offered warmth where there had been cold, attention where there had been absence.
I knew it was wrong. I knew this wasn't connection. It was escape. A shortcut. A hit of something cheap that would burn out fast and leave me emptier than before.
But in that moment, I didn't care. I needed to feel something that wasn't rejection or inadequacy. I needed to feelwanted.
I'd told Sloane I needed to "get gas and clear my head." I didn't even bother with eye contact. She didn't argue. She was too tired. She didn't even kiss me goodbye. I got in the truck and drove.
