When a car crash claims the lives of their partners, Ezra and Imani are left reeling as they discover their loved ones died while holding hands. With accusations of an affair and betrayal flying, they're thrown together into grief and anger. Ezra's...
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17
Ezra
I land a punch on the bag, sweat trickling down my forehead and neck, soaking my clinging shirt, as the photograph plays out in my mind — her smile, his smile, their arms around each other.
There's no denying the affair now. Even before I found the evidence, a part of me knew, though another part desperately didn't want to. I wanted to believe she loved only me. But the photo speaks volumes, its date a damning clue: the day Madison left on a business trip, the same day she kissed me goodbye and then went on a romantic getaway with her lover.
Each blow on the bag tightens my chest, a bead of sweat tracing my spine, and my stomach knots with pain. I focus on my breath, clenching my teeth to maintain my balance and avoid hurting myself.
As I steady myself, Mark strolls in, a sly grin tugging at his lips.
"Look at that, the gala was a hit for the wrong reasons. You made headlines again, several. Happy for you," he says with a mockingly congratulatory tone.
I pause, narrowing my eyes at him before unleashing my frustration on the punching bag. Two more hits. Three more. The bag swings violently with each blow, absorbing my rage, the only control I have left.
"Do you want me to read you the articles, or the comments? You've been trending on all social media. Congratulations on being among the scumbags of America."
Beads of sweat cascade down my forehead as I channel every ounce of pent-up anger into my punches. It's all I've done all morning.
"You're not saying anything. Your lawyer's already called so many times. I think there's a chance he might quit because you keep messing up before you go to trial."
I stop punching the bag, my hand clenched into a tight fist. "Is it my fault? Did I tell that woman to walk up to me and hit me, then throw accusations at me?"
"You can't blame her. She must have been shocked and overwhelmed," he says, fatigue evident in his voice. "We still haven't found the photo, sorry. Best guess is, you probably dropped it. Worst-case scenario, a reporter picked it up."
"If a reporter has it, it would have made headlines by now." I take off my gloves and grab my water to take a sip. It's strange that the only evidence I have has now disappeared. I remember walking away with it, but as soon as I got into my car, it was gone. Poof. Disappeared, like it was never there. Made me wonder if the entire night was all made up. It certainly feels like it.
"You have a point there," he responds with a nod, watching as I sit next to him, rubbing the towel all over my head and neck. "Do you think it's real?"
I swallow thickly, bile rising in my throat. "It's real." I continue to wipe my arms, staring absentmindedly at the ground. It's stupid of me to think that coming to the gym would take my mind off what happened last night, but it barely takes away Madison's smile in my head.
