Chapter 18: The Aftermath

• If you’re new here, read: Chapter 1

Monday, September 30

I open my eyes. Cream walls. Gentle light through the curtains. The air is soft and scented ever so slightly with vanilla. Tasteful. Like there is probably a real french vanilla bean tucked into a slip of linen somewhere in the closet.

I remember where I am.

Giselle’s guest room. Miranda leaving me at the airport.

There is a persistent sound of buzzing. It must be 7am, my phone has slipped out of sleep mode and disturbances have started to tumble through.

I reach for my phone. A stream of messages all from Miranda.

Miranda: Where are you?

Miranda: Alex I’m worried. Please just tell me you’re safe.

Miranda: I’m sorry

Miranda: I shouldn’t have left like that. I was overwhelmed and I wasn’t thinking clearly. But you have to understand how you made me feel. Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch your wife choose everyone else?

Miranda: I can’t believe you’re not responding to me.

Miranda: This is so typical. You’re probably with your friends talking about what a terrible person I am. Making me the villain. Expecting me to swallow my feelings so everyone else is comfortable.

Miranda: Alex where are you

Miranda: I’m really worried now

Miranda: Please just let me know you’re okay

Miranda: I love you. I’m sorry. You clearly need some space. I’ll respect that.

Miranda: Can we please just talk about this?

Miranda: I know I overreacted. But what was I supposed to do? My nervous system was completely overloaded and everyone was cornering me. I just tried to keep to myself because I was upset and it had to escalate into this big drama. What did you all want? You asked me how I felt so I told you.

Miranda: I can’t believe you’re ignoring me. This is so immature. You are coming home and you will talk to me like a rational adult.

Miranda: Fine

Miranda: Don’t respond

Miranda: I’m done trying. I’m not grovelling to you.

Miranda: Actually no I’m not done

Miranda: Because I’m your wife and you don’t get to just abandon me because you’re pissed.

Miranda: Pick up the phone.

Miranda: CALL ME

Miranda: Alex I’m really scared now. Please, I love you so much. I just want to fix this. We can go to Dr. Chen first thing Monday. We can work through this. Please just come home

Miranda: I need you. I’m so anxious, I can’t breathe deeply.

The texts stop around 4 AM. Then start again at 6:30.

Miranda: Good morning

Miranda: I’m hoping you slept well wherever you are

Miranda: I didn’t sleep at all

Miranda: I’ve been up all night thinking about us. About everything we’ve been through together. And I realize that you’re hurting too. I’ve been so caught up in my own feelings but that’s because I love you so much. Sometimes I love you too much and it makes me act in ways I’m not proud of. I’m sorry

Miranda: Can we please talk?

Miranda: Just come home

Miranda: Please

Then, two minutes ago:

Miranda: I can’t believe you’re still not responding

Miranda: Hey, so this is cruel Alex. You know exactly what you’re doing and how this would impact me. I can’t believe I’ve been up sick all night and you’re clearly enjoying it or don’t care enough to even consider how your actions might have impacted me. I can’t believe I’m married to someone this selfish. I have to go to work now, my face is puffy from crying and I’m a mess. You don’t even care.

I stare at the screen.

I scroll through them. She’s all over the place. She can be so intense when she’s upset.

I type back.

Me: I’m at Giselle’s. I’m fine. I’ll be home later.

The response is immediate.

Miranda: Oh thank god

Miranda: I was so worried

Miranda: I love you

Miranda: I have to leave for work but I left something for you at home

Miranda: I love you so much

I set the phone down. Stare at the ceiling.

When I get home that morning, the apartment is empty.

I stand in the doorway for a moment.

I feel my shoulders drop.

Then I see the counter.

White peonies. Maison du Chocolat. My favourite.

Plus a note in Miranda’s perfect handwriting.

