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Ariel Beckham.

He walks around to my side of the car, opening the door for me. I don’t move immediately, and he doesn’t rush me either. Instead, he leans against the car and reaches over to undo my seat belt. I see the diaphragms of veins stapled onto his arm.

"Forgive me," he says softly.

I glance at him. Yes, he has always been the better of the two of us—more mature, more composed. I know that. I said I hate him earlier, but the second I saw that stain on his shirt, I swear I couldn’t breathe. The thought of him with another woman tore through me like glass.

"You cheated—"

"No. Fuckin’—cheat? With what time? I swear, I don’t even know how that stain got on my shirt, Ariel. There is no other woman. And what do you mean, cheating? We’re only married because you tried to run off with my chil……