✓ [18+] EVERY LITTLE THING

X X X I I I . B R O K E N

EVERY LITTLE THING
Copyright © 2020 by MischiefMaidenX

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X X X I I I . B R O K E N

S A R A H

It's been seven months, two weeks, three days, some amount of hours and seconds that I don't want to calculate right now—since my husband died.

And in those months, I've gone through the stages of grief multiple times. Most are when I would have a moment of forgetfulness. Such as when something happens with Caleb or Huxley and I just want to pick up the phone and call Christopher to tell him all about it.

But I can't.

Other times, the worst of them, is when I would dream about him.

The dreams would be so real that when I woke up, panic attacks would arise because once again, I'm having to go through all the bullshit of grief. I want to desperately reach out and touch my husband, kiss him, tell him that I love him, and have that sweet three worded phrase returned to me.

But I can't and I never will.

Now, as I drive away from the sheriff station with an emptiness in my soul towards my house, I'm right back there again. Grieving. Except for this time, it's not over his death but his betrayal.

Denial—yeah that happened back at the sheriff's station as soon as I heard the words escape my father's mouth. I would've never imagined Christopher doing something like that to me.

Never.

He loved me. I was his whole world. Right?

But then, when Drew explained the timing of Christopher's affair, it clicked and I knew. I'd always known deep down.

The same clues that had earlier made me suggest my own father was having an affair behind my mother's back were right in front of me the whole time.

There was a time span of a month in there, prior to his death, when he too was coming home late, distracted with work, no longer wanted to have sex, would barely speak with me, or hiding his phone screen whenever I was around. All the telltale actions of a bonafide cheater.

So once denial trotted off on his merry way, that's when anger made an appearance. And man is the bitch furious. Anger—she's not going anywhere. Not for a while.

When I finally pull up into my driveway, I make a quick, impersonal call to my boss that I won't be coming in for the remainder of the day. Stating it's a 'family matter' and leaving it at that before hanging up.

Like a drone, a machine with no cognitive thoughts but merely following step by step orders, my body climbs from my car and walks towards my house. I unlock the door with haste and when I open it up, I pay no attention to my surroundings, slamming the door shut. It startles Huxley and Binx who had ran to the door to greet me but as animals, they sense my distress, my anger, and make a beeline for Huxley's dog bed in the corner of the living room.