Alex, I’m so sorry. I know I hurt you. I spent all night thinking about us, about our marriage, about how much I love you. I don’t know what came over me at the airport. I was overwhelmed and hurt and I made a terrible decision. You deserved better. I love you more than anything. Please forgive me. Don’t forget - Dr. Chen at 1pm today. All my love, M

I read it twice.

I look around, the apartment is spotless. Miranda doesn’t clean. I’m the one who keeps the house tidy. But today there’s not a dish in the sink. Not a shoe by the door. She even arranged the throw pillows. I look at the flowers. The chocolate. The note with its perfect loops.

Dr. Chen at 1pm.

I groan out loud.

My phone keeps lighting up with emails. Two missed calls from my assistant.

I’ve got to meditate or something.

We sit in our usual spots on the couch. Miranda’s hands folded in her lap. I’m picking at my cuticle. The skin is raw already but I can’t stop.

“So,” Dr. Chen says, opening her notebook. “How was the trip?”

“It was...” Miranda pauses. “Challenging.”

Dr. Chen looks between us. “Challenging how?”

“Carmen and Emily were on the trip..” Miranda explains. Her voice is measured. “And there were some moments where I felt excluded. Where Alex was prioritizing their feelings over mine. I expressed that in a way that wasn’t productive.”

I pick at my cuticle harder.

Some moments? Prioritizing their feelings?

“I see.” Dr. Chen makes a note. “Alex?”

I want to say Miranda made everyone miserable. That she screamed at Carmen and Emily. That she isolated herself and ruined the last days of the trip. That she left me at an airport.

But I can’t say that with her here. You don’t embarrass your wife in front of your therapist. It would be an unnecessary escalation.

“Miranda felt really hurt,” I say carefully. “And I didn’t realize how much until things escalated.”

“Escalated how?”

My jaw aches. I’ve been clenching it without realizing.

“We had a conversation with everyone that got heated,” I say. “And then on the flight home we argued.”

I pause. Then: “Miranda left me at the airport.”

Dr. Chen’s pen stops moving. “Left you?”

“I got overwhelmed,” Miranda says quickly. “And I made a really poor decision. I apologized and we talked it through. We’re moving forward.”

We haven’t talked about it. She left a note with flowers.

“Okay.” Dr. Chen looks at me. “Alex, how are you feeling about that?”

Nothing feels fine. But Miranda is sitting right here. And we love each other. And marriages go through hard things.

“I’m fine. We’re working through it.”

“Are you?”

I nod. If I start talking I might say the wrong thing.

“I think,” Miranda says, and her voice is different now. Softer. More vulnerable. “What I’m really struggling with is something from before the trip.”

Dr. Chen waits.

“The night Alex was with Emily,” Miranda continues. Her eyes are filling. “I know we’ve talked about this in here. But this weekend really brought it back up for me and I don’t think I’ve actually moved past it. And I think that hurt, that feeling of being excluded, it’s affecting everything.”

“Miranda,” Dr. Chen says gently, “The boundaries in your relationship at that time were unclear. There wasn’t malicious intent.”

“I know that.” Miranda wipes her eyes. “Intellectually I know that. But the feeling is still there. The hurt is still there.”

Dr. Chen is quiet for a moment. Then she looks at me.

“Alex, I think it might be helpful for you to write a letter to Miranda. Not for our next session, on your own time. Explaining how you felt that night. What you were thinking. What you understood about your relationship’s boundaries at that time. You can give it to her when you’re ready.”

The words settle on me like weight.

Another task. Another thing to navigate. Another way I might get it wrong.

“Okay,” I say.

“The goal,” Dr. Chen continues, “is to help Miranda move forward. To rebuild trust. To understand each other’s perspectives with more clarity so you can repair as a unit.”

“That sounds really helpful,” Miranda says. She reaches over. Takes my hand. Squeezes.

I dutifully squeeze back.

We walk out of Dr. Chen’s office in silence. Out onto the street.

Miranda checks her phone immediately.

