The key clicked in the lock like it always did. I smiled as I pushed the door open, already rehearsing the way I'd throw my arms around him. It had only been a week at my parents' house, but it felt longer. A week without Micheal was like standing outside in winter without a coat.
I wanted to see his face when he saw me. I wanted that warm, boyish grin- the same one that used to make my knees weak when we were teenagers sneaking glances across the school hallway.
But when I stepped into the living room, the air stopped moving.
My parents were there. My mother, pale as milk, sat stiffly on the sofa with her hands clasped too tightly in her lap. My father leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes not on me but on the television screen. Corinne, my sister, sat in the corner, twisting her wedding ring around and around, unable to even lift her gaze.
And Micheal... He wasn't smiling. He wasn't even moving.
He just sat there, stone still in his pressed shirt and loosened tie, his jaw locked so hard I thought the muscle might snap. His eyes weren't on me either. They were on the TV.
Confused, I turned to look.
And my stomach ripped open.
There I was on the screen. My hair spilling over a hotel pillow. My skin bare. My mouth parted as if I had no shame. And men- four of them- surrounded me.
The world tilted literally up side down. My body locked. My breath hitched so sharply I choked.
"No…" The word scraped out of me. I stumbled a step forward. "That's not... please-"
"Don't." Micheal's icy voice cut me in half.
I turned back toward him, shaking so badly I couldn't keep my hands still. "Micheal, listen to me. Please listen. It's not what you think."
My mother flinched as if my voice itself was filthy. "Camilla…" She shook her head, lips trembling. "How could you?"
I looked my mother who had kissed my forehead every night until I was fifteen. She couldn't even look me in the eyes.
"I didn't-" My voice cracked. "I didn't betray him. I swear to you, I didn't. It's not what it looks like."
"Stop." Micheal's voice again, harder this time. He finally looked at me, and I wished he hadn't.
There was no rage in his eyes. No tears. Just a hollow emptiness and a void so dark I felt myself falling into it.
That was worse than screaming. Worse than if he'd put his hands around my throat and squeezed. He didn't even look like he hated me. He looked like he didn't see me at all.
"Mikey..." for some reason my voice came out in a whisper. I wasn't even sure what I'd say even if he let me explain.
He stood up, smooth and controlled, straightening his shirt cuffs. "Pack your things."
I blinked. "What?"
"You heard me." He buttoned his jacket, as if he was preparing for a meeting instead of ending my life. "Upstairs. Your clothes. Your…whatever you need. Pack everything up. Tonight."
"I'm not leaving." My voice came out high and thin, like a child's. "You don't understand. If you'd just let me explain-"
"There is nothing to explain." His tone was quiet, deadly calm. "I saw it. They saw it. And so did you. So don't insult me with excuses."
I shook my head violently, tears burning down my face. "No, no, Micheal, it's not... please, believe me, it's not what it looks like."
Corinne whispered from the corner, her voice cracking. "Cami, just stop."
I snapped my gaze to her. "You believe me, don't you? Please you have to—"
She squeezed her eyes shut, twisting her ring faster, as if she could spin herself into another life.
The silence was crushing.
I reached for Micheal. "You're my husband." My fingers hovered near his sleeve. "We grew up together. You know me. You know I could never-"
He stepped back.
Something inside me tore open in a way I didn't think could ever be stitched again.
"Don't touch me." His voice was completely devoid of any emotion, "From this day on, you do not touch me. You don't speak to me unless necessary. And you... absolutely... do not look at me like I'm still yours."
"Mikey please..."
"Don't." His voice finally broke for the first time, but not with anger this time, but at that point I wished it was.
I collapsed to my knees. "Please. Please don't do this to me. Don't throw us away. Don't throw me away. If you'd just let me-"
"Enough!" My father's roar cut through the room. He stood, his hand trembling as he pointed at me. "You've brought shame on all of us. On your husband. On this entire family. Do you have any idea what the papers will say if this ever gets out?"
I looked at him, numb. My father, who once held my bike steady while I learned to pedal, couldn't even stand to look me in the eyes.
"I didn't-" I couldn't swallow through the lump in my throat. "I didn't betray him."
"Then what is that?" My mother gestured to the screen which still played. My face... my body... those strangers' hands on me. "What is that if not betrayal?"
I had no words. None I was allowed to say, anyway.
The contract. The deal. The night I gave everything away to save Micheal.
I bit down on the sob clawing its way up my throat.
Micheal didn't wait. He adjusted his tie, smoothed his jacket, and walked toward the door. His hand rested on the knob, his back to me.
"I won't divorce you." His tone was businesslike. "Not yet. My brand doesn't take scandals. But don't mistake that for mercy."
I lifted my face, streaked with tears, confusion slicing through the pain.
"You'll stay, Camilla. You'll smile when the cameras flash. You'll wear my ring. You'll play the perfect doting wife. And when we're alone, you'll remember exactly what you are. Nothing but a cheating whore."
He opened the door then paused. His voice, when it came again, was so soft I almost thought I imagined it.
"You disgust me."
Then he was gone.
The silence left behind was worse than the tape.
I curled in on myself on the floor, shaking so violently I thought my bones might snap.
No one moved to help me. Not my parents. Not my sister. Not the man who once promised me forever.
Alone.
Utterly alone.
But inside my chest, a voice whispered anyway.
I'd do it all again for you.