“How. Far. Wilson?” I asked, my voice measured and glacial, each word spaced for emphasis. The calmness was a thin veneer, a fragile lid on the turmoil seething beneath. My eyes locked onto his, demanding truth, as the silence between us thickened with anticipation.
“We–we made out long enough,” Wilson stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush, “and it was only when she fumbled with my belt that I snapped back to reality.” His voice cracked, and his jaw clenched, fists forming at his sides. His eyes locked onto mine, desperate for forgiveness, for understanding. “Then I pushed her away,” he added, the phrase, a whisper echoed in my ears like
battle drums.
Would’ve been better if he’d not filtered it and said the words straight that he almost had sex with
her, and stabbed me straight then deliberately hovering the knife above my chest.
With every effort in my body, I battled back the stinging tears, refusing to let them fall. My face became a mask of icy control, emotions locked away, hidden behind a fortress of indifference. Not a twitch, not a tremble, betrayed my inner turmoil. I stood frozen, a statue of calm, as his desperate gaze searched mine for any sign of forgiveness, any crack in the facade.
“That’s why you called me to pick you up?” I asked, my tone still measured. Wilson nodded, his eyes cast downward. Memories of that night resurfaced, vivid and unwelcome. He’d been celebrating with colleagues at a club, and I’d declined to join, choosing instead to stay home with Willy. When he’d called, drunk and disoriented, I’d rushed to fetch him. The image of his inebriated -state still lingered – the stumbling, the incoherent words, the deadweight of his limp body as our
bed
neighbor, Officer Thompson, helped me get him home.
“It was all a blur,” Wilson admitted, his voice cracking, “but the next morning, I freaked out, thinking I’d lose you. I broke down in the shower, and I promised myself it would never happen again. I vowed to bury it, to keep it hidden, deep down, where no one would ever find out.” His words poured out like a penitent’s plea, seeking absolution. Yet, I remained statue–still, unyielding, my gaze unwavering. My silence was a weight, pressing upon him, demanding more.
“Next Monday, I talked to her,” Wilson rushed on, his words tumbling forth in a frantic bid for purging. “I told her I was drunk, that it was a mistake, and that I loved you.” His voice caught, but he pressed on. “But she didn’t get the message, and-“. His hand trembled at his side, a betraying sign of his inner turmoil. Still, I stood unmoving, unyielding, my expression a mask of granite. My silence was a void, absorbing his words without reaction, without comfort.
“And that’s when she started seducing you?” I completed his sentence, my tone flat and detached. His face contorted in anguish, his eyes welling up with tears. He nodded, the movement almost imperceptible, as if acknowledging his own guilt. Remorse etched deep lines on his face, a map of shame and regret.
“I would’ve reported her to HR,” Wilson said, his voice laced with frustration, “but Yujin, her best friend and our CMO, saw us that night. She threatened me: if I pursued it, I’d be the first one fired.”
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The words spilled out like a confession, freeing a weight from his shoulders. Suddenly, the puzzle pieces clicked into place – his distance, his stress, his silence. Yujin’s influence, her veiled threat, had crippled his actions, binding him in a web of fear and complicity.
“It was you,” I spat, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “That’s why you didn’t go to HR.” My head shook, disgust and self–reproach warring within me. How blind I’d been, how foolish. My conscience mocked me, taunting me with the obvious truth I’d ignored. “You let everything else get between us, and now…now we’re here.” The words dripped with venom, my anger and hurt finally breaking through the facade.
“Leo, I-“Wilson began, his voice pleading, but I cut him off with a sharp gesture. I raised my hand, palm facing him, a clear warning to retreat. My head shook vigorously, a silent rebuke. He halted, his eyes locked on mine, but he didn’t back away. The air between us vibrated with tension.
“I want to be left alone, Wilson,” I said, my voice drained of emotion. “I can’t do this right now.”
Exhaustion consumed me, bone–deep weariness from trying to salvage our marriage. It was like
building sandcastles on shifting shores – every fragile foundation we laid was inevitably swept away by waves of uncertainty and shattered trust.
Wilson stepped back, his eyes welling up with tears. He blinked rapidly, fighting to compose himself, and nodded solemnly. “I’ll get another room or wait in the car,” he said, his voice soft and
resigned. “We can discuss where we go from here when you’re ready.” His gentle tone belied the
anguish etched on his face. I didn’t object, torn between wanting him gone and avoiding a scene in
the hotel room. Letting him wait elsewhere seemed like a tolerable compromise, buying me space
without severing the fragile thread between us.
