Chapter Three
Her
The house was eerily quiet as I sat on the edge of the couch, still holding the divorce papers. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion and hurt, hopping it disappeared and we never talk about it. Hoping he comes back in and apologize.
I stood up, pacing back and forth in the empty living room. The silence was suffocating. Was it really over? Was everything I had invested in this marriage meaningless to him?
I needed to know.
The idea of calling him didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t stop myself. I needed answers, even if it meant hearing something I didn’t want to. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and stared at his name on the screen.
For a long moment, I hesitated. Was I really going to do this? Would he even answer? After everything that had happened, I had no idea.
Finally, I pressed the call button.
The phone rang and rang. I counted each ring as it echoed in my ear, praying he would pick up.
Just as I was about to give up, the line clicked.
“Anastasia.” His voice was a tired rasp, distant.
“Quinn,” I said, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. “we need to talk? We really need to talk?”
I heard him shift in his seat, the sound of sheets rustling under his weight. He sounded distracted, not focused on me at all. “I don’t think now is the right time to talk about this.”
“Not the right time?” I repeated bitterly, my voice trembling with frustration. “You handed me divorce papers on my birthday, Quinn! And now you’re telling me it’s not the right time?”
There was silence on the other end, then a sigh. “Ana, just... please. We’ll talk later.”
“Later?” I pressed, feeling the sting of his indifference. “You’ve been telling me that for years.”
Another shift. A faint sound of movement, like someone was adjusting beside him.
"Veronica, oh baby" he murmured.
My heart skipped a beat.
Did he just say her name?
“Quinn?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “What did you just say?”
There was a moment of panic, followed by a sharp intake of breath. “Nothing,” he replied, his voice too smooth.
But I had heard it. I was sure of it. I felt sick to my stomach.
“Quinn,” I repeated, more firmly now. “I know what I heard. You said her name. Veronica.”
The rustling of sheets grew louder, and I heard a muffled sound on his end. Like he was shifting positions. Something more intimate than I was prepared to acknowledge.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said quickly, his words strained. “Look, we’ll talk later. I need to go.”
“No,” I snapped, my frustration boiling over. “Don’t you dare hang up on me now.”
I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t. Hoping he’d finally face me, finally tell me what had been festering between us for years.
But instead, the next sound that reached my ears wasn’t his voice.
It was the unmistakable sound of bed sheets ruffling. A soft, almost rhythmic rustling.
It was the kind of sound that only happens when two bodies are pressed together, when skin meets skin, when people have sex.
I froze, my grip tightening on the phone.
My mind raced.
It wasn’t a question anymore. He wasn’t just talking to Veronica. He was with her.
I felt my chest tighten, the ache spreading through me. The betrayal was too much to bear.
I wanted to scream at him, to throw the phone across the room, but I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed by the rawness of the moment.
The soft murmurs of Quinn’s voice reached me through the call. “I miss you,” he whispered, the words low and filled with something I couldn’t quite define.
The ruffling stopped for a moment. Then, the sound of a bed creaking echoed through the phone.
My throat constricted. My vision blurred as tears pooled in my eyes.
“You’re with her, aren’t you?” I choked out, my voice trembling.
There was a long pause. The kind of pause that stretched for eternity, as if he were deciding how to respond.
“Anastasia,” he began, his voice barely audible, “I—”
But he didn’t finish. Instead, I heard the faintest sound—of lips meeting skin, soft and sensual. And then a louder rustle of fabric.
It was too much.
I couldn’t breathe.
I hung up the phone, throwing it down on the bed with trembling hands. The screen cracked with the force of it, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered anymore.
I buried my face in my hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
I had always known deep down that he wasn’t truly mine. That his heart was never with me. But hearing him with Veronica, hearing the way he whispered her name, was a truth I couldn’t deny.
He was with her. He always had been.
I was just a placeholder.
I tried to breathe, tried to calm my racing heart, but the pain wouldn’t let me go. How had it come to this?
I thought I had built a life with him—a life that meant something. But now, I realized I had been living a lie.
The woman on the other end of the line was the love of his life. The one he had never really gotten over. The one he had always kept in the back of his mind.
And I? I was just the woman who stood in the way.
I spent most of the morning sitting in one position, too restless. My mind was a mess of anger, hurt, and humiliation. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the headlines, the pictures of Quinn with Veronica, imagining them in intimate positions. His arm around her, and he professed all his love for her, for the woman he left me for.