The Wife Who Stopped Playing Chapter 13

The Wife Who Stopped Playing Chapter 13

I didn’t expect him to come home that night.

After what happened in the kitchen – after I’d pulled away from him, after I’d walked out without looking back – I figured he’d go to Luca’s. Or one of his other safe houses. Or anywhere that wasn’t

here.

But I heard the front door open at two in the morning.

I was already in bed, lights off, pretending to sleep. The footsteps in the hall were unsteady. He was drunk – not sloppy drunk, but loose-limbed drunk, the kind of drunk that made him clumsy with his keys and soft with his guard.

The bedroom door opened. Closed.

He stood there for a long moment. I could feel him looking at me.

Then the mattress dipped under his weight. His arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me close against his chest. His face buried itself in my hair.

And then – he was crying.

Not the silent tears from the closet. Not the controlled, “I’m fine” kind of crying. Actual, full-body, can’t-catch-his-breath sobbing. His shoulders shook. His arms tightened around me like he was afraid I’d disappear if he let go.

Hot tears dripped onto my neck. Into my hair. Down my collarbone.

My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could feel it through the mattress.

“Sorry,” he whispered. His voice was wrecked – raw and broken, like he’d been screaming. “Sorry I woke you. I just – I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.”

I don’t know why I said that. It wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. But the words came out anyway,

automatic, like a reflex.

He went still.

The crying stopped.

And then the light was on – blinding, searing – and he was hovering over me, his face inches from

mine.

“Okay?” His voice cracked. “You said okay. That’s the first nice thing you’ve said to me in a week. The first time you haven’t sounded like you were talking to a stranger.”

His mouth came down on mine before I could answer.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It wasn’t soft or sweet or asking. It was desperate – hungry and frantic and

tasting like whiskey and tears. His teeth scraped my lower lip. His tongue pushed into my mouth

like he was trying to memorize the shape of it.

I kissed him back. I couldn’t help it. Four years of loving him had trained my body to respond to his,

even when my brain was screaming no.

But when his hand slid up my thigh – when I felt the warmth of his palm against my bare skin – I remembered the scratches. The woman on the phone. The fifty-year contract he’d signed behind

my back.

I pushed him away.

“You taste like a bar,” I said. “Go shower.”

“No.”

He came at me again. Harder this time. His hips pressed me into the mattress, his weight pinning

me down.

I wanted to fight him. I wanted to shove him off and scream at him and throw the truth in his face. I wanted to say I know what you did, I heard you at the restaurant, I saw the contract, I know about

the woman.

But I didn’t.

Because a wife who’s about to ask for a divorce doesn’t pick fights. She plays nice. She keeps her

head down. She waits for the right moment.

So I let him kiss me.

I let his hands explore my body. I let his mouth trail down my throat. I let him think he was winning.

And then – he stopped.

A tear landed on my cheek.

Not mine. His.

He was looking down at me, his eyes wet and red, his face twisted with something I couldn’t name.

“Are you leaving me?” His voice was barely a whisper. “You are, aren’t you? You’re going to leave.”

I hesitated.

He saw it.

“Elena!” He pushed himself up, off me. Sat at the edge of the bed with his back to me. “You have no heart.”

I sat up. Pulled the sheet over my chest. “I have no heart? What are you, some kind of two-timing son of a -”

“What two-timing?” He spun around. His eyes were wild. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Vito. I’m not stupid. I heard you at the restaurant – ‘little trick,’ ‘she’ll be eating out of my hand,’ ‘keep it quiet.’ I know about the contract – fifty years, Vito, fifty years, behind my back. And I know about her.”

“Who?”

“The woman! The one you’re always on the phone with. The one whose scratches you came home with. The one you bought the L brand box for.” My voice cracked. I was crying now too. “I know, Vito. I know everything.”

He stared at me.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“It was a cat,” he said.

“A what?”

“A cat!”

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand. Fumbled with the screen. Shoved it in my face.

A video was playing. A fat orange cat, purring in someone’s lap. Soft little mews. A contented

rumble.

“The cat!” he said. “The one you wanted to save! The mangy one from the parking lot! I’ve been

rehabbing it! I was going to use it as leverage so you wouldn’t leave me when the agreement expired!”

I took the phone from his hands. Scrolled through the videos.

Dozens of them.

The cat, skinny and scared, hissing at the camera.

The cat, a week later, eating from a bowl.

The cat, letting someone pet it for the first time.

The cat, fat and happy and purring like a motorboat.

And one, timestamped three days ago: Vito filming the cat sleeping on a pile of blankets. The cat waking up. Taking a swipe at his arm. His indignant yelp cutting off the footage.

“The scratches were from her!” he said. “She’s aggressive! Not aggressive-aggressive, just — she doesn’t like cameras! And the phone calls were from the vet! And the rescue lady! And the trainer I hired because she kept attacking my feet!”

“But the box -”

“Is a cat tree! It’s a cat tree, Elena! I bought it because she needs enrichment! That’s what the

trainer said! Enrichment!”

I kept scrolling.

Accidentally backed out of the video app.

And ended up in his group chat.

【Who the hell changed my wife’s settings???]

[She doesn’t nag me anymore! She doesn’t make me check in! She turned down JEWELRY.

JEWELRY. Do you understand what that means?]

