The Day I Stopped Fighting for My Husband

When I was injured and hospitalized, my husband, Adrian Hale, was still giving me the silent treatment over his ex-girlfriend.

During our worst fight, he told me, "If Vanessa and I wanted to be together, you never would have become Mrs. Hale."

After that, I became the kind of wife he'd always claimed to want. I stopped asking questions. I stopped checking when he would be home. I stopped arguing when Vanessa called.

Yet, that was when Adrian began reporting every detail of his day, avoiding Vanessa, and trying to come home early. On my birthday, he canceled a trip to Europe and flew back overnight to surprise me.

I should have been moved.

Instead, I hid in the kitchen and whispered to my best friend, "We're getting divorced. Why is he going to all this trouble?"

She laughed. "Adrian Hale is rich, gorgeous, and finally acting like a husband. Are you sure you won't regret leaving him?"

I thought about it.

"No," I said. "I think I'll finally be able to breathe."

Something dropped to the floor behind me.

I turned. Adrian was standing in the doorway, looking completely ashen.

...

The kitchen had never felt so small.

The rest of the house was full of people Adrian had invited for my birthday. Music drifted down the hall. In front of us, a thin line of orange juice crept across the counter from the carton I'd knocked sideways.

Adrian looked at my phone, still lit with my friend's name, then at me.

I picked up the carton and poured myself a glass because doing something with my hands felt easier than explaining the end of our marriage.

"Want one?" I asked.

His gaze stayed on my face. "Sure."

I poured a second glass. He pulled out the stool beside mine and sat close enough that the sleeve of his black shirt brushed my arm.

Three years ago, that small contact would have made my heart race. Tonight, I shifted away before I could stop myself.

He noticed.

"Does being with me make you that tired?" he asked.

He didn't sound angry at all, just incredibly quiet. And without any anger to fight back against, the question felt impossible to answer.

"I heard you say leaving me would be a relief."

I took a drink. The juice was too sweet.

"You shouldn't hover outside doors," I said.

"My phone slipped out of my hand. I wasn't sneaking around." He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching. "Claire, look at me."

I did.

Adrian Hale commanded every room he walked into. He was tall, impeccably poised, and entirely impossible to rattle. I used to find that control comforting. But eventually, it just made me feel pathetic—the only person in our marriage who ever seemed to fall apart.

Just then, Adrian's phone vibrated on the counter.

I reached for mine by habit, saw the name on the screen, and froze.

Vanessa Quinn.

For half a second, the old reaction came back. My stomach clenched. My fingers went cold. Then the feeling passed, leaving only embarrassment that my body still remembered a fight my heart had already abandoned.

"Sorry," I said, handing him the phone. "I thought it was mine."

Adrian looked at the screen and frowned.

"It's about work," he said. "Don't read anything into it."

Once, those words would have started a two-hour argument. I would have asked why Vanessa always had work emergencies after midnight, why no one else at Hale Group could handle them, why an ex-girlfriend needed direct access to a married man at every hour of the day.

But tonight, I slid off the stool.

"You should answer. It might be important. I'll give you some privacy."

His hand closed around my wrist.

"Stay."

I looked down at his fingers.

"There's nothing between us you aren't allowed to hear," he continued. "I don't want you misunderstanding this."

Hearing this, I almost laughed.

"Adrian, what woman wants to sit beside her husband while he takes a late-night call from his ex?"

His grip loosened, but he didn't let go.

"I didn't think of it like that."

"I know."

And that was the problem. It had always been the problem.

His phone kept vibrating between us.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I only wanted to prove you had nothing to worry about."

"I don't worry about it anymore."

The answer slipped out before I could soften it.

Adrian went still.

I pulled my wrist free and left the kitchen. Behind me, Vanessa's name continued to glow on the screen.