Derek spun around so fast his phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.
"When did you get up?"
"Right when you were texting her back."
He bent to grab the phone, his movements clumsy. The second he had it, he jabbed the power button. The screen went black.
"I wasn't planning to go see her."
"Then why won't you answer her?"
"I'm trying to figure out how."
"Figure out how to keep it from me?"
Derek lifted his head and looked at me. His eyes were threaded with red. "Ruby, do you really have to talk to me like this?"
"Then how do you want me to talk?" I set my water glass down on the coffee table. "You say there's nothing between you and her, but she's texting you in the middle of the night and you can't even answer in front of me. You say the eight million was just a favor, but every post she puts up is thanking you. What am I supposed to think?"
Derek stood, his voice dropping low. "We've been married three years. When have I ever lied to you?"
"You're lying to me right now."
He said nothing.
I looked him in the eye. "Derek. Do you still love her?"
I waited a long time.
Long enough that I thought he wouldn't answer at all.
"I'm not that fickle," he said.
I laughed.
It was a brilliant answer. Not "I don't love her." Just "I'm not that fickle." Meaning: he had loved her, but didn't anymore. Or, that he loved her, just not so much.
But spending eight million to buy back an old estate for a woman you "don't love," staying up half the night waiting for her messages, that counted as "not that fickle"?
I didn't call him on it. I picked up my glass and went back to the bedroom.
Lying in bed, I heard movement in the living room. He was on the phone, voice pressed low, but I still caught a few words.
"...Keep the keys. I'm not coming."
"It's fine. Don't read into it."
"Get some rest."
After he hung up, the living room stayed quiet for a long while. Then I heard his footsteps come to the bedroom door, pause, and move away again.
He didn't come in.
I barely slept. Near dawn, I heard the door close. I dragged myself up to look. Derek's car was gone.
Where had he gone?
I glanced at my phone. Kitty had updated her feed, a voice clip this time. I tapped it open.
Her voice was thick with tears. "Derek, are you really not coming? I want to see you."
Posted fifteen minutes ago.
Derek had left fifteen minutes ago.
I sat on the edge of the bed, and it all felt absurd. Three years married, and he never once left in the morning without a word. Every strange thing he'd done lately traced back to Kitty.
A phone buzzed. Not mine. The other phone Derek had left behind.
I picked it up and looked.
Two dozen unread messages popped up on the screen, all from Kitty. The newest was a voice clip. I played it.
"Derek, I was the one who let you down back then. I never should have left the country. I regret it. I really do. You still care about me, don't you? Otherwise you wouldn't have bought back the estate."
The clip ended, and another message followed right after, this one text.
"Didn't you say the one thing you regretted most in your life was not holding on to me? I'm back now. Can you... give me one more chance?"
I set the phone down.
The thing he regretted most.
The day we got married, when we drank the toast, he'd smiled and said, "I have no regrets left in this life."
So that hadn't been true.
The doorbell rang.
I walked over and opened it. A woman stood outside. White dress, long hair, eyes rimmed red.
Kitty Simmons.
She saw me and froze for a second, then forced a smile. "Ruby, is Derek home?"
