Chapter 2

The first week of our one-month truce was a study in suffocating silence. I moved into the guest room, the bed cold and unfamiliar. We existed in the same house like ghosts, passing each other in the hallways with brief nods. I cooked her favorite meals; she ate them without comment. I tried to start conversations about our day, about anything, and received only one-word answers. The negative energy she accused me of was a direct result of the cold, impenetrable wall she had built around herself.

I went to the office and tried to function. The whispers stopped when I entered a room. My partners treated me with a gentle pity that was almost worse than scorn. The Apex Tower project was on hold, pending an "internal review" from the investors. My career was bleeding out, and every night I came home to the woman who held the knife.

On the eighth day, I came home to find the front door unlocked. I stepped inside and heard voices from the living room. Sarah's soft murmur, and a man's deeper tone. My blood ran cold.

I walked into the living room. Mark was sitting on my sofa, a cup of tea in his hand, looking perfectly at home. Sarah was sitting across from him, a peaceful smile on her face. They weren't touching, but the intimacy between them was a physical presence in the room. It choked the air.

"Liam," Sarah said, her voice smooth. "You remember Mark."

Mark looked at me, a smug, knowing look in his eyes. He was young, maybe early twenties, with a deceptive innocence in his face that didn't match his predatory gaze. He was wearing clothes that I recognized as expensive, clothes I was sure he couldn't afford on his own.

"We were just discussing the sutras," Sarah continued, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. "Mark has a very insightful perspective."

I stared at her, my hands clenched. "The agreement, Sarah. What about our agreement?"

"What about it?" she asked, her eyebrows raised in feigned confusion. "The agreement was about us. It didn't say I couldn't have friends over. Mark is my friend."

"He's your lover," I bit out, the word tasting like acid.

"Don't use such crude language, Liam," she chided gently. "Your attachment to physical labels is the source of your suffering. Mark and I have a spiritual connection."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab Mark by his designer shirt and throw him out of my house. But I saw the look on Sarah's face-a cool, distant warning. If I made a scene, I would be the one breaking the "truce." I would be the one with the "negative energy." It was a trap, and I had walked right into it.

"He needs to leave," I said, my voice low and tight.

"He will," Sarah said. "When we're finished with our conversation."

I stood there for a long moment, the unwanted guest in my own home, while my wife and her lover discussed spirituality. The irony was so thick I could barely breathe. I turned without another word and went upstairs, the sound of their soft conversation following me like a curse. I was losing, and she was making sure I knew it.

A few days later, she approached me while I was trying to work in my home office.

"I've been thinking," she said, standing in the doorway. "This house is full of stale energy. We need a change of scenery."

A flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Was this her trying? Was she finally making an effort?

"Okay," I said, turning to face her. "Where did you have in mind? We could go to the coast for a weekend."

"The mountains," she said. "There's a retreat near Mount Rainier. Very peaceful. It would be good for us to get away from the city."

"The mountains," I repeated, a genuine smile touching my lips for the first time in weeks. "Yeah. Yes, that sounds perfect."

I immediately started making plans. I booked the best suite at a secluded, luxurious lodge. I arranged for a private guide for a scenic hike. I imagined us walking through the pines, the crisp mountain air clearing the toxicity between us. I thought maybe, just maybe, this was the turning point.

Two days before we were scheduled to leave, I was packing a bag when Sarah came into the guest room.

"The lodge called," she said. "There was a booking issue. They had to downgrade us to a smaller room."

"Oh," I said, disappointed but trying to stay positive. "That's okay. As long as we're together."

"Well, that's the other thing," she said, avoiding my eyes. "The room only has one bed. I know how much you value your space, and I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Sarah, it's fine. I don't mind."

"I do," she said softly. "My spiritual practice requires a certain amount of personal space to be effective. And honestly, your energy is still very... turbulent. It would be disruptive."

My heart sank. "So what are you suggesting?"

"I was talking to Mark about it," she began, and my stomach clenched. "He loves the mountains. And he found this wonderful, rustic cabin nearby. It's very affordable. He's offered to drive up as well, and he can stay there. That way, I can have my own room at the cabin with him, and you can have the lodge room to yourself. We can still do the hike together during the day."

I stared at her, speechless. She had engineered it. She had found a way to bring him with us. She was suggesting we go on a romantic mountain getaway, with her lover staying in a separate cabin with her, while I stayed alone in a lodge. It was so audacious, so twisted, that I almost had to admire the sheer gall of it.

"No," I said, the word flat and final.

"Liam, don't be difficult," she sighed. "It's the most practical solution."

"The practical solution is for him not to come at all! This was supposed to be about us, Sarah. You and me."

"And it will be," she insisted. "During the day. On the hike. But I also need to respect my own needs. Mark understands that. He supports my journey. You just try to control me."

The accusation hung in the air, a perfect, manipulative checkmate. If I refused, I was the controlling husband. If I agreed, I was sanctioning my own cuckoldry. The hope I'd felt just moments before curdled into bitter despair. She had me trapped.

"Fine," I heard myself say, the word tasting like defeat. "Do whatever you want, Sarah."

She gave me a small, serene smile, the smile of a winner. "Thank you for being so understanding, Liam. I knew you'd see it was for the best."

I watched her walk away, and I knew. The mountain trip wasn't going to save us. It was going to be the end.