Waiting Under The Maple Tree

Summary

On the night of our third wedding anniversary, Stephen came home smelling like a distillery and a mid-life crisis.

He stumbled through the door, his hands fumbling for purchase until they clamped around my wrists. His grip was frantic, desperate. Then he whispered the name that had been a ghost in our guest room for three years.

"Daisy," he slurred, his face pressed into the crook of my neck. "You’re finally free. You finally left him."

I froze. I didn't pull away. I didn't cry. I just stood there like a statue in my own hallway, letting him hold me while he confessed to a woman who wasn't…