“I need to go back to the office,” she says. “And I have a client dinner tonight. I probably won’t be home until late. Ten, maybe eleven.” She stops and puts her hands over face, scrunches her eyelids closed tight.

“God, I’m so tired.” She says. She really does sound tired. For a second, I feel a flicker of softness in my chest. Was she really up all night?

“I’ll see you later.” I say. “Maybe get an IV drip this afternoon?”

“Great idea, baby.” She says, kisses me on the cheek. My chest seizes. Like someone wrapped their hands around my heart and squeezed.

She starts to turn toward the subway. I stop her.

“Miranda.”

She looks back. “Yeah?”

“I’ll write the letter.”

“Thank you.” Her face softens. “I think it’ll really help.”

“But can we just...” I pause. Choose my words carefully. “Can we acknowledge that this past weekend was also really wild? Like, really wild.”

Her expression shifts. Guarded now.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you left me at an airport. You drove away and just left me there.”

“I apologized for that. I wrote you a note.”

“I know. But I don’t think you’d be okay if I did something like that to you.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Looking at me. Calculating.

“I was hurt,” she says finally. “People do things they regret when they’re hurt.”

“I know. But—”

“And you hurt me first, Alex. With Emily. With Carmen. With all of it.” Her voice is still soft. Still measured. But there’s steel underneath. “So can you acknowledge that? Maybe we both have things to work on. I really don’t have the energy for this right now. I need to get back to work”

“Yes.” I say.

“Yes?”

“Sure.” I’m not really clear on what I’m agreeing to but I’m too exhausted to keep pushing the point.

“I’ll text you when I’m leaving dinner. We can talk more when I get back. We’re going to get through this.”

She heads toward the subway. I stand there watching her go.

The letter. I’m supposed to write a letter.

I start walking. Not toward home. Just walking.

The city moves around me. The sounds of everyone’s lives playing out. The petty dramas. The fights, the first kisses, the last breaths. Trash can lids slammed shut. Music leaking from headphones. All the million and one little choices being made in that second.

My phone is in my hand.

I should go home. I should write the letter. I should be a good wife.

I open my texts. Scroll to Emily’s name.

I stare at it for too long.

Then my thumb moves.

Me: Hey. Are you around?

Three dots appear.

Emily: Yeah. You okay?

I press call. She answers on the second ring.

“Hey.”

Her voice. Christ.

“Hi.”

“Alex? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” I lean against a building. “Where are you?”

“Home. Kids are at school. David’s at a site visit.” Pause. “Where’s Miranda?”

“Work. Then a client dinner. Won’t be home until late.”

Silence. I can hear her breathing.

“Why did you call?” she asks.

“You know why.”

“Alex...”

“Can I come over?”

Longer pause. “Yes. But call me when you get here. David’s installed this ridiculous new camera system at the door and if you ring, it will start recording you.”

I laugh and hang up. Flag a cab.

Emily opens the door. Jeans. T-shirt. Her hair is wet, just washed, and she has a towel around her neck. The ends of her hair are dangling past the edge of the towel and little circlets of water are seeping through the cotton of her shirt where they touch.

We look at each other.

“Hi,” she says.

I step forward. Kiss her.

She kisses me back. Hard. Then pulls me inside. Back into the foyer. Away from the door.

“Neighbors,” she says against my mouth.

She kicks the door closed. I push her against the wall. My hands are already under her shirt, pulling it up, needing skin.

“Alex.” She moans against my mouth.

I kiss her harder. Let my hands slide up her ribcage to her breasts. She’s not wearing a bra.

She grabs my hand. Leads me to the bedroom.

I push her onto the bed. She looks up at me and I know we both know what this is. That we can’t come back from it.

I don’t care.

I climb onto the bed. Straddle her hips. Lean down and kiss her slowly. Taking my time now. My hands find the button of her jeans.

“Lift up.”

She does. I pull her jeans down. Her underwear is black. Simple. I run my hand over it. She’s warm through the fabric.

