Xavier gripped the steering wheel, knuckles whitening, as he navigated the sleek black car through the evening traffic. He could have waited for Caleb to drive him, but the urge to escape the office, to outrun his thoughts, proved fiercer than patience. The mansion loomed ahead, its windows like darkened eyes gazing down upon him with silent judgment.
The engine cut down, silently swallowing the growl of horsepower. Xavier stepped out, his movements mechanical, like a man bracing for battle. Inside, Dora sat at the dining table, draped in expectation and greed. Her eyes flicked up, seeking acknowledgment, but Xavier moved past her-a ghost to her desires. Xavier went straight upstairs to his wife, Cathleen.
"Hey." His voice was low as he entered the bedroom, finding Cathleen absorbed in her iPad. She didn't look up; she just acknowledged him with a tilt of her head.
"Hey," she murmured back, her focus undeterred.
His suit jacket flew through the air, landing carelessly upon the couch-an afterthought shed from his broad shoulders. Without waiting for a response, he strode into the bathroom. The shower's hiss filled the space as water cascaded over him, washing away the grime of the day but not the ache in his chest.
Freshly dressed, he returned to Cathleen, now less armored in her vulnerability. Gently, he guided her to the bathroom, easing her into the warm, bubble-scented embrace of the tub. "Thank you," she said, inhaling deeply. "This smells so good."
"You welcome," he replied, his voice straining, an undercurrent of something unsaid simmering beneath the surface.
"Cat," he called out, his hand pausing mid-motion as he bathed her back with practiced care. The room was steeped in tension, each bubble popping a countdown to the inevitable explosion.
Cathleen hummed, a sound ripe with trust, unaware of the storm brewing within him. The soft sponge traced her skin, a tender contrast to the hard truths clawing at his throat.
"Cat," he said again, the name hanging between them, weighted and fraught with unspoken apologies.
The sponge in Xavier's hand stilled against the smooth expanse of Cathleen's back, each bubble bursting like the rapid pulse beneath his skin. He swallowed hard, the words forming a thick knot in his throat. "There is something I need to tell you," he confessed, his voice barely audible above the gentle lapping of water.
Cathleen's response was a soft hum, nonchalant, and disarming, yet he sensed her lawyerly instincts sharpening behind that serene facade.
"Remember when I told you that I would never keep secrets from you?" The question felt like shards of glass leaving his mouth. Her answer came swift, a crisp "Yeah" that cut through his hesitation.
"Well, that includes the most difficult storms of all." His hands trembled as he relinquished the sponge, letting it bob aimlessly on the surface of the scented water. It seemed to mock him with its buoyancy, so unlike the gravity of his news.
"Cat, first, I'm sorry for what I want to say before I even say it." He sank onto the cool tile floor, a man bracing for impact, facing the tempest head-on. "I don't want you to hear it from someone else, but me."
Her body turned, pivoting with a grace that belied the heavy air between them. "What is it?" she demanded, her tone sharp enough to slice through pretense.
"Olivia is pregnant." The confession hung raw and ugly in the steam-filled room.
A pause, then a calculated tilt of Cathleen's head. "Well, that's good news. Who is the father?" The question landed like a gauntlet thrown, her eyes searching for truth-or the absence of it.
His heart pounded a brutal rhythm against his ribcage, each beat like a hammer strike against the walls he had built around himself. This was the moment of reckoning-the inevitable crash after a free fall of deceit.
Xavier's confession lingered in the humid air-a toxic vapor that clung to every surface of the bathroom. "I am," he admitted, his voice a mere whisper against the torrent of emotions that engulfed them.
Cathleen's body turned rigid, the playful bubbles that surrounded her now suffocating, each one seeming to pop with a question, an accusation, a shard of betrayal. She stared at him, and time stretched cruelly as a single tear breached the dam of her composure, trailing down her cheek like liquid fire.
"You were sleeping with her while you were also sleeping with me?" Her voice was a blade, sharp and edged with incredulity, slicing through the silence that had settled between them.
"Look, you are my wife," Xavier started, the words tasting of ash and regret. "I told you about her from day one, but this is a surprise for me too." He stood there, defenseless and stripped of excuses. "I have no excuse for all this."
The tub seemed to cradle Cathleen's breaking form, her reflection distorted by the water's ripple, a visual echo of her fractured self. She sat motionless, save for the trembling that began to seize her, ripples turning into waves as sob after anguished sob broke free. "Were you fucking her while you were fucking me?" Cathleen asked, tears streaming down her face.
"No, ever since you and I slept together, I have not slept with another woman, except the day when I woke up next to the lady that accused me of rape." Xavier confessed and went on. "Cat, I'm sorry," he said, each word heavy, sinking beneath the weight of its meaning.
"Sorry?" Cathleen spat the word out, venomous and raw. "All you ever did in this sham of a marriage was disrespect me at every chance you got." She rose then, a tempest incarnate, her voice crescendoing with the storm within her. "Olivia is pregnant, and I am pregnant. Where do I fucking stand, Xavier?"
"You are my wife, Cathleen; that's where you stand." He answered.
"Wife?" She says and goes on, "One you do not love."
"Cat, please." Xavier begged.
Her fury was like a live wire, sparking and arcing across the space between them. "I have taken all the insults from you, but this? This is just fucking too much, Xavier." The swell of her rage crested, ready to crash down upon them both. "You can't simply want me to be okay with something like this, I can't, I can't do this."
She stood then, her movements deliberate, a declaration of her intent to sever the ties that bound her to this man, this moment, and this pain. The water cascaded off her skin as she stepped out of the tub, leaving behind the care of his hands, the warmth of his touch, and the deceit that dripped from his lips.
However, Xavier followed her and held her hand. Cathleen's voice tore through the air, a sharp blade of defiance. "No, leave me. I don't want to see you; just sign the divorce papers. This is too much to take. I am a laughingstock because of you. You can't even keep your fucking dick to yourself. Sign the damn papers!" Her words were punctuated by the raw emotion that gripped her throat, making each syllable a battle cry against betrayal.
Xavier's silhouette loomed in the doorway, his figure rigid against the muted light spilling from the bedroom. "Cat, I told you I didn't get married to get a divorce," he said, desperation seeping into his tone. His plea was for patience, for understanding-things he had not afforded her.
"Divorce papers, sign it," she spat out the reminder like sour venom, her resolve hardening. "But now more than ever, I want you out of my life!" She stood naked and unshielded, yet her vulnerability was encased in an armor of fury.
He stepped closer, his hands reaching out, but she was an inferno-untouchable. "If I am indeed the father of Olivia's baby, I will grant you your wishes." He tried to navigate the chasm his infidelity had carved between them. "In the meantime, I want you to put yourself and the baby first. Our baby. Please," Xavier implored, his voice straining with the gravity of his own words. "Let me sort out this whole issue with Olivia; be patient with me."
Patience had left the room when his truth entered, shattering the sanctity of their marriage. Cathleen seethed, her anger uncontainable. "I am done with you; your level of disrespect is way too much to handle." Her declaration was punctuated by the sound of water dripping from her body, hitting the tile in a staccato rhythm that matched her racing heart.
She moved past him, her bare skin brushed by the cool air of their bedroom-a stark contrast to the heat of her rage. Xavier watched her go, her retreat being a visceral blow to whatever remained of their bond. His words had stripped away the last threads of her tolerance, leaving only the raw edges of her scorn.
As she rushed out of the bedroom to the walk-in closet, her form was a blur-a streak of defiance, a beacon of wounded pride. The door slammed behind her, the echo of its closure reverberating through the hollow space they once called a sanctuary.