What He Won't Do

Chapter 2: Tomeka

Tomeka had reached her breaking point.
He had stayed out late for the last time, and she was absolutely done. No more excuses. No more waiting by the phone that never rang. No more wondering where he was or who he was with. This had to stop. It was over.

Her heart felt heavy but steady. She'd taken all she could from Terrence, and this wasn't the life she wanted. There was happiness somewhere out there; she just had to find it, even if it meant walking away alone.

Terrence cruised down the street, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He had his fun. Now it was time to go home, to his wife.

But as he rolled up to the curb, something caught his eye. A pile of stuff sat scattered on the roadside. His stuff.

He laughed bitterly. "Some dude 'bout to be put out," he thought.

As he got closer, the smirk faded fast. His shoes were charred. His clothes were sliced up and bleached, hung out like trophies of a war he'd lost.

Fury flared in his chest.
What the hell is wrong with her?
Is she really losing it?

He stormed to the door and shouted, "Meka! Where are you?!" His voice echoed through the house, but no answer came.

Inside, Tomeka was safe in her own bubble, headphones in, warm water enveloping her, a champagne glass resting lightly in her hand. The noise of the world was muted. She was calm. Peaceful. And ready.

Terrence paced from room to room, growing hotter by the second. Where was she hiding? Why wasn't she answering?

Finally, he found her stepping out of the tub, droplets sliding down her skin, a smile playing on her lips.

She hadn't heard a word.

He took a breath, forcing calm into his voice. "What's your problem?"

Tomeka dried her body slowly, eyes steady on him. "Problem? What problem, dear husband? I don't know what you mean."

Terrence's gaze dropped to the curb outside. "Why are all my clothes on the road?" His voice was sharp now, tinged with anger.

She followed him into the bedroom, voice cool and steady. "Terrence, tell me... where do you sleep at night?"

His face twisted with shock and confusion. Where was this coming from? Did she know something? His heart hammered like a warning drum.

"Babe," he started, throat tight, "if this is about last night... I was at my mom's. You know she's been sick."

She laughed—a short, hard sound. "I thought you'd say that. So I called Barbara. Asked how she's doing."

His face fell.

"Baby..." he whispered, but the words caught in his throat.

His shoulders shook slightly, and his skin flushed bright red, like a child caught doing wrong. His heart pounded, his breath uneven. Did he know what was coming? Was he ready for this?

Tomeka's voice dropped low, calm, deadly. "Don't say a word. There's nothing left to say. Your things are on the road. Pack them up and leave."

She turned and walked away.

For a moment, Terrence just stood there, world crumbling around him. She was his backbone. Was she really throwing away everything they had?

Then, with a bitter laugh, he turned to the window, watching as she walked out to the driveway.

She caught his eyes one last time, smiled like a victor, threw up two fingers, and got in her car.

As she pulled away, anger surged again inside him.

She can leave, he thought. I got girls. I'll just stay with one of them.

He grabbed his phone and dialed. No answer.

A recorded voice buzzed through the speaker:
"We're sorry, but your service has been temporarily disconnected."

Tomeka had done it—cutting off his lifeline.

Terrence's anger flared, but then it faded into something darker, acceptance.

She wouldn't hold him back anymore. He was his own man. Always had been.