Page 49 of The Husband I Left

Something flickers across her face too quickly for me to identify. She sets her glass down carefully. “I’ve met with a lawyer,” she says without preamble. “I’m filing for divorce.”

Part of me has been expecting this from the moment she walked out, but actually hearing the words spoken out loud is devastating.

“I don’t want anything from you,” she continues in that same emotionless voice. “I would appreciate your cooperating and not holding things up. The sooner we can both move on, the better.”

Move on. The phrase echoes in my head, mocking me. I don’t want to move on. I want to move back; back to before Victoria returned, before I ruined the one good thing in my life. Hell, maybe even back to when Genny and I first met so I can do things properly this time.

“No,” I say, hating how desperate I sound. “No, you can’t do this.”

Genny raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I can’t?”

“I love you,” I say, leaning toward her, desperate to make her understand. “I know I’ve been the worst husband imaginable. I know I hurt you. But please, Genny. Please give me one more chance.”

I reach for her hand, but she slides it away, just out of reach. The small rejection stings more than it should.

“I’ll make it up to you,” I continue, the words tumbling out faster now. “I’ll be the most devoted husband you can imagine for the rest of your life. Nothing will ever come before you again. Just please give me one more chance.”

Genny doesn’t answer. She just stares at me, those green eyes giving nothing away. But she hasn’t shut me down completely, and I feel a small spark of hope ignite in my chest. Maybe she’s considering it. Maybe there‘s still a chance.

Our silent standoff is interrupted by a server appearing at our table with a plate. “Here you go,” he says, setting it in front of Genny. “Can I get you anything else?”

On the plate is an enormous steak, as well as a mound of mashed potatoes and a smaller pile of vegetables. The steak is definitely the star of the show, and the scent fills the air between us.

“Thank you,” Genny says to the server with a warm smile. Then she looks at me, her expression cooling several degrees. “Sorry I didn’t wait for you to order.”

She doesn‘t look sorry. Not even a little bit.

The server turns to me. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

I wave him away without taking my eyes off Genny. “No. Nothing.”

She picks up her knife and fork, cutting into the steak. The inside is a deep red, barely cooked at all. She spears a piece and brings it to her mouth, closing her eyes briefly as she chews, a small sound of pleasure escaping her.

“I really do love rare steak,” she says when she catches me watching her. “Your mother has an odd thing against it. I think it grosses her out, although she would never use those words. It was just yet another thing she didn’t approve of in her new daughter-in-law. She would get visibly disturbed when I would eat something like this.” Genny takes another bite, chewing deliberately. “So I just stopped ordering steaks and started ordering a salad like Nancy did when we would all eat together.”

Something cold slides down my spine at her words. How many other things did Genny give up? How many parts of herself did she bury to please my mother? To please me?

“I wouldn’t expect you to let my mother control your eating habits anymore,” I say, the words sounding hollow even to my own ears. “Or anything else for that matter. I’m sorry that I never stopped it. That I ever allowed her to treat you that way.”

Genny makes an amused sound and continues eating, seemingly content to let the silence stretch between us. I watch her, cataloging each movement, storing away this image of her, wondering how I could ever have thought she should be anything other than who she is right now.

After several minutes, she looks up from her plate. “Do you know why I showed up at that gala with Evan? What gave me the push?”

I shake my head

“Victoria texted me a picture. Anonymously, of course, but it was her. Curious to know what the picture showed?”

I nod, already dreading the answer, but knowing I need to hear it.

“It was the two of you. In Chicago. You were enjoying what was obviously a very romantic dinner. But it was the necklace around Victoria’s throat that interested me the most.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

“Did you know I overheard you that day when the jeweler came to the penthouse? ‘She’s going to love it,’ you said. And then I snooped around in your things later that night.” She gives me a rueful smile. “It was a beautiful necklace. You have always had a good eye for these things. I was very excited, as you can imagine, because even then I was still naive enough to think I was the only ‘she’ you were buying jewelry for.”

“I’m so sorry, Genny,” I whisper

“Well, yeah, you are now. It’s all blown up in your face. Of course you’re sorry now.”