[My perfectly insufferable, beautiful, demanding wife suddenly got… nice?! What the hell is that about? Is she sick? Is she planning something? Am I about to get murdered in my sleep?】

【Now every swinging Richard from here to Sicily is gonna be lining up for her!!! The competition

was bad enough before she turned into a saint!)

[HELP.)

[She’s too popular. That goddamn childhood friend of hers showed up at the gala – Sergio, with the white suit and the stupid perfect hair – and they were on the balcony together for twenty minutes. TWENTY, MINUTES.]

@Luca You’re the one who told me to use the agreement as a pick-up line. Said it would make her feel secure. Said it would prove I was serious. Well, now the whole thing’s backfired and she’s

treating me like a roommate and I want a refund.]

Luca: [… You have serious issues. Go to therapy.]

Vito: [Speaking of which, my wife just bought me the new Pro Max. One terabyte. White. With her name engraved on the back.]

【Oh wait. You don’t have a wife. Maybe if you got a new phone… and a personality… and a face…]

Luca: [I hate you. I hope she leaves you.]

Vito: [SEE THIS IS WHAT I MEAN. YOU’RE MANIFESTING.)

I almost laughed.

Almost.

But then Vito was scooping me up – phone, cat videos, and all – and carrying me out of the

bedroom.

“What are you doing?!”

“We’re going to see her. The cat. Right now. So you can see I’m not lying.”

“It’s the middle of the night! It’s two in the morning!”

“I DON’T CARE. I CAN’T SLEEP. I HAVEN’T SLEPT IN A WEEK. WE’RE DOING THIS.”

The cat was at our old apartment – the one we’d lived in right after we got married, before we moved to the compound. Vito had kept it for “business,” but apparently, he’d been using it as a

secret cat sanctuary for the past month.

He unlocked the door. Flipped on the light.

The place was a cat paradise.

Cat trees in every corner. Toys scattered across the floor. A little bed on the couch lined with what

looked like one of my old nightgowns.

And there, on top of the tallest cat tree, was the orange tabby.

But not the scrawny, half-dead creature I’d found in the parking lot.

This cat was… magnificent.

Plump. Shiny. Clean. Both eyes open and bright green. She looked at me, tilted her head, and let out a soft, questioning “mrrrp?”

“She knows you,” Vito said from behind me. His voice was soft now, not panicked. “I put your nightgown in her bed. She sleeps on it every night. She knows you’re her mom.”

I walked toward the cat tree. Held out my hand.

She sniffed my fingers. Rubbed her cheek against them.

And started to purr.

A loud, rumbling, rattling purr that vibrated through her whole body.

“She’s saying she loves you,” Vito said.

I picked her up. Buried my face in her orange fur.

She smelled like sunshine and clean laundry and something sweet I couldn’t name.

“You’re staying with me,” I told her. “Your name is Clementine. Clementine Colobo. And you’re

never leaving.”

“What about me?”

I looked at Vito over the cat’s head.

He was standing in the doorway, still in his rumpled tuxedo pants, his face tear-stained and exhausted and hopeful in a way that broke my heart.

“I love you,” I said. “You absolute idiot.”

He crossed the room in two strides. Kissed me soft this time. Not desperate. Not demanding Just grateful

“I love you too,” he said against my lips. “I loved you before the rooftop. I loved you three years before that, at that restaurant, when you ran into me in the hallway. You were wearing a green dress and you’d been crying. You said sorry and I said ‘It’s okay’ and you looked at me like you’d never heard those words before. And I thought I want to be the one who says ‘it’s okay’ to her for

the rest of her life.”

I stared at him.

“I remember that day,” I whispered.

It was the day my father told me he was remarrying. The day I’d run out of the dinner party and

literally run into a stranger in the hallway.

“You were wearing a gray suit,” I said. “And you had a glass of whiskey. I spilled it all over your

jacket,”

“You did. Ruined it. It was my favorite.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He smiled. “Best thing that ever happened to me.”

Clementine meowed between us. Loud. Demanding.

“She wants attention,” Vito said.

“No, she wants dinner. It’s two in the morning. She’s probably starving.”

“One of her bowls is full. She just likes the drama. Like someone else I know.”

I swatted his chest. He caught my hand and kissed my palm.

“So,” he said. “Me or the cat?”

“…Are you serious?”

“Very serious. I need to know where I stand.”

I looked down at Clementine. She looked up at me. Purred.

“Sorry, babe,” I said to Vito. “It’s Clementine. It’s always been Clementine.”

“You’re joking.”

“Am I?”

“Elena. ELENA. You can’t do this to me. I’ve been pining for you for seven years. I changed a legal document behind your back. I’m OBSESSED with you. And you’re choosing a CAT?”

I walked past him, cat in my arms, and headed for the door.

“Get the car, Vito. We’re taking Clementine home.”

“Which home?”

“Ours. The real one. The one where you sleep in my bed and I steal your blankets and we fight about

whose turn it is to do the dishes.”

He caught up to me at the elevator. Slid his arm around my waist. Pulled me close.

“So we’re okay?” he asked quietly.

“We’re not okay yet.” I leaned into him anyway. “But we’re getting there.”

“That’s enough for me.”

The elevator doors opened.

“Also,” I said, stepping inside, “I’m sleeping with Clementine tonight. You can have the couch.”

“What?! No! Elena – ”

The doors closed on his protests.

I smiled.