Wasted Love with You (Wasted Love 1)

“Don’t worry.” He shrugs. “I took out your two little duffle bags when I came home. They’re in the laundry room waiting to be unpacked.”

He doesn’t wait for me to respond to that. “In the meantime, Ricky will drive you to work, take you on your errands, and help you get wherever you need to go until—”

“Until you decide the brakes are supposedly fixed?”

“Until I’m sure that we’ll never have this conversation again,” he says. “Whenever you’re done thinking about making a mistake and can focus on building a family with me.”

“I’m never having sex with you again, Nate.”

“Then you’ll have yourself to blame for another problem down the line.” He returns to his seat, picking up his fork. “Can you pass the pepper, please?”

I remain still, frozen.

“Autumn, the pepper.”

I’m tempted to pick up the shaker and throw it in his face, but I conceal my rage under a soft sigh. Then I swallow my hatred and slide the pepper his way.

“Thank you for making everything about our marriage so much clearer.” I force myself to say.

“I’m happy to do that for you anytime.” He clears his throat, returning to one of our usual scenes. “Would you like waffles in the morning?”

“That would be nice.”

Silence.

Even though I hate the very sight of him at this moment—the very thought of uttering another word in his psychotic presence—I will myself to complete the next round of our dead-end marriage game.

“How was your day today?” I ask.

“Very good. I’m a week and a half away from closing that multi-million-dollar deal I mentioned to you months ago. Now that I think about it, I’m sure the additional windfall will come in handy whenever we’re ready to try for… you know.”

I’ll never know.

He feeds me the scraps of his nonexistent day—sans the mistress—and I stuff bites of food into my mouth whenever I need to. I never give him a glimpse of my entire hand—never let on that my escape plan has an escape plan.

I’m not naïve enough to believe he wouldn’t take back “his” car once he found out that I wanted to leave.

The duffle bags were for show, not tell.

I may have been eighteen, young, and dumb when we married, but I’m not that girl anymore, and he’s stupidly unaware that he hasn’t seen the real woman I’ve become in years.

For the rest of the evening, I play my role in what will be one of our final shows. I allow him to press a kiss against my cheek when he gets up to take a shower, and I even let him rub my back when he climbs next to me in bed.

And as much as I want to, I don’t flinch or cringe when he runs his fingers through my hair.

I’ve won and he’s lost, but I can’t tell him our game is over just yet. Because according to my mother, “A true winner knows how to delay the ultimate gratification…”

End of Episode 6

Episode 7

Autumn

Two weeks later

If I’ve timed things properly, Nate should receive the divorce papers at the close of his celebratory lunch today, mere minutes after he’s completed his “multi-million-dollar deal” and told his colleagues that his “beautiful wife” wasn’t able to make it.

And when he races to his car to call me in private, he’ll find a note taped on his steering wheel.

Congratulations on the huge deal.

I hope you know that I’m entitled to half.

—Autumn

P.S. You were wrong about me being laughed out of every lawyer’s parking lot. The top attorney in town took one listen to your rant that I secretly recorded over dinner, and he’s taking me on at one hell of a discount.

P.P.S. I’ve taken everything I want out of the house already. Feel free to move in your mistress.

Not a bad escape plan for someone with “only a high school diploma.”

I pick up my car—a used black Audi I purchased behind his back last year—from my never-mentioned storage lot and take my time driving to my job at Crafts & Notes.

My lawyer warned me that the financials of the divorce could take up to a year to be completed, so he suggested that I find “a more secure job in the meantime, preferably one with benefits.”

I didn’t tell him that fixing instruments can be quite lucrative—just like I never told Nate—but I can understand his logic.

Since it’s not consistent work, and my new hotel room isn’t cheap, I’ve notified all my clients that they’ll need to hold off on sending me anything new for a while.

Unfortunately, Nate’s petty point about my lack of secondary education has a bit of truth to it. The only places that have returned calls for my unimpressive resume are a nanny agency, a private estate, and a dog walking service.

It’ll be worth it in the end, Autumn...

Pinning a name tag to my sweater, I head inside the store and clock in before making a beeline for the yarn aisle.