Whiskey in My Shirley Temple

"You're back?"

Cole was on the sofa. The moment he saw me, his smile vanished, and his warmth was replaced by a cool indifference. He didn't even ask how I was.

He obviously hadn't expected me home so soon. He might have been in a good mood before I walked in, but now his expression had darkened.

It was pathetic that this was what our marriage had become—an empty facade.

"Yeah," I replied, my tone just as frigid. As I spoke, I noticed the tense line of his shoulders, the way he sat rigidly on the sofa.

I frowned. A moment later, I heard it: the sound of the shower running in the master bathroom.

Someone else was here.

"Who's in the shower?"

I already knew the answer, but a tiny, foolish part of me held on to a sliver of hope.

Cole's expression immediately soured as he fumbled for an explanation.

"It's Chloe. Her heat's been out for a week, so I brought her over to take a hot shower after work. Don't overthink it. It's just the heating."

"I see. I'm not."

My calm reaction seemed to throw him.

He scanned my face, searching for a flicker of anger, but when he found none, he let out a visible sigh of relief.

"Good. You've come to your senses. It's rare for you not to throw a fit."

Throw a fit? Is that what he called it when I reacted to his betrayals?

I didn't answer. I strode straight into the bedroom, pulled a suitcase from the closet, and began silently packing. Cole never once looked my way.

As I packed, I was struck by how few things were truly mine. I’m not a materialistic person, but the realization still stung.

I left behind everything he had ever given me, every shared object that held a memory. I didn't want any of it. I didn't want the memories, either.

When I finished and walked out of the bedroom, Cole was drying Chloe's hair with a Dyson. She was wearing my custom-made silk bathrobe. He was kneeling on the floor in front of the sofa, his fingers gently working through her hair as they laughed together. They looked like a picture-perfect couple.

I felt like an intruder in my own home.

Cole's back was to me, the whine of the hairdryer masking my footsteps. He didn't notice me, but Chloe did.

The moment she saw me, her head tilted up. A triumphant smirk played on her lips.

Her triumphant smirk said it all: She had won.

My face remained a blank mask. I wasn't playing her game. I just stood there, watching the tender, patient way he cared for her.

That tenderness... I couldn't remember the last time he'd shown it to me.

So, his explosive temper at home wasn't from work stress. He was just saving all his gentleness for someone else.

The hairdryer clicked off. When Cole turned and saw me standing there, he froze.

He scrambled to explain.

"I was just helping her dry her hair. I don't want her catching a cold and missing work."

"I know," I said, my tone flat. "You don't have to explain."

My detached response gave Chloe the opening she wanted. With a timid pout, she began.

"Claire, I feel like I'm not very welcome here… Maybe I should go."

She made a show of getting up, and Cole immediately rushed to stop her.

"You just showered. You'll catch your death if you go out now."

"I never said you weren't welcome," I cut in. "I'm the one who's out of place. You two stay. I'll go."

I strode back into the bedroom, grabbed my suitcase, and headed for the door.

Cole saw the suitcase, and his face fell.

He moved to stand in front of me, blocking my way.

"Claire, what are you doing? I was wondering why you were so quiet when you got home. What is this, some new kind of act?"

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped my lips. I couldn't be bothered to imagine what kind of monster he thought I was, all thanks to her manipulations.

I met Cole's gaze, my own empty of all emotion.

"It's no act, Cole. Check your email. I'm sending you the divorce papers."