Chapter 2Tell My Ex To Cut Deeper

The walk back to our townhouse took two agonizing hours.

During that endless walk, memories of how Willie and I first met played on a loop in my mind.

I met Willie during the worst year of his life. His family's logistics company had just collapsed into bankruptcy, and his college sweetheart, Amber, had left him without a backward glance.

I was a fresh college graduate back then. I had refused to take a comfortable position at my family’s real estate firm, wanting to prove I could make it on my own, so I had taken an entry-level job at a small agency.

One evening, a sudden storm hit the city. I was standing under a bus stop, completely unprepared, when Willie walked by and handed me his umbrella.

We eventually realized we worked in neighboring buildings. One coffee date turned into another, and eventually, we fell in love.

My parents were vehemently opposed to him. They saw his ambition as desperate and his background as unstable. In my youthful, stubborn defiance, I cut ties with them to marry him.

But on our wedding day, tragedy struck. Willie's younger sister, Delia, was bringing my bridal bouquet to the venue when a drunk driver plowed into her car. She survived, but she was left paralyzed from the waist down.

From that day on, an invisible, insurmountable wall rose between Willie and me.

Delia was a lovely girl. Willie had practically raised her after their parents died young; they were all each other had. So when he began punishing me with his silence and emotional withdrawal, I didn't fight back. I accepted it as my penance.

I genuinely loved Delia like a sister. I quit my job, stayed at home, and became her full-time caregiver. I poured every ounce of my energy into trying to heal the fracture in our family.

When Willie wanted to start a new business, no bank in the city would look at a man with a bankruptcy on his record. He spent months pitching to venture capital firms, getting doors slammed in his face day after day.

Watching him slowly wither away from stress broke my heart. I couldn't sleep.

Ultimately, I swallowed my pride and went back to my parents' estate.

My mother wept when she saw me, repeating over and over, "If you had just listened to us, you wouldn't be living like this."

I knelt before my father and begged.

My father sat in silence for what felt like hours. But because he loved me, he finally gave in. He agreed to fund Willie's venture—under the strict condition that it must be routed through a third-party shell company so Willie would never know the money came from us.

The night his company finally went public, Willie drank far too much. When we got home, he held me tightly in the living room, burying his face in my hair for a long, silent moment.

And then, he wept.

It was only the second time I had ever seen him cry. The first had been at the hospital on our wedding day.

"Miranda," he whispered, his voice cracking. "About Delia... I don't hold it against you anymore. These past few years... I've been a monster to you. Let's just be good to each other from now on."

My tears spilled over instantly.

In that moment, I believed every sacrifice, every cold night, and every bit of swallowed pride had been worth it.

But I hadn't realized that once we finally crossed that bridge, our marriage wouldn't automatically heal.

A sudden, booming crack of thunder snapped me back to reality.

Without realizing it, I had reached our front gate.

When I pushed the front door open, Willie was sitting on the leather sofa, casually sipping a cup of espresso.

He looked up, his brow furrowing when he saw me dripping muddy water onto the hardwood floor, my knees scraped and bleeding.

"What happened to you?"

I answered quietly, "I got clipped by a car driven by a couple of cowards. I’ve been walking in the rain for two hours."

He sighed, his voice laced with impatience. "Well, go clean up and get dinner started. Delia is waiting to eat."

Without another word, he stood up and walked into his study, shutting the door behind him.

Hearing my footsteps, Delia rolled her wheelchair out of her bedroom. When she saw my soaked clothes and the blood seeping through my torn jeans, her face turned pale.

"Miranda! Oh my god, what happened? Did you fall?" Her voice was hoarse and anxious.

"I'm fine, sweetie. Just slipped on the wet sidewalk," I said, forcing a reassuring smile as I placed the damp prescription bag on the kitchen counter.

Delia stared at my knees, her eyes slowly filling with tears as she watched the blood begin to pool.

"Miranda... is my brother seeing someone else?"