BAD WIFE

Chapter {1}

Clarissa had become an expert at disappearing...
Not physically. No—she still showed up. She went through the motions. She existed. But mentally? Emotionally?

She zoned out. Constantly.

Like her body moved through life on autopilot while her mind stayed trapped elsewhere—frozen in memories, spinning in regret, and stuck on one person she couldn't seem to forget.

It had been six months since the separation.
Six long, aching months.

She should've been healing by now—moving on, reclaiming her life—but instead, it felt like something vital inside her had simply... stopped. The world kept turning, the seasons kept shifting, but she remained still. Quiet. Disconnected. Like she was just breathing, not living—if that made sense.

And the worst part?

Maybe it was her fault.

The collapse of their marriage didn't happen in one night—it cracked slowly, silently, and then shattered all at once. That night he got drunk and exploded? It was the catalyst, yes—but the damage had started long before. She just hadn't seen it. Or maybe she hadn't wanted to.

Back then, she was too angry to acknowledge her own part in it. Too hurt to admit where she'd gone wrong. So instead of talking, she ended things. Just like that.
And what broke her more than the divorce itself was what didn't happen after.

Jacob never chased her.

He apologized—profusely. Said how sorry he was for hurting her. But not once had he said, Please come back.
Not once had he whispered, Give me another chance.

And God, how she longed to hear those words.
She would've given anything to hear him say he missed her. Needed her. Still loved her.

But he hadn't.

A cold shiver rippled through her at the memory—the one she couldn't stop reliving. That night. The night everything collapsed. The photo Regina had sent her, the cheating allegation that seared itself into her brain. She could still feel the nausea that churned in her stomach the moment she saw it. It haunted her.

And yet, she couldn't stop replaying it.
Couldn't stop replaying everything.

Obsessing.

Every argument. Every silence. Every time she rolled her eyes instead of leaning in. Every time she shut him out, even unintentionally. Every missed chance to be tender, to speak instead of sulking, to choose softness over distance.

There were so many times she could've pulled him closer—so many chances she didn't even realize she was wasting.

She'd gotten too comfortable. Too secure. Took for granted the way he looked at her, the way he loved her. And now, with nothing left but ghosts, she realized something painful:

He had loved her.
Deeply. Visibly. Unapologetically.

But could she say the same?

And now...
Now it was 8:35 in the morning, and she was sitting in the driver's seat of her car, parked in the driveway like she had nowhere else to be. The kids were already off to school. The buses had come and gone. The house behind her was quiet.

But inside her?

A storm raged.

She was supposed to be meeting with Jacob today—supposed to finally have a real conversation—but she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Every instinct begged her to shut the car off, go inside, and keep pretending like she didn't need him.