BAD WIFE

Chapter {20}

Present Day

Jacob quietly closed the bedroom door behind him and made his way to the kitchen. The silence of the house gnawed at him, echoing his own unrest.

He pulled out a glass and a bottle of dark rum from the cabinet. Without hesitation, he poured until the glass was half full, then tossed back three sharp, punishing sips in rapid succession.

Reality had become a hard pill to swallow—bitter, jagged, and relentless—and tonight, he needed something strong to dull the edges. Something to coax sleep into coming, even if it was just a few restless hours.

He was rinsing the glass in the sink when he heard soft footsteps behind him.

"I heard something," Clarissa said sleepily. "Was it you?"

Her voice was raspy with fatigue. She stood in the doorway, eyes still foggy with sleep, wearing a light floral robe that skimmed just above her knees.

He turned to face her slowly, drying his hands on a towel. His hooded eyes locked onto her like a plane homing in on a runway—slow, measured, intense.

"You afraid, Clair?" he asked, voice low, a little rough from the alcohol.

She took a half step back before she could stop herself—an instinctive retreat she hadn't meant to show.

"No," she lied, chin lifting. "What is there to be afraid of?"

"Hm," he hummed, pushing himself off the counter and stepping toward her.

"Was it you or not?" she pressed, still retreating a step with each one he took forward.

But he didn't answer. Instead, he changed the subject completely.

"What happened to us, Clair?"

"I'm going to bed," she announced, turning quickly on her heel.

But before she could escape, his hand caught her wrist, and in one smooth movement, he backed her against the wall between the kitchen and dining area. His body blocked her path, close but not threatening—more desperate than domineering.

"Tell me," he said, his voice gentle but laced with pain. "What happened? Where did I go wrong? Why did you pull away from me?"

"Jacob... let me go," she whispered, eyes darting past him.

"If you don't talk to me, we can't fix this."

"I don't have anything that needs fixing," she replied flatly.

He tilted his head. "So all that anger... and nothing to fix?"

Her brows furrowed. "I'm tired. Please, just let me go to bed."

But instead of releasing her, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek—light, lingering.

"Jacob..." she breathed, her chest rising unsteadily.

Then his lips dropped to the curve of her neck, brushing against her skin with the quiet reverence of a memory.

"Just talk to me... curse me even. But let's figure this out." His voice grew thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken regret. "Our life, our kids... what we have—it's worth fighting for, Clair."

Her breath caught. Goosebumps rippled along her arms. "Jacob, stop... please."

But he didn't. He kissed her neck again, slower this time, aching with need and longing.

"I miss you, Clair," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I miss the way you used to look at me... the way we were."

Her eyes fluttered closed. "That was... a long time ago."