I smile. Slide her underwear off.

She’s so wet.

I run my fingers up her thigh. Slow. Watching her face. Her pupils are blown. Lips parted.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I say.

Then I put my mouth on her.

She gasps. Her hand goes to my hair. Gently holding me firmly against her.

I can’t get enough. I love the taste of her. The sounds she’s making are doing things to my body.

“Right there,” she says. “Don’t stop… Fuck,” she says. “Alex. Fuck.”

I love watching her come apart. The way her thighs tense. The way her breathing gets ragged.

She’s moaning now. Wild. Her back arching. Hand fisting in my hair. Saying my name over and over.

Then she’s coming. Shaking. Thighs tight around my face.

When she catches her breath, she pulls me up. Kisses me. She can taste herself on my mouth.

“Jesus,” she says.

“He’s not here.”

She laughs. Actually laughs. Then pulls me down so our bodies are pressed together.

I kiss her neck. Her collarbone. She reaches for my shirt. I let her pull it off. Then my bra. She looks at me for a moment.

“You’re perfect,” she says.

She pulls me back down. Her mouth finds my breast. Takes my nipple between her lips.

I gasp. My hand goes back between her legs.

“Alex,” she says against my skin. “What are you doing?”

“Keep going,” I say.

She does. Her mouth on my breast while I finger her. Slow. Steady. Building her back up.

She’s moaning against me. The vibration goes straight through my body.

My other hand slides down. Finds myself. I’m so wet it’s almost embarrassing.

“Are you touching yourself?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Fuck, that’s hot.”

She switches to my other breast. Sucks harder. I add another finger inside her. She’s close again. I can feel it.

So am I.

We’re both breathing hard. Her mouth on me. My fingers in her. My other hand on myself.

“Alex,” she says. “I’m—”

She doesn’t finish. Just comes again. Harder this time. Shaking. Moaning against my breast.

I follow right after. My body tightening. Everything releasing at once.

She crawls up. Lies beside me. We’re both breathing hard.

After a moment, I turn my head to look at her.

“Aren’t you delicious...” I say.

We lie there. The afternoon light makes her skin glow.

“Alex,” she says quietly.

“Yeah?”

“That felt different.”

“I know.”

My phone buzzes. We both look at it on the nightstand.

Miranda.

I don’t reach for it. I’m not in the mood to read about what I’ve done wrong now.

“What time is it?” Emily asks.

“Almost three.”

“The kids will be home soon.”

“I should go,” I say

But I don’t move. Not yet. I want to stay here. In this bed. In this moment. Where everything is simple and feels right.

But I can’t.

I get up. Start getting dressed. Emily watches from the bed. Still naked. Making no move to cover herself.

At the door, I turn back. She’s sitting up now. Hair messy. Lips swollen.

I file this away like a photo. Emily. Naked. Looking at me like that.

I get in a cab.

My phone buzzes. Miranda. I don’t look at it.

The cab drops me at my building. I take the elevator up.

The flowers are still on the counter. The chocolate. The note.

I walk past all of it. Go straight to the bathroom. Turn on the shower. Hot as I can stand it.

I step under the water. Let it run over me. I scrub myself. My elbows, my toes, behind my ears, my hair. Under the fingernails. I catch the cuticle I’ve been tugging at. The pain is sharp. I watch the bright red rush to the surface of my skin. I let it all wash away. The airport. St. Barths. Therapy. The blood. The smell of Emily on my skin.

Keep reading: Chapter 19

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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. The characters, events, companies, places, names, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance, whether direct or indirect, to actual persons (living or dead), places, events, or businesses is entirely coincidental and unintended. Where reference is made to real locations or historical events, such references are included solely for the purpose of creating a sense of authenticity. They should not be interpreted as depicting real people, their actions, or their conduct. The author expressly disclaims any and all responsibility for any such interpretations or assumptions.