Working Boots

I stare onto the sparkling lights of the city. When I was little, I imagined that behind every window was a person with a different story. I was curious about these stories. I thought that somewhere out there was my Prince Charming, just waiting for us to meet. The second we laid eyes on each other, we would be madly in love, living our happily ever after until the day death do us apart. In hindsight, a ridiculous sentiment. Whoever invented fairy tales should be shot.

The door closes quietly and footsteps approach. I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Julian. The slight limp always gives him away. When he steps next to me, I wrap my arms around my chest to keep him out.

His gaze is upon me. “She’s asleep now.”

Who gives a damn? Fighting the biggest lump in my throat, I glare outside. Let’s just hope he’ll get the message that I’m not in the mood to talk.

“You know I never wanted any of this to happen.” His tone is soothing, apologetic even, as if this could ever make up for what he did.

I wipe stray tears away with the back of my hand, refusing to look at him. If I saw his eyes, I’ll lose the little bit of composure I have left, and he’d find a way to make me feel better. I will end up forgiving him. He pulled this off so many times that it’s not even funny anymore. But not tonight. This time, he went too far.

“Sadie, please say something.”

I wipe my face again, wishing I had a tissue. My nose feels stuffy and my head is pounding.

He reaches for my arm. “Sadie, please.” His fingers brush over my bare skin. I used to love that feeling—it sent shivers down my spine. He could turn me on with just his touch. Today, the sparks are gone.

“Honey, come on.”

I have enough and turn to face him. “What do you want me to say, Julian?” I spit the words out with so much venom that it makes me cringe. “That I’ll forgive you?”

For a moment, he actually looks hopeful.

I whip my head back toward the window. “Let me tell you, that will never happen. You had an affair, Julian, and not just that. A child was born as result of your indiscretion, and tonight, said child was dropped off on our doorsteps. How the hell can I forgive you?”

“Sweetheart—”

My fingers twitch; I want to slap him hard across the face but ball my hand to a fist instead. Violence will only give ammunition to his defense. “Don’t sweetheart me. The stunt you pulled is just too much.”

His smile is crooked; the guilt twisting his feature tears some of the anger out of my chest. I nevertheless shoot him a deadly look. He won’t get a medal for being the horniest bastard in a ten-mile radius.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

Good question. I’ve thought of nothing else in the last two hours, ever since this marriage wrecker showed up with a child in a buggy and claimed that the little brood was my husband’s. Unfortunately for her, Julian hadn’t filed for divorce, like he had promised, and she was being deported back to her home country. Dumping the kid on him was her way of avoiding a lengthy child support lawsuit from six thousand miles away.

“You’ve always wanted a child,” he reminds me.

My lip quivers as I keep the bubbling anger contained. “I meant our child, not some brat that’s not mine.”

“Her name is Kaylee.”

I glance at him. He just doesn’t get it. “Julian, don’t’ you understand? I don’t want this.”

He bites his lip. The truth that he royally screwed up and might not get away with it must be sinking in. “She’s a part of me. Shouldn’t that be enough for you to love her?”

I snort. “No.”

He waddles with his arm the way he usually does when he gets annoyed. “So that’s it. Five years of marriage and you’re throwing it all away for one minor slip up.”

I stare at him. “Minor slip up?” My voice rises by a notch. “That’s the understatement of the millennium. You screwed another woman and had a child with her. I would consider that more like a super gigantic slip up.”

“I told you it was just a one-night stand, nothing more. I’ve always only loved you.”

A dumb statement like this should be against the law.

“It’s cheating. There’s no sugarcoating to it.”

Determined to have the last word, I spin around and head for the door.

“Sadie, don’t you dare just walk away from me. I wasn’t done talking to you.”

I throw up my middle finger and slam the living room door shut in his face. In the bedroom, I open the closet and get one of the larger duffel bags. Randomly, I begin to toss clothes into it. If I don’t get away tonight, I might do something I’ll regret later.

“Sadie, what are you doing?” Julian is leaning in the doorway, his eyes wide with despair. He even musters up a few tears. “You can’t seriously consider on leaving. I mean, where would you even go?”

“Home.” I stuff my makeup in the little toiletry bag he got me for Christmas.

He runs his fingers through his thick, wavy hair that I loved to mess up. “You can’t go home. You hate it there.”

Anywhere is better than here. “Watch me.”

I zip up the duffel bag and swing it over my shoulder. As I approach him, he blocks the door.

“I’m not going to let you leave until we’ve talked about this.”

I exhale with a sigh. “Julian, there’s nothing left to talk about. My lawyer will be in touch with the divorce papers. Now get out of my way.”

He doesn’t move. “Please honey, don’t just throw this all away. You mean the world to me.”

I huff. “You should’ve thought about that before you stuck your dick into another woman.”

A piercing wail drifts through the apartment, followed by baby babbling. Then another lingering wail. Julian hesitates for a breath before turning toward the spare bedroom to check on his daughter. My escape route is clear.

As soon as I close the apartment door behind me, the tears fall. On the way down in the elevator, sobs battle my body and I’m barely able to breathe. I whisk by the building attendant without a glance, embarrassed that he might notice my puffy face. Stepping out onto the sidewalk, a warm wind caresses my face. Early June with the hint of summer flowers in the air—my favorite time of the year to take a walk with Julian through the park. More tears choke me; those are nothing more than memories to hold onto.

I raise my arm at the curb and wait for a cabby to whip the car around. Teeth gritted, I tear the door open the second the cab has stopped by my feet.

“La Guardia, please.” Tossing my duffel on the backseat beside me, I slide into the car. And then it hits me. Oh. My. God. I’m actually heading back home to Crosshaven, Montana.