The Wife He Forgot To Love Chapter 06
He started saying things that would cut me to the quick.
“Can you stop overthinking it?”
“You’re overreacting!”
“I’m already burned out from work. Can’t you just give me a break?”
Each remark left a hole in my heart.
And I lost count of how many there were.
My chest grew heavier and heavier, as if all the tears I never cried had turned into stones and piled up inside me.
There was a time Bradley came to ask for money. I mentioned it to Jonathan. His face immediately darkened as he put down his fork and stared at me.
“Why are you bringing him up again?”
“Why can’t I?”
“I don’t want to hear anything about your brother.”
“I never said I wanted to help him. I’m just letting you know.”
“You gave yourself away the moment you said it. If you kept quiet, how would I even know he had sought you out?”
I was tongue-tied.
In fact, I was helping Bradley. I even gave him money behind Jonathan’s back.
I knew I should have, but he was my own brother. That day, he called me in tears and begged me to help him. “The loan sharks are gonna break my legs. I don’t want to die!”
I couldn’t leave him high and dry.
Jonathan would never understand how I felt.
He didn’t have a brother or anyone who would call him and ask for his help out of desperation.
His world was all sunshine and rainbows, with none of this mess.
He hated this mess.
He hated me even more for dragging him into this mess.
Once, he came home drunk, and I poured him a glass of water.
He took the glass, looked at me through hazy eyes, and said, “Daniela, sometimes, I think I’d be better off without you.”
After saying that, he fell asleep.
I stood by the bed for a long time, clutching his jacket.
I just washed that jacket yesterday.
I washed all of his clothes. He never did his own laundry. He didn’t know how much detergent to use. He didn’t know that shirts couldn’t be tumble-dried or that dark and light colors needed to be separated.
He didn’t know a damn thing, except that “he’d be better off without me.”
Maybe he was drunk, but there was truth in wine.
I started picking up on the little things.
For example, he no longer checked on me first when he got home from work. He came in, changed his shoes, put down his bag, and walked straight into the bedroom.
If I were in the kitchen, he pretended I wasn’t there.
He used to come up behind me, hold me in his arms, rest his chin on my shoulder, and ask what I was cooking today.
But now, as he passed the kitchen, he wouldn’t even look my way.
He no longer met my gaze when he spoke to me.
When he said, “I won’t be back for dinner tonight,” he kept his eyes on the fridge.
When he said, “Can you fix that thing?” he didn’t take his eyes off his phone.
Sometimes, I felt invisible around him.
Now, he had set a password on his phone.
I asked, “Why did you set a password?” He replied, “Company requirements.”
I didn’t believe him, but I didn’t press further.
I was scared to find out the truth.
I was scared to see something on his phone that I didn’t want to see.
My fear wasn’t unfounded. One night, I got up to use the bathroom, and his phone lit up with a message.
I didn’t recognize that girl’s name.
The message read, “I had a blast today. Thank you!” There was a smiley face at the end.
I didn’t open their chat because I didn’t have the courage to.
And I didn’t confront him.
What was I supposed to ask? “Are you into her?”
He would say, “You’re thinking too much.”
I guessed I was.
Maybe nothing happened between them. Maybe they were just close friends who chatted a lot.
What could I even do?
The version of me he liked was the girl in debates, whose eyes burned with passion, who believed the world was her oyster.
But that girl was long dead.
She died in every request from Bradley for money, in every silent compromise her mother made, in the delivery room as she gave birth, and in the endless cycle of doing dishes, cooking, and folding clothes.