“This must be Jacqueline’s size, right?”
As soon as I said it, something flickered across Clyde’s face—like he knew he’d been caught.
Then he tried to cover it up.
“Maybe the designer messed up when I gave him your size. I asked him to redo it.”
“Don’t bother,” I replied casually.
There really wasn’t a point anymore.
My indifference probably frustrated him ‘cause his brows tightened.
“Mallory, how long are you planning to keep acting like this?
“I was trying to talk to you nicely, but look at your damn attitude.
“I’m telling you now—Jacqueline’s moving in with us. It’s for her health.”
So that was the whole reason for tonight’s conversation. The rest was just noise.
He just wanted to give Jacqueline a clean excuse to move into the house I was supposed to share with him as his wife.
I didn’t say anything. I just nodded, turned around, and walked into the bedroom.
He took my silence as surrender.
Then I heard him mumble behind me, “Lucky for me I was smart enough not to put your name on the property deed back then. Who knows how bad this would’ve gotten.”
Later that night, he had just laid down beside me when his phone rang.
It was Jacqueline.
“Clyde, I’m all alone… in this hospital room. I’m really scared.”
The moment he heard her pitiful voice, he sat up, ready to leave.
At that exact moment, my phone rang too.
It was my mom.
“Mallory, sweetie, happy birthday!”
Her voice was clear and warm and loud enough for him to hear.
He froze, mid-step. “It’s your birthday today? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
But before I could answer, Jacqueline’s sobs echoed through the line again.
He hesitated—just for a second—then walked straight out the door.
“I’ll be back,” he said.
As I watched him disappear down the hallway, I felt… no anger or sadness or anything.
I just heard my own calm voice. “Thanks, Mom. I think I’m coming home...”
‘…Back to my real home.’
There was a long pause on the other end of the line until Mom said softly, “That’s great, sweetie. Whatever you decide to do, know that I support you, baby, okay?”
She didn’t ask why I suddenly wasn’t getting married.
She’s always known I don’t make decisions lightly. She knew something must’ve happened.
That night, Clyde never came home.
The next day, I booked a flight, went to the company, turned in my resignation, and started packing.
It was past midnight when I got back to the house.
I tried entering the door code, but it just kept flashing: [Incorrect.]
I had no choice—I called Clyde.
But he didn’t answer. Not once.
Panicked and fed up, I kicked the damn door a few times before it finally swung open.
He stood there, clearly annoyed.
“Do you know how long it took me to get Jacqueline to sleep? Now she’s awake again because of you!”
I didn’t respond. I just looked at him calmly. “You changed the code, didn’t you?”
When he explained, his voice softened, almost sheepish. “Jacqueline’s bad with complicated numbers. So yeah… I changed it. It’s just easier to remember now.”
Not even twenty-four hours since he said it, and he’d already moved her in.
That old code… It was the day he and I met.
“I helped pay the down payment on this place, too,” I reminded him.
He could’ve easily bought the whole house himself. But I was the one who said, “If we both chip in, it’ll feel like ours.”
Now, my words clearly annoyed him.
“So what, you’re gonna fight with me about money now?”
Hah. He always really had a way of steering the conversation somewhere else. Away from the truth.
