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Chapters (50)
  1. Prologue
  2. Chapter One
  3. Chapter Two
  4. Chapter Three
  5. Chapter Four
  6. Chapter Five
  7. Chapter Six
  8. Chapter Seven
  9. Chapter Eight
  10. Chapter Nine
  11. Chapter Ten
  12. Chapter Eleven
  13. Chapter Twelve
  14. Chapter Thirteen
  15. Chapter Fourteen
  16. Chapter Fifteen
  17. Part Two
  18. Chapter Sixteen
  19. Chapter Seventeen
  20. Chapter Eighteen
  21. Chapter Nineteen
  22. Chapter Twenty
  23. Chapter Twenty-One
  24. Chapter Twenty-Two
  25. Chapter Twenty-Three
  26. Chapter Twenty-Four
  27. Chapter Twenty-Five
  28. Chapter Twenty-Six
  29. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  30. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  31. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  32. Chapter Thirty
  33. Chapter Thirty-One
  34. Chapter Thirty-Two
  35. Chapter Thirty-Three
  36. Chapter Thirty-Four
  37. Chapter Thirty-Five
  38. Chapter Thirty-Six
  39. Chapter Thirty-Seven
  40. Chapter Thirty-Eight
  41. Chapter Thirty-Nine
  42. Chapter Forty
  43. Chapter Forty-One
  44. Chapter Forty-Two
  45. Part Three
  46. Chapter Forty-Three
  47. Chapter Forty-Four
  48. Chapter Forty-Five
  49. Chapter Forty-Six
  50. Epilogue

As I make my way home tonight, thoughts of what could be swirl around my mind.

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Stone Philips

If there’s anything I’ve learned in the last three weeks, it’s one, that we are not in a seller’s market right now when it comes to real estate, and two, getting a divorce fucking sucks. Aida is making everything as difficult as humanly possible. When we originally talked about this weeks ago, I thought she was at least semi on the same page as me. Could understand where I was coming from.

Now it’s like she’s suffered amnesia and completely forgot that we’re miserable together. The sobbing she did in the lawyer’s office last week when the papers were drawn up was embarrassing. Literal snot running down her nose, sobbing. And then she refuses—absolutely refuses—to help get the house ready to list and show. I’ve done it all myself, and we’ve lived here for plenty of years, so we have a lot of shit accumulated.

I’ve seen Cash maybe four or five times outside of class in the last few weeks because I’ve been so busy with this shit, and when I’m not busy with this shit, I’m fucking exhausted and want to sleep. True to his word, though, he’s been nothing but understanding and there for me. He’s brought me coffee almost every single morning at work because he knows I’m sleeping like shit, despite being exhausted.

It’s such a small gesture, but it means more than he’ll probably ever know. Yesterday, after the class we had together, he rubbed my shoulders for me before he had to go to his next class. He may have also gotten onto his knees under my desk and made me come too, but still… It’s the small gestures that mean so much.

I’ve spent the last five hours straight going through shit in our attic. Labeling it and getting ready to get rid of most of it. Alone, of course. It’s a quarter past seven, and Aida went to bed an hour ago. A “migraine” was the reason she couldn’t help me today. It’s fucking frustrating. My phone rings as I’m making my way to the garage to do the same thing I did with the attic—which should be a shitshow. My mood lightens a bit when Cash’s name flashes on the screen.

“Hey, you,” I answer, propping the phone to my ear with my shoulder.

“Hey, sexy. Haven’t heard from you much today, so I just wanted to check and make sure you’re doing okay.”