Betrayed on April Fool’s Day, I abandoned my husband Chapter 04

Betrayed on April Fool’s Day, I abandoned my husband Chapter 04

“I’m not getting in your car,” I told the man in the dark suit.

“Clara❤️” he started.

“Back off.” I slammed my sedan into reverse.

I didn’t wait for his response. I hit the gas, bypassed his black SUV, and sped out of the country club parking lot. I didn’t care who he was or why he hated Jason. I just needed to leave.

Two hours later, I sat in seat 12B of a red-eye flight to Seattle.

“Miss? We’re preparing for takeoff.” The flight attendant tapped my shoulder.

“Sorry. Give me one second,” I said.

“Phones need to be in airplane mode.”

“I know. I’m just finishing something.”

I stared at the glowing screen in the dim cabin. Jason’s name hovered at the top of my text messages. I scrolled up to the very beginning of our history.

“Good morning, beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight.”

He sent that three years ago. Back when he still looked at me like I mattered.

I dragged my thumb down to yesterday’s messages.

“Are you coming home for dinner?” I had asked. “Busy. Don’t wait up,” he replied.

“Boyfriend trouble?” an older woman in the aisle seat asked. She adjusted her thick reading glasses.

“Husband,” I corrected.

“Ah. The busy excuse.” She offered a sad, knowing smile. “Mine used that one right before I caught him with his secretary.”

“Mine used a fake divorce prank to cover up his affair,” I said.

The woman blinked, clearly taken aback. “Well. That’s certainly creative.”

“I signed the papers.”

“Good for you, honey.”

I looked back at the screen. I braced myself for the crushing weight of grief. I expected the tears to fall. But my eyes stayed completely dry.

Instead of sadness, a strange lightness expanded in my chest. Room to breathe.

I tapped the options menu. I hit “Delete Chat”.

“All gone?” the woman asked.

“Every last word.” I switched the phone to airplane mode and shoved it into the pocket of my sweatpants.

I turned my head and stared out the small oval window as the plane lifted into the night sky. The city lights below shrank into tiny, insignificant specks. Just like my marriage.

We touched down just before dawn. The coastal wind whipped across the tarmac, carrying the sharp scent of salt water. Five years. I hadn’t stepped foot in this town since I packed my bags to follow Jason.

I walked through the sliding glass doors of the arrivals terminal.

My mother stood by the baggage carousel. She wore her faded yellow raincoat, her hands shoved deep into the pockets.

“Clara,” she called out.

I walked toward her. “I didn’t bring a suitcase.”

She didn’t ask why. She didn’t demand explanations about my baggy clothes or my unwashed hair. She just stepped forward and pulled me into her chest.

“You’re freezing,” Mom said, her chin resting on top of my head.

“He was sleeping with Zoe Thorne,” I told her. The words finally felt real.

Mom’s grip tightened. “Maya called me. She said you left his party.”

“He tried to pass it off as an April Fool’s joke.”

“A joke.” Mom pulled back, her eyes flashing with sudden anger. “I never liked him. I told you that on your wedding day.”

“You were right.”

“Let’s go to the car,” she instructed, grabbing my hand. “We have the spare room ready.”

We walked out into the damp morning air.

“Maya also mentioned some guy at a golf course?” Mom asked as she unlocked her old Subaru.

“A guy in a suit,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat. “He somehow knew my name. He said he hated Jason.”

“Did he follow you?”

“No. I drove off before he could try anything.”

“Jason handles millions in corporate accounts,” Mom said, starting the engine. “He steps on people for a living. It could be anyone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, leaning my head against the cold window. “I’m done with Jason Mercer.”

My childhood home looked exactly the same. Faded blue siding. A creaky front porch.

“Go upstairs,” Mom pointed to the narrow staircase. “Sleep.”

“I need to find a lawyer.”

“Tomorrow,” she ordered. “You look like a ghost. Go.”

I didn’t argue. I climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to my old bedroom. The twin bed sat in the corner, covered in a familiar patchwork quilt.

I crawled under the heavy blankets in my street clothes. Exhaustion finally dragged me under.

I slept for a full twenty-four hours.

When the dreams came, they didn’t bring comfort.

I stood on the white sand in Maui. The sun beat down on my bare shoulders.

“Clara,” a voice called out.

I turned around. Jason knelt on the sand. He held a small velvet box.

“I’ll love you forever,” he promised.

But his face didn’t make sense. His features shifted, blurring into a faceless mask.

“Who are you?” I asked the dream-figure.

“I swear my loyalty to you,” the blur repeated.

“You’re lying,” I told him.

The ocean waves crashed, drowning out his voice. He felt like a character from a movie I watched a long time ago. Someone else’s story. Not mine.

I woke up. The room was dark. My chest rose and fell in a steady, calm rhythm. The bond was truly broken.

Hundreds of miles away, the endless weekend party had finally died down.

Jason stood in the center of the trashed living room. Empty beer cans littered the rug. The massive speakers hummed with quiet static.

“She’s really ignoring you?” Zoe asked. She lounged on the leather sofa, wearing one of Jason’s expensive dress shirts.

“It’s been an entire day,” Jason snapped, glaring at his phone.

“I told you, she’s throwing a tantrum.” Zoe traced the rim of her plastic cup. “She expects you to chase her.”

“She took her car.”

“So? She probably checked into a cheap motel to teach you a lesson.” Zoe rolled her eyes. “Text her. Tell her the joke is over. She’ll come crawling back.”

Jason unlocked his screen. He opened Clara’s contact.

“That’s enough, come back.”

He hit send.

“Done,” he muttered.

“See?” Zoe patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit. Let her freeze.”

Jason stared at the screen. The message status read “Delivered”.

He waited for the typing bubble. He waited for the immediate, desperate reply she always sent when they fought.

Nothing happened.

The screen went black.

Jason frowned. A sharp prick of irritation hit his chest.

“Whatever,” Jason said. He tossed the phone onto the coffee table.

He turned his back on the screen and grabbed a half-empty bottle of tequila from the marble counter.

“Let’s drink,” he told Zoe, walking toward the couch.

“That’s my boy,” she purred, reaching for his belt.

But just as Jason leaned down to kiss her, a heavy, violent pounding hammered against the front door.

Jason froze. “Clara?”

He dropped the bottle. It shattered against the hardwood floor. He rushed to the entryway and yanked the heavy oak door open.

“I told you to stop acting crazy” Jason started.

The words died in his throat. It wasn’t Clara standing on the porch.

A man in a tailored dark suit stepped into the foyer, flanked by two massive security guards.

“Jason Mercer?” the man asked, his gray eyes cold and unblinking.