Sandy - Vested Interest

“Hello, my girl,” was his standard greeting.

Now, his desk was empty. His laptop shut and set to the side. There were no papers or files—I had spent days sorting and organizing them, sliding them into neat piles and storing them in file boxes. Colin had them since he was fascinated with Max’s work, his thoughts on the medical system, and his wealth of knowledge.

I glanced around the room, wondering what had called me here in the middle of the night. I hadn’t moved or changed much about this room. It had always been Max’s haven, the same way my office had been my own personal space. It was the place we could simply be ourselves and enjoy our own endeavors without the other person.

I drew my knees up to my chest, feeling a wave of emotion. Max was always careful never to stop me from pursuing my own interests. He supported me in everything I chose to do—from working for Bentley, doing some traveling on my own, even the odd hobby I would pick up then discard. He always was there, encouraging and supporting me. Max had been an amazing husband.

A shiver of foreboding went through me. I stared at his desk as three words exploded in my head so clearly, it was as if they were shouted out loud in the room.

You forgot me.

I blinked at the sudden rush of tears, suddenly knowing the reason for my unease and my worry. For the first time since Max died, he hadn’t been on my mind. Instead, Jordan had filled my thoughts and overtaken my feelings all weekend—even longer. The only time I’d thought of Max had been in comparison—the things Jordan did that Max hadn’t.

How Jordan loved to travel. Enjoyed being on the water. The way he hummed and soothed me in the storm. The passion he had reawakened in me.

Not once during the weekend had I thought of Max or our life together. I allowed Jordan to fill up that place of loneliness and replace it with laughter and joy.

I covered my mouth with my hand as a sob escaped me.

I had compared the two men and found my husband lacking.

How could I have forgotten Max so easily? What kind of wife was I to have moved on so fast?

What had I done?

Betrayed Max. Betrayed our marriage. Had sex with another man. Spent the weekend with him and pushed aside all thoughts of the man I had spent over thirty years with.

A man who was loving, kind, and wonderful. Who gave me a life filled with happiness.

Who deserved to be remembered, not cast aside and forgotten.

It was too soon. I wasn’t ready.

And I had to put a stop to this.JordanI sensed Sandy’s withdrawal from me on the flight home. The way she held herself back, the subtle shift when I tried to touch her. As if she no longer wanted to feel my hand on her skin.

She was quiet in the car—tense and anxious. She allowed my embrace before I left, melting into me as if she needed it, and for a moment, I dismissed my notion of worry. She admitted she was tired, so I accepted it. Her pallor could be explained away with fatigue as well, so I convinced myself that was the cause.

But her odd reactions on the phone worried me. The gap I felt between us which had never been there before—even prior to our budding relationship. There had always been an ease between us, but our conversation was stilted and awkward.

I didn’t sleep well and went to the office with a heavy heart. Bentley had delayed the usual staff meeting until we returned today. I approached the boardroom apprehensively, unsure as to what I would find. How would Sandy act this morning?

She was in her usual place, already writing in her notebook, Bentley in position at the head of the table. He spoke quickly, and she nodded, keeping up with him as he filled her in on what he required.

He lifted his head as I went by. “Jordan, good morning.”

I tilted my chin in acknowledgment. “Bentley.” I paused. “Sandy.”

She glanced up with a smile. It was her cool, professional one, which I expected, but my chest ached at the signs of a sleepless night. She was paler than yesterday, weariness etched under her eyes.

I sat down, hoping she would look at me, but she kept her eyes focused on the pad in front of her, her hand moving rapidly as Bentley began the meeting. She was still sitting when we filed out.

It bothered me that she never once looked at me, and that even when she spoke, it seemed to me her voice was distant and removed. None of the warmth I associated with Sandy was present.

Twice, I went past her desk, but she wasn’t there. I called to ask her about lunch, relaxing a little when she answered, breathless.