Darrel stared at me, his expression slowly shifting from anger to confusion. His voice softened, as though trying to coax me back from the edge. He tugged at my sleeve like a child pleading with his mother. “Fionna, I know I’ve been busy with work lately, but those things—those were for us, for when we finally got married. Why did you throw it all away?”
His words would have sounded touching if I hadn’t known where he’d been that afternoon. The irony was staggering. He could be standing here, begging me to understand, acting like he cared so deeply—while I knew he’d been with her just hours ago.
“You could have dusted them off, you know,” he said, sounding almost heartbroken. “You’ve taken care of them so many times before. I could’ve helped you. You didn’t have to throw it all away.”
I laughed bitterly, looking him dead in the eyes. “Yes, I’ve cleaned them many times, Darrel. But I don’t want to do it anymore.”
I turned and walked to the bedroom, closing the door behind me. The very sight of him, standing there with that look of hurt betrayal in his eyes, made me feel sick. He’d been at another woman’s place, playing the role of devoted “Mr. Darrel,” then came back here pretending to be the man who cared about me.
Shortly after, he knocked on the door, his voice soft, pleading. “Fionna… look, I know something’s been bothering you lately. Let me make it up to you, okay? Once things calm down at work, I’ll redo everything you threw away. I’ll plan something special for us, something even better.”
“Let me keep making it up to you until you’re satisfied, all right?”
