I shoved the phone into my pocket, wiping a tear from my cheek before it could freeze. I couldn't stand here feeling sorry for myself. I had a reality to get back to.
I climbed the four flights of stairs to our apartment building, the smell of mildew and damp carpet getting stronger with every step. My legs screamed in protest, but I forced them to move.
I unlocked the door to apartment 4B, praying for silence. Just one night of silence.
Instead, I was hit by a wall of noise and the stench of stale beer.
The living room—if you could call it that—was a disaster zone. Pizza boxes were stacked like Leaning Towers of Pisa on the coffee table. Empty brown bottles littered the floor. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and pepperoni.
And there, sprawled on the couch like he was the king of the castle, was Evan.
He was surrounded by his "boys"—Ben, Troy, and Marcus. The TV was blaring a football game at maximum volume, shaking the thin walls.
I stood in the doorway, my bag slipping from my shoulder to hit the floor with a heavy thud.
Twelve hours. I had just worked twelve hours on my feet, dealing with Greg, dealing with customers who treated me like dirt, only to come home to this.
"Evan," I said.
My voice was swallowed by the cheering on the TV.
I walked over and snatched the remote from the coffee table, hitting the mute button. The silence that followed was deafening.
"Hey!" Ben shouted, throwing his hands up. "We were watching that!"
Evan turned his head slowly, a half-drunk, lazy smirk plastered on his face. "Babe, come on. It's the fourth quarter."
"I don't care if it's the apocalypse," I said, my voice vibrating with suppressed rage. "Look at this place, Evan."
He glanced around the room, feigning confusion. "What? We're just hanging out."
"Hanging out?" I kicked an empty beer bottle. It skittered across the floor and clinked against the wall. "I have been working since six in the morning. I come home, and the apartment smells like a brewery, and you have three grown men screaming at the TV."
"Technically, Troy is twenty-nine," Ben snickered.
I whipped my head toward him. "Get out."
Ben blinked. "Whoa, chill out, Penny."
"I said, get out!" I screamed, the dam finally breaking. "All of you! Now! I want you out of my house!"
The room went dead silent. Troy and Marcus exchanged awkward glances.
"You heard her," Evan muttered, rolling his eyes as he took a sip of his beer. "She's having one of her episodes. Just go, guys. I'll catch you later."
One of my episodes.
I stood trembling as his friends shuffled out, muttering under their breath about "crazy wives."
When the door clicked shut, I turned on Evan. He was still sitting on the couch, unbothered, reaching for a slice of cold pizza.
"You have got to be kidding me," I whispered.
"What?" He chewed loudly. "They're gone. Are you happy now, Your Majesty?"
"Happy?" I walked into the kitchen—which was also a mess of dirty dishes—and gripped the counter. "Evan, you promised you'd clean up today. You promised you'd look for jobs online."
"I did look," he lied smoothly. "Nothing out there. Economy's tough, babe."
"You haven't had a job in fourteen months, Evan! I am drowning! I am paying the rent, the utilities, the groceries, and for your beer! I am doing it all!"
He slammed the pizza crust down. "Oh, here we go. The Martyr Saint Penelope speech. I know, okay? You work hard. You're amazing. Do you want a medal?"
"I want a partner!" I yelled, tears pricking my eyes. "I want a husband who gives a damn!"
Evan stood up then, his face darkening. The lazy drunk demeanor vanished, replaced by the defensive narcissism I had come to know too well.
"Maybe if you weren't so obsessed with your pride, we wouldn't be living like this," he spat.
I froze. "What are you talking about?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Your sister." He took a step toward me, looming over the kitchen island. "Madison calls you every month. She offers to help. She offers to send money. But no, Saint Penelope has to say no. You'd rather drag us both through the mud than admit you're jealous."
"I am not taking her charity!" I snapped. "I have dignity, Evan! Something you wouldn't understand!"
"Dignity doesn't pay the electric bill, Penelope!" He slammed his hand on the counter, making me jump. "You're so selfish. You could snap your fingers and fix our lives, but you won't because you can't stand that she won. You can't stand that she has the billionaire and you got stuck with me."
"I got stuck with you because I loved you!" I cried out, my voice cracking. "I believed in you! You told me we were building something together!"
"Yeah, well, plans change." He sneered. "And don't act like you're innocent. You're always tired. You're always nagging. You're never home. You think I like sitting here? I drink to drown out your voice, Penelope."
The cruelty in his eyes was blinding.
"I work two jobs to feed you," I whispered, shaking my head. "How can you say that?"
"If you were a better wife, maybe I'd be a better husband."
I gasped. The air left the room.
"A better wife?" I laughed, a broken, hysterical sound. "I cook. I clean. I work. I pay your debts. What more do you want from me, Evan? Blood?"
"I wanted a family!" he shouted, throwing his hands up. "But you couldn't even manage that, could you?"
The silence that fell over the room was heavy, suffocating, and absolute.
My hands went to my stomach, a phantom pain radiating through me.
"Don't," I warned, my voice barely audible. "Do not go there."
"Why not?" Evan's face twisted into something ugly. "It's the truth. You were so stressed, running around trying to prove you didn't need anyone's help, working double shifts when you were pregnant. And what happened?"
"Evan, stop." Tears were streaming down my face now, hot and fast.
"You lost it," he said, his voice dropping to a cruel whisper. "You worked yourself into the ground, and you lost our baby. Because you were too proud to ask your sister for money so you could rest. That baby is dead because of you."
My knees gave out. I gripped the edge of the sink to keep from collapsing.
The memory washed over me—the hospital lights, the cramping, the devastating silence of the ultrasound machine. The doctor's pitying eyes.
"I did everything I could," I sobbed, my body shaking violently. "I did it for us."
"You did it for yourself," Evan said cold as ice. "And now I have nothing. No job. No kid. Just a nagging wife who thinks she's better than everyone else."
Something inside me snapped. It wasn't a loud snap. It was the quiet sound of a tether finally breaking.
I looked at him. Really looked at him. I saw the grease stains on his shirt, the cruelty in his mouth, the emptiness in his soul.
"I regret you," I whispered.
Evan blinked, taken aback. "What?"
I pushed myself off the counter, wiping my face with the back of my hand. "I regret meeting you. I regret marrying you. And I regret wasting the best years of my life trying to fix a man who is broken beyond repair."
"Don't you walk away from me!" he shouted as I turned toward the door. "Penelope! If you walk out that door—"
I grabbed my bag from the floor. I didn't have a plan. I didn't have money. I didn't have a coat.
"Go to hell, Evan," I said.
I slammed the door behind me, cutting off his shouting.
I ran. I ran down the four flights of stairs, nearly tripping over my own feet. I burst out into the night air, gasping for breath, the cold wind stinging my wet cheeks.
I didn't know where I was going. I just knew I couldn't stay there. I couldn't be that girl anymore.
As I stumbled onto the sidewalk, clutching my chest, my phone buzzed in my pocket again.
I pulled it out, my vision blurred with tears. A notification flashed on the screen.
Madison Laurent sent you a message.
I stared at it, the irony tasting like blood in my mouth.
Come home, Penny, the preview read. I need you.