Page 21 of I’m Already Gone

“I want my husband back!” I shot back, taking after him.

He whirled around, his face a mask of raw anguish. “What husband, Lily?! What husband are you even talking about?” He threw his hands up. “The one who’s never home? The one who can’t even bother to respond to your texts? The one who hasn’t kissed his own kids goodnight in months? Who hasn’t touched his fucking wife in months? Is that the husband you want back?!” His chest heaved, every word laced with a brutal cocktail of self-loathing, shame, and agony.

“Ethan—” I started, my voice catching.

“I missed your birthday, Lily! Your birthday! What kind of man does that?” He cut me off, his voice cracking. “I’m a piece of shit.”

“No, you’re not,” I said firmly, stepping closer.

“Yes, I am. And you know what?” He barked a harsh, humorless laugh. “You deserve a better man than me.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” I croaked. “I love you, Ethan. I... I want us to communicate. To get back to how we used to be. To us. To Ethan and Lily.”

He took a step, closing the space between us, and cupped my face in his hands. His touch felt like a lifeline after months of emotional starvation. I closed my eyes, leaning into it, trying to soak in the warmth of the man I loved with all my soul.

“I love you so fucking much, Lily,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his thumbs tracing my jaw. “But you deserve so much more than what I can emotionally offer you right now.”

“Ethan, please,” I begged, tears finally spilling over. I reached up, placing my hand over his, pressing it harder against my face. “Let’s go away. Anywhere. Just the two of us.”

He shook his head slowly, his gaze slipping from mine as if looking at me hurt too much. “I can’t, Sunshine. You know I can’t. My job... It’s my life. It’s become the only part of me I know how to control.”

“And what about us?” I whispered, afraid of the answer.

“You’re my heart,” he whispered, his eyes meeting mine, filled with an unbearable sorrow. “Don’t you see? I don’t feel like I’m enough for you anymore, Lily. I’m failing you as your husband, failing our kids as their father, and I don’t know how to give you the parts of me that are already gone.” He leaned down, pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead, and stepped back.

I waited, begging for a flicker of recognition of what we once were, a sign, something, anything. I was ready for him to fight for us, to tell me he would do better, that things would be different from now on. But what I really wanted was for him to look at me like he used to, to see me, and to remind me, over and over, how much he loved me. To take me upstairs and make love to me until the world made sense again.

But he didn’t.

He. Did. Nothing.

His gaze, that had gone from broken to cold and distant, sliced through me as he brushed past me. He stomped up the stairs and locked himself in the guest room, leaving me alone, drowning in every question he refused to answer.

Ethan

“Hi Ethan,” Emma said, her voice piercing through my thoughts. I lifted my head to find her standing in the doorway.

“What are you still doing here?” I slumped back in my chair with a glass of bourbon in my hand.

She stepped into my office. “I was worried about you and saw your light on. Are you okay?”

No. I was not fucking okay. I had been a wreck since the fight with Lily the other night. Three nights ago. Three goddamn nights sleeping in the guest room, and we had barely exchanged words.

I wish I could undo what I said.

I had been consumed by shame and overwhelming regret for what I spat at her, every venomous word, because I’d hurt the one I love deeply. That guilt ate at me every moment. But what obliterated my soul was the way her face crumbled. To witness the light in her eyes being extinguished when I told her that half-truth that she deserved someone better. But the image of someone else’s hands on her, someone else’s laughter filling her world, was drowning me, and I didn’t know how to breathe through the pain.

Emma settled into the chair across from me, her posture relaxed. The hem of her gray skirt edged higher as she crossed her legs, and my eyes inadvertently dropped to her light-pink button blouse, which hinted at the delicate white lace beneath. Something a married man should not notice. I cleared my throat, determined to keep my focus on her face.

“Are you drunk?” she asked with a concerned tone.

“Not enough,” I muttered, taking another swig.

“What’s going on, Ethan?”

I swallowed and sighed. “I fucked up with my wife, Emma.”

“How?”