After I Left, He Begged on His Knees to Bring Me Home Chapter 01

After I Left, He Begged on His Knees to Bring Me Home Chapter 01

Griffin Mercer had kept the same habit for eight years.

Every night at exactly eleven o’clock, he made a phone call, which always lasted three minutes.

“Vivian has insomnia. The doctor said she needs someone to talk to before bed.”

“Why does it have to be you?”

“Because she got hurt in my place during that accident. She saved my life.”

Eight years. More than 2,900 three-minute calls.

I’d spent years telling myself to be understanding, until our third wedding anniversary, when Griffin finally found time to make up for the honeymoon we’d never had.

The day before we were supposed to go back home, he was showering while I lay on the hotel bed scrolling through the photos we’d taken together.

Then a message popped up on his phone.

A video from Vivian Hayes.

On the screen, she was lying in our bed, wearing my pajamas, resting her head on my pillow.

She smiled into the camera.

“Griffin, can we talk for an extra minute tonight? I miss you so much. It’s almost time for our call.”

***

At 10:59 p.m., Griffin walked out of the bathroom right on schedule.

His hair was still dripping wet when I handed him the phone.

He glanced at the screen and took it without much reaction.

“Why were you looking through my phone?”

“It went off. I saw the notification.”

“She’s been stopping by to feed our cat while we’re away. She got tired and lay down for a bit.”

“In our bed?”

He tightened the belt of his robe and fell silent for two seconds.

“It’s a bed. People sleep in beds.”

Then he took his phone and stepped onto the balcony to make the call.

He never brought it up again that night.

When he got into bed, he rolled onto his side, pulled the blanket over himself, and turned his back to me.

I stared at the back of his head in the darkness.

Before long, his breathing settled into a steady rhythm.

I turned over and spent the entire night awake.

We got home the following afternoon.

The moment Griffin walked in, he dropped his suitcase by the door and said he had something to handle at the office.

Then he left.

I walked into the master bedroom and stood beside the bed for a long time.

The sheets had been changed.

They were gray and white now—not the set I’d bought.

My original set had been shoved into the far corner of the closet, wrinkled into a ball.

She had worn my pajamas, slept in my bed and stained my sheets.

There was a new box of cookies in the refrigerator.

Everything was neatly arranged inside a storage container.

Beside it sat a pale pink sticky note: [Griffin, your favorite cranberry flavor.]

In the kitchen cabinet, there was a new set of pink dishes trimmed with gold.

The coasters were hand-embroidered.

One of them read: [Vivian’s Exclusive Set.]

My white dinnerware had been pushed all the way to the back. A thin layer of dust covered the plates.

Looking closer, I noticed a chip along the edge.

I’d bought that set during our first year of marriage.

There had been four plates. Now only three remained intact.

I took pictures of everything.

That night, when Griffin came home, I showed them to him one by one.

He glanced through the photos and handed my phone back.

“I didn’t know any of this.”

“What about the sheets?”

“She said the old ones were too slippery and uncomfortable to sleep on, so she changed them.”

“Uncomfortable for her? That’s our bed.”

But instead of answering, he frowned.

“Delaney, she’s had a hard life. Can’t you be a little more understanding?”

“The doctor said she’s emotionally unstable lately. I’m worried she’ll do something reckless. For my sake, just let this go.”

Then he picked up his phone and walked out to the balcony.

She deserved sympathy and I had to be understanding.

She was emotionally fragile and I had to give in.

Every obligation landed on me while every ounce of his concern belonged to her.

Bitterness filled my chest.

Without another word, I went to the guest room.

Not long after, the clock struck eleven.

The balcony door slid open.

I heard him laugh softly, his voice lowered.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Yeah. I miss you too.”

Three minutes. Not a second longer.

Then the balcony door closed again.

Footsteps crossed the apartment.

They stopped outside the guest room door, paused for a moment before moving away.