On New Year's Eve, when my wife stood up me and my parents again to keep her childhood best friend company—because he had depression—I didn't make a scene this time. I just waited until she came home with her clothes in disarray, then handed her the divorce papers I'd already drafted.
She tore them up without hesitation, her face full of impatience.
"I told you ages ago, Derek has depression. If I'm not with him, he'll kill himself! Do you really want to watch my best friend die because of me and make me live with that guilt forever? How can you have so little compassion!"
I handed her another copy and said calmly, "You two slept together. I think it's disgusting."
——
Seeing me pull out the papers again, irritation flashed across Smokey Abbott's face. She didn't bother explaining—just turned and walked into the bathroom.
I didn't say a word. I stared at the black stockings she'd tossed by the bathroom door, at the dried stain on them, and sat there motionless as the torn scraps of paper settled over me.
Faintly, I could hear her on the phone with Derek Henson.
"Derek, I'm home already. Don't be scared—I'll come keep you company again tonight."
Before long, she came out. When she saw me still sitting there, her expression flickered, and her tone softened slightly.
"Alex Dickerson, when Derek first got diagnosed, I told you—his parents died years ago. I'm the closest person he has in this world. Only I can ease his depression. You agreed back then that you'd help him too. So why now? Why are you suddenly unwilling? And why do you keep slandering my innocence?"
I sneered inwardly.
Before, when she went to help Derek, she'd just accompany him during the day—go for walks, help clear his head. But lately, even at night, no matter what we were doing, Smokey would run to Derek's place without hesitation. Even when we were in the middle of sex, she'd stop and leave.
When I didn't respond, her tone softened further.
"Aren't you just upset because Derek interrupted us last time? Over something that small, you want a divorce? Fine—I'll make it up to you now."
She leaned in and bit my earlobe.
I pushed her away.
Her face twisted with rage. "Alex Dickerson, I'm already lowering myself here. Don't push your luck!"
Looking at her, I almost laughed.
Every single time, she was the one in the wrong—yet she acted like I owed her something. Where did she get the nerve?
I let out a cold laugh. "Smokey Abbott, you said you didn't want to come home for the holidays. Yesterday, my parents traveled over a thousand miles to be here. I asked you ahead of time if you were free—and what did you do? We waited for you all night. What, did your Derek have a depression episode that lasted until morning too? Everyone knows what you did. Do you really need to keep using depression as an excuse? Don't you think it's pathetic?"
Her face flushed with anger, and she was about to snap back—but then Derek Henson called.
Her voice turned soft instantly. "Derek?"
"Smokey, I've been thinking it over, and I'm worried it'll affect your relationship with your husband. I want to explain things to him over the phone. Can you put it on speaker?"
Smokey nodded.
"Smokey's husband—Smokey and I did grow up together, but we're just ordinary friends. Don't worry. Nothing happened last night. Her clothes got messed up because she was kneeling for a long time trying to help stabilize my condition. Don't overthink it."
He started off explaining, but by the end, it was pure provocation.
I spoke coldly. "No need to be so vague. You two can take it a step further. But do you dare?"
