"What do you deserve?"
My ex-husband asks as he squeezes my jaw with his thick fingers. His face is mere centimeters from mine. I can feel the heat from his body radiate through me.
"I deserve more than you ever gave me." I spit back at him...
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Themorning after my husband admitted that he had cheated on me was miserable. I hardly slept the night before and my body felt uncomfortable. My cheeks and eyes were puffy. My lips were red from bitting on them out of anger. My nose was chapped by the constant wiping of snot. I felt gross.
But beyond my appearance, I felt gross on the inside. I felt betrayed. Humiliated. I had caught myself trying to change the narrative throughout the night. I didn't want to blame him. My instinct was to ask what I had done wrong. Or what I could have done better.
I was worn out from feeling sick, not loved and not good enough. Just that eight hours was enough. Jack didn't deserve a narrative. He did wrong. I didn't. I definitely don't have the right to have one single feeling that goes against myself. I'm not in the wrong.
So with that thought carrying my agenda for the day, I got ready and went to our apartment across the city. I painted away the red blemishes and dark eyes with makeup.
I drove myself to the apartment. I wanted to be able to feel free to go at anytime I pleased. I don't want to establish an uneasy feeling around my husband, so that was my way of helping calm my nerves.
I parked my car besides his SUV in the garage underneath the building. On the elevator ride I could feel my chest tightening. I forced myself to breathe before stepping out onto the floor.
This apartment was small and was one of four homes on this level. It was the apartment that Jack and I originally bought together as a gift to ourselves. We had recently gotten engaged and our careers were finally thriving. Although mediocre, we were happy with it. We eventually got an upgrade but we couldn't give it up. Jack decided to buy that apartment for my twenty-fourth birthday. It was officially ours and we could do whatever we wanted with it.
I knocked on the door, casually waiting for him to open it. After a few more moments I had to knock again. This happened two more times before I walked in myself. I figured he would have been home on a Saturday afternoon. Especially after coming home from a long trip.
