Chapter 6: Sit Down
He saw the email on the screen from across the room.
I watched his face.
The color didn't drain this time — it went the other way.
A slow red crawl up from his collar.
"That's private," he said.
"Sit down."
"You went through my—"
"You left yourself logged in.
On our shared laptop.
Sit down, Derek."
He sat.
Not because he wanted to.
Because his legs made the decision before his pride could stop them.
I turned the laptop to face him fully.
"She's been sick.
It's actually easier right now." I said the words aloud.
Slowly.
"That's what you wrote.
Four days ago.
While I was upstairs with a fever, barely able to breathe, taking care of our children alone."
He looked at the screen.
Then at the table.
Not at me.
"It's not what it looks like."
"Then tell me what it looks like."
Silence.
"Derek.
Tell me what it looks like."
"It's complicated." His voice was low.
"Things between us have been — we've been struggling for a long time.
You know that."
"I know you've been cold and cruel for four months.
I assumed it was stress.
I was wrong."
"I didn't plan for this to happen."
"How long?"
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Five months."
Five.
Not three.
Not four.
Five.
"While I was pregnant with our youngest?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
That was its own answer.
Something moved through me then — not tears, not rage.
Something quieter and more final.
Like a door closing in a room I hadn't known I'd been standing in.
"I want you to leave tonight," I said.
His head came up.
"What?"
"I want you to take what you need for a few days and go."
"You can't just — this is my house too.
We need to talk about this.
We need to—"
"We will talk.
But not tonight, and not while you're still lying to my face.
I need you out of this house tonight."
"And the kids?"
"The kids are asleep.
They'll see you when we've figured out what this looks like going forward.
But right now, tonight, I need you to go."
He stared at me.
I think he was waiting for me to break — to cry, to shout, to give him something he could push back against.
I didn't give him anything.
"Fine," he said finally.
He stood up.
"Fine.
But this conversation isn't over."
"I know it isn't."
He went upstairs.
I heard him moving around — drawers opening, the zip of a bag.
Fifteen minutes later he came back down with a holdall over his shoulder.
He stopped in the doorway to the living room.
"I do love you," he said.
"I want you to know that."
I looked at him.
"Go, Derek."
The front door closed.
I sat in the quiet for a moment.
Then I got up, went to the kitchen, and washed both our mugs from earlier in the day.
I dried them and put them away.
My phone buzzed.
Carla: *Is he gone?*
I typed back: *Yes.*
Three dots.
Then: *I'm coming over.*
I typed: *You don't have to.*
She typed: *I know.
I'm coming anyway.*
I unlocked the front door and went to check on the children.
They were both asleep — the youngest on her back with one arm flung wide, the older one curled tight like a comma.
I stood in the doorway between their rooms for a long time.
When Carla arrived, she didn't knock.
She just came in, found me in the kitchen, and put a bag of groceries on the counter.
"I brought soup ingredients," she said.
"And wine.
The wine is for me because I'm furious on your behalf."
I almost smiled.
It was the first time all day.
"He said he loves me," I told her.
"On his way out."
Carla opened the wine.
"Of course he did."
"What does that mean?"
"It means he wants to keep his options open." She poured two glasses and handed me one.
"Don't let him."
I held the glass.
Didn't drink yet.
"He said it started five months ago," I said.
"I was still pregnant."
Carla's hand went still on the counter.
"I'm going to need you to tell me everything," she said.
"And then we're going to figure out your next move.
Because you have screenshots, you have dates, and you have every right in the world to protect yourself and those children."
I sat down.
May you like
"Okay," I said.
"Where do we start?"
