Page 7 of Marriage & Mockery

Someone had cropped it tight and dropped a caption across the bottom in bold white letters.

When you find out your husband has been mocking you for years…

The post already had tens of thousands of likes. I made the mistake of scrolling into the comments where people were joking about which of my quirks had made it into the show. Others were straight up laughing. Or defending Bennett.

They were treating my devastation like entertainment, something to be screenshotted and passed around.

I kept scrolling even though every new comment I read made it harder to hold myself together. Social media influencers were turning the worst moment of my life into content for clout. And it was working.

Heaving a deep sigh, I set the phone on the bed and stared at the wall across from me, too inside my head to really take in the framed black-and-white photograph taken by Wayne Wilcox.

The pain of Bennett’s betrayal wasn’t private. There was no version of tonight where I could pretend it hadn’t happened because nobody was going to let me forget. Once something was on the internet, it was there forever.

Even if I called Julian, Bennett’s entertainment lawyer, and asked him to throw however much money it took to scrub this from the web, screenshots were already out there. People had the awards ceremony saved to their cloud to watch later.

I was still staring at the wall when my phone buzzed against the mattress. I almost ignored it until I saw the name flashing across the screen.

Maybe my best friend could help me make sense of what had happened tonight.

“Hey, Felicity.” My voice sounded rough even to me.

“Laina.” Her tone was soft with concern. “I just saw the clips after finally getting Faith down for the night. Are you okay?”

I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me. “Not really.”

“I figured. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to pick up with everything that happened tonight, but I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to check on you.”

Her reply didn’t surprise me. Felicity was the sweetest person I knew.

“Well, I have all the time in the world to do whatever I want since I’m at a hotel. Alone.”

“Do you want me to come get you? Or I can drive down and stay with you,” she offered. “I’m sure Weston will understand.”

Part of me wanted to say yes. But I knew I wasn’t ready to be seen like this by anyone, even my best friend.

“I think I need to be on my own for the night. But thank you.”

“Okay.” She didn’t push. “I’m here, though. For whatever you need. Whenever. Even if it’s three in the morning, and you just need someone to listen while you cry. Or rage.”

My eyes burned again. “My emotions are all over the place right now, so you could get both.”

“Which is perfectly understandable under the circumstances.” She huffed out a breath. “Honestly, you sound better than I expected.”

I let out a watery laugh. “If you’d called five minutes ago, you wouldn’t have been able to say that.”

“You’re stronger than me. I’d still be curled up in the fetal position, crying my eyes out and hoping the hotel had very thick walls so nobody could hear me.”

“Lucky for me, the lobby is on one side,” I muttered. “There were only a few cars in the parking lot, so hopefully the room next to me is empty.”

“Um, where are you staying?”

“Hotel June.”

“Oh my gosh,” she cried. “Please tell me you’re in room thirteen.”

“I wish.” I lay back on the mattress. “I only called half an hour before arriving, and that room books up at least three months in advance.”

“Yeah, because Bob Dylan wrote an album there.”