013

OSCAR

“She’s so full of herself, Oscar. Did you see the way she spoke? Like she owns the house. Like she owns Derek. God, I can’t stand that girl. She’s rude. Classless. And what was that thing she said? ‘Maybe stop coming around’? Is she serious? You know what the problem is, Derek picked her off the streets and now she thinks she’s royalty.”

Jennifer hadn’t stopped talking since we got in the car.

From the front steps of Derek’s house, through the ride home, and now into our bedroom she was still going.

Still ranting. Still talking like her voice was the solution to everything.

“And that little smirk she gave when I bumped her shoulder? I saw it, Oscar. I saw it! She thinks she’s won. You should’ve said something to her. You just sat there like they didn’t just—”

“Jennifer,” I said quietly, trying to hold on to the last thread of patience I had.

But she didn’t hear it.

“—humiliate us at the table. Her! Talking like she belongs at the table! That tone she used with Lauren? Avery didn’t even defend us. I’m telling you, she’s a manipulative—”

“I said shut up!”

It came out louder than I meant, harsher, but I didn’t regret it.

She stopped mid-sentence, blinked at me like I’d just thrown something at her. “Excuse me?”

I walked across the room, ignoring the look on her face, unbuttoning the top of my shirt. My jaw clenched as I looked away from her.

“Do you hear yourself?” I muttered. “You’ve been talking since we left. Twenty-five minutes of non-stop whining. About Rose. About Derek. About a damn piece of toast on the floor.”

Her arms folded, defensiveness curling around her like armor. “So now I’m the problem?”

“No,” I said, sharper this time. “You’ve always been the problem.”

She flinched. I saw it just a twitch of her lip, a shift in her shoulders but it was there.

And still, I didn’t stop.

“In just a few days, Derek marries some nobody and suddenly every woman at that table yourself included goes quiet when she speaks. She silenced you. All of you.”

“She didn’t—” she started, her voice tight.

“She did. And the worst part? She didn’t even try hard. She didn’t need to shout. She didn’t throw a fit. She just… existed. And suddenly you were all scrambling to find your dignity.”

I turned to face her now.

“You’ve been married to me for how long, Jennifer? How many years? And what have you done that actually matters? What have you done that makes people listen?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. She looked like she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“I’ve stood by you,” she finally whispered. “I’ve defended you.”

“No,” I said. “You’ve complained. You’ve criticized. You’ve tried to play high society like you belong, but when the room gets tense, you shrink. You fold.”

She stared at me with wide, tear-glossed eyes. And still, I kept going.

“Derek’s wife has more spine than you. And she’s been here for what… A whole fucking day!”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice cracking.

I didn’t answer that.

I moved to the closet, grabbed a small duffel bag from the top shelf, started tossing in clothes without much care for what I picked.

Her eyes followed every movement like watching me pack was harder than hearing me talk.

“And don’t get me started on heirs,” I said, not even looking at her. My voice was quieter now, but the weight of it still landed hard.

Her whole body went still.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, barely above a whisper.

I zipped the bag, straightened up, and faced her.

“Five years, Jennifer. Five years of marriage and nothing. Not a whisper of a child. Not even a near miss. You think I don’t hear the whispers? The sympathy from the wives who handpick fertility clinics into conversation like it’s fashion?”

Tears fell freely now. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, trying to stay composed, but it wasn’t working.

“I tried,” she whispered, breath shaking. “I’ve done everything. You know I—”

“I don’t care.”

I didn’t raise my voice.

I didn’t need to.

Her face crumbled like it was the last thing holding her together.

“I gave you everything,” she whispered. “I love you.”

I looked at her.

And I said nothing.

Instead, I pulled out my phone. A message had come through earlier.

The name it was saved under was ‘Car Maintenance’. A stupid name. She probably knew. Maybe she didn’t want to believe it.

It didn't matter.

I slid the phone back in my pocket and adjusted my collar in the mirror.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

I didn’t respond.

“At this hour?” she pushed.

I turned toward the door. “Don’t wait up.”

“Oscar,” she said, standing, her voice breaking. “Please.”

I paused with my hand on the doorknob. For half a second, I thought maybe I’d turn around. Maybe I’d soften.

But then I remembered that table.

The way Derek sat there like he had already won.

The way everyone had looked at him like he was king. And the way Rose quiet, clever little Rose had stolen every ounce of respect Jennifer had spent years trying to demand.

So I walked out.

Down the hall, past the stifling silence, past the shadows of a life that now felt like a chain.

---

The hotel was just outside the city. Clean. Discreet. High enough quality to look respectable, low enough to fly under any radars.

The room was already booked in her name.

She was waiting with long legs folded under her, silk robe draped over one shoulder, wine glass in hand, some candle flickering on the side like she was setting the mood for a music video.

“You’re late,” she said, smiling, eyes lazy.

I dropped the bag on the floor, loosened my tie. My jaw ached.

“Had to deal with noise,” I muttered.

She got up, walked over with a slow, practiced sway. Her hands slid around my neck like she belonged there.

“Better now?” she asked, whispering against my cheek.

I didn’t answer.

I just kissed her.

Because thinking hurts.

And forgetting…felt easier.