I answered the phone.
I should have put my phone away. Instead, I held onto it as proof, as if it could still save me if I just stared at it long enough.
Footsteps echoed through the hallway. I stood in the kitchen, rooted to the spot.
Cole walked in, with wet hair, wearing sweatpants, and his towel draped over his shoulder. He looked nonchalant and relaxed, as if he wasn’t worried about anything.
He saw the phone in my hand and frowned for a moment, but he simply reached past me for a glass from the cupboard.
‘Cole,’ I said, staring at him.
He didn’t answer. He poured his glass, took a sip, and then looked at me as if I were standing too close to the fridge.
I should have hung up the phone.
‘Cole, what is this?’ My voice broke. I hated that my voice broke.
‘My phone, Paige,’ he sighed. ‘Sorry I left it on the kitchen counter.’
“I saw the message, Cole.”
He didn’t hesitate for a moment. He simply grabbed the orange juice and poured more into it.
‘Alyssa,’ I said louder. ‘Your trainer.’
‘Yes, Paige,’ he said, leaning against the counter. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you for a while.’
‘What do you have to tell me, Cole?’ I demanded.
He took another sip of orange juice as if he were watching sports.
I’ve wanted to tell you for a while.
“That I am with Alyssa now. She makes me happy! You let yourself go, and that is your mistake.”
‘Are you with her?’ I asked.
“Yes.”
The second ‘yes’ hurt the most, because it meant he had practiced this, and I was the last to hear that my own life had been replaced.
And that was it. No excuses, no shame. He spoke as if the truth was a minor inconvenience I just had to learn to live with.
Are you with her?
