Twenty Years of Marriage Reduced to One and Two Chapter 01

Twenty Years of Marriage Reduced to One and Two Chapter 01

Twenty years into marriage.

The chat between me and my husband, Alaric Boone, had long been reduced to cold, sterile numbers.

The screen was filled with nothing but 1s and 2s.

“Working in the lab tonight?”

He sent back: 1. Yes.

“Coming home?”

He sent: 2. No.

So I kept telling myself—he was a genius physicist, devoted to his federally funded research. That kind of life didn’t leave room for anything else.

On our anniversary, I forced myself to ask if he’d come home that night.

This time, no numbers came back.

Instead, a sixty-second voice message.

“Tell his wife to wait. Once I’m done feeding Professor Boone, I’ll send him home.”

“You take care of his meals, I’ll take care of the rest of him. Fair division, right?”

My hand shook.

I exited the chat and drove straight to the lab.

Through the crack of the door, I saw him.

Alaric was on top of her, moving hard and fast.

The sounds—ragged breathing, low moans—cut into my ears like blades.

I stood there for a long time before finally knocking.

***

When he stepped out, his face was calm.

Not a trace of embarrassment. Not a flicker of guilt.

His dark eyes landed on me, paused, then he said evenly, “We’ll talk at home.”

He held out his hand.

I didn’t move.

For twenty years—dates, confessions, the proposal, even the few times we slept together—it was always him standing still, hand extended.

Waiting for me to come to him.

Waiting for me to take the step.

So why, even now, after catching him cheating, was I still the one expected to follow?

“Maris?”

He used my nickname for the first time in years, but his head stayed slightly turned, his gaze drifting past me.

Toward the woman behind him.

The one he blocked so carefully with his body.

My nose stung.

I forced a dry laugh. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Only then did he turn back, guilt and something close to pleading flashing in his eyes.

“Maris… let’s just go home, okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed my collar and pulled me aside.

Then he turned back, voice soft.

“Go. Now.”

The sharp click of heels echoed down the hall.

His eyes followed her the entire way.

So focused… he didn’t even notice the wall had scraped my cheek open.

Alaric wasn’t always this cold.

Back in college, when his condition improved, he’d acted almost normal—caring about my moods, bringing me warm drinks, something sweet after long days.

After we got married, he’d cancel meetings when I was in pain, press his warm palm against my stomach, write me clumsy letters before my birthday just to make up for the past.

Those memories used to feel warm.

Sweet.

Now they meant nothing against the sting on my face.

Tears burned, but I forced them back.

I took a breath and shook off his hand. “Stop looking. She’s gone.”

His body stiffened.

He hesitated, like he didn’t dare turn around.

This time, I didn’t wait.

I walked ahead and got into the car first.

By the time we got home, it was close to eleven.

I had just taken off my shoes when arms wrapped around me from behind, lifting me onto the couch.

A moment later, Alaric came back with a medical kit and dropped to one knee in front of me.

The concern in his eyes looked real.

“I’m sorry…”

I didn’t respond.

I let him tend to my wound, careful, gentle—his neck still marked with fresh love bites.

Just like years ago, when we exchanged rings and he promised to love me for life.

Same posture.

Same eyes.

Different everything.

He threw the blood-stained cotton into the trash and closed the kit.

I held out my hand.

“Give me your phone.”

He didn’t move.

The concern faded, replaced by a restrained impatience.

“Don’t cause trouble for her,” he said. “I’ll end it.”