Chapter 3. The Bar

Julie

I stare at Ryan, then at Emily, my mind trying to make sense of what I'm seeing. “I… I don’t understand.”

Ryan doesn’t even glance back, just takes Emily’s hand and starts up the stairs. “Stop being such a bad host, Julie. We’ve had a long day.”

“No way, Ryan. She’s not staying in this house.” My voice trembles.

But he doesn’t stop. They’re already halfway up the stairs, her hand in his, like I’m just some distant spectator in my own home.

“Did you hear me? She’s not staying here!” My voice is rising. “Take her back to wherever you picked her up. I don’t want her here—not in my house!”

He stops, finally, but only to throw a scornful look over his shoulder. “Your house?” he sneers. “I put a roof over your head, Julie. If I say she’s staying, she’s staying. If you don’t like it, go somewhere else. I don’t have the energy for your nonsense.”

My breath catches. I feel as if the floor’s about to vanish beneath me. “How… how could you do this?” I choke out. “Don’t walk away from me, Ryan. Stand here and answer me.”

But Emily turns then, her face painted with smug satisfaction. “By the way,” she purrs, “you’ll need to move your things to the guest room. I’m not sharing a bed with you and Ryan. It’s bad enough sharing him with you.”

I feel the words rip through me, hollowing me out. My body goes numb, my legs weak, the fire in me dimming to an exhausted flicker. I just stand there, paralyzed, watching them vanish into my room. The room I decorated, the space that held my life, my marriage. And now? Now they’re taking that, too.

The living room suddenly feels as if it’s shrinking around me, closing in until I can’t breathe. I stumble to the front door, fling it open, and bolt outside, desperate to escape. I don’t know where I’m going. All I know is I can’t stay here, can’t keep watching my world shatter.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” It’s Justin, Ryan’s bodyguard, standing by the Rolls-Royce, his cloth in hand, looking at me with genuine concern.

I hold out my hand. “The keys.”

He hesitates, taken aback. “Ma’am?”

“The damn keys, Justin,” I snap.

There’s a pause, but he hands them over. I know he’s wondering why I’d take Ryan’s car when my own sits right there. I don’t even have an answer. All I know is that if I stay here one more second, I might scream until there’s nothing left in me.

“Mrs. O’Brien, let me drive you—”

“No, Justin. I’ll drive myself.”

I slide into the driver’s seat, slam the door, and pull out of the driveway, the tires screeching against the asphalt.

***

It’s been over an hour, and I’m still driving aimlessly. My mind is a blur of everything—Ryan, Emily, their smug faces. Initially, I’d planned a Saturday evening manicure and pedicure, just to get my mind off things. Things that involve Ryan. But I’m no longer in the mood to get my feet and hands pampered. It’s not even been two days since he dropped that bombshell about an open marriage, almost giving me a heart attack, and now he’s bringing his mistress over? Emily? The same Emily?

The craziest thing is I can’t cry. I feel nothing. No tears, no anger—just this hollow emptiness. I stare at the dashboard, practically floating on the edge of my own life. The last therapist I spoke with said it’s a defense mechanism. That I’m in denial of my actual emotions. Cry it out, Julie, she used to say. Let yourself be free of the burden.

They can all go to hell. Ryan. Emily. The therapist. My entire family.

What I need is simple: a drink.

I pull off the road and into the first bar I see.

“A shot of whiskey,” I tell the bartender. “Neat. And keep them coming.”

“Long night?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say.

He pours the first shot, and I throw it back, welcoming the burn in my throat. It’s harsh, but it’s better than the alternative—thinking about what’s happening back home.

As I down my second shot, I hear someone call out, “Maggie! Maggie!”

I turn, confused, and see a tall, handsome man approaching me, his eyes locked on mine. Before I can react, he’s wrapping his arms around me. 

“Thank God I found you,” he says, pulling me into a tight hug.

I stiffen. “Who the hell are you?”

“Please, just go along with it,” he whispers in my ear. “I’ll explain later. I promise.”

Before I can push him away, a furious-looking woman storms over.

“Luke! I knew it. You can’t hide from me.”

The stranger—Luke, apparently—turns to face her, still keeping his arm around me. “Veronica, what a surprise,” he says, feigning nonchalance.

“My name isn’t Veronica, it’s Evelyn.”

Luke flashes her a sheepish smile. “Right, sorry. I get those mixed up sometimes. Anyway, this is Maggie—my wife.”

He lifts my hand, showing off my wedding ring, and I nearly choke. What is happening?

Evelyn glares at me. “You married this scumbag?”

I don’t know what to say, so I just nod.

“You should divorce him,” she snaps. “He spends one night with you and disappears the next. Who does that?”

“But that's what we agreed on. A one-night st—” Luke begins, but Evelyn cuts him off. 

“Fuck you, Luke.”

And with that, she storms off, leaving the two of us standing there, stunned.

Luke breathes a sigh of relief. “Well, that one was a stalker. At least she's off my back now.” He turns to me, smiling. “Can I buy you a drink? You’ve definitely earned it.”

I stare at him and then stare at the spot where the angry lady once stood. It all happened so fast. I can't even process it. I think I need that drink.

“Make it two,” I say.

And Luke smiles.