“Where the hell have you been?” Sabrina sits up slowly, rubbing her eyes. “I called you a dozen times.” Her voice is low and croaky; Jake can tell she’s had more to drink since Stella’s party. His eyes find a near-empty bottle of wine on the counter, a stemless glass smudged with her lip gloss.
“I turned off my phone.” He plucks a tumbler from the dish drainer and fills it with tap water, then hands it to Sabrina, averting his gaze. He doesn’t want to look at her. He can’t. “You should drink this.”
She takes a small sip. “Where the hell have you been?” she repeats.
“I told you I was going for a walk.”
“For four hours?”
“I lost track of time.” He sighs. “Molly is in the hospital right now. Because of you.”
“I’m sorry,” she mutters, not sounding sorry at all. “Think she’s okay?”
“This is over, Sisi.”
“Huh?”
“We are over. I’m leaving you.”
The water glass slips from her fingers. There’s a high-pitched clanging as the pieces shatter on the floor. “What are you talking about?” She studies him, her green eyes swimming with panic.
Jake rests a hand on the counter. “I’m packing a bag tonight, and I’m leaving. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
“Because of Molly?”
“No. Because of us. Because I don’t love you.” The words emerge as resolutely as he feels them inside.
Sabrina says nothing. She looks gutted, the color draining from her face. Jake goes over to the pantry and retrieves the dustpan. He sweeps up the broken glass and dumps the shards, then uses a dish towel to dry the water on the floor.
He disappears upstairs and packs his duffel bag. A few changes of clothes, toiletries, guitar, song notebook. He doesn’t need much, and when Jake looks around their bedroom, he realizes that most of the stuff in the house is Sabrina’s, anyway. He grabs his work briefcase, too, and goes back downstairs.
Sabrina is waiting for him, and he finally looks at her—really looks at her—for the first time since the party. Her eyes are red-rimmed and smeared with makeup, her dark hair flattened on one side from where she must’ve fallen asleep on the window seat. She appears hollow, afraid, a shell of herself.
“Jake, don’t do this.” Sabrina stands. She runs to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face to his chest. “Please. We’re married—we’ve only been married seven months. We’re just building our life together. Our family.”
Jake pulls back, the pity he feels for her morphing into a fresh wave of anger. “Are you delusional? Our marriage is built on lies.” His eyes narrow. “Who is Lenore Smith? Tell me. Because I know you’re the one who sent that email to Molly.”
“Lenore was my—” She chokes on a sob as it emerges. “My great-aunt. I’m sorry, Jake—”
“How could you? You broke us apart. And you’ve been dishonest with me, all this time.”
“So has Molly!”
“Molly isn’t my wife!”
Sabrina screws her eyes shut, crumpling to Jake’s feet. Tears spill down her face, and she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. Neither of them speak. An eternity passes.
Finally, she lifts her head. “You know, when we were first together—before you left me for her—I got pregnant.” Her voice is raspy, sadder than he’s ever heard it.
“What?” Jake sets his bags on the ground. “Are you fucking with me?”
She shakes her head, sniffling. “It was wintertime, right before we broke up. I didn’t tell you because I knew you were going to break up with me, and then—” She pauses. “Then I lost the baby.”
“Jesus, Sisi.” Jake stares at her, his lips parted in shock. “You should’ve … I’m sorry.”
“It was awful. It still haunts me. I thought you wanted a family. And I thought when the time was right, we would try for one.” Her eyes fill again. “I want another chance for our baby, Jake. I want that more than anything.”
“Oh, Sisi.”
“Please, Jake.” Sabrina stands, her chest heaving, her gaze desperate. “We were supposed to be parents together. We were supposed to create the family neither of us ever had. Without you, I’m—” Her voice catches. “Please. Don’t walk away from this.”
He finds it in himself to open his arms to her, one last time. He holds the back of her head while she sobs into his chest. They stand like that for a minute or so, before he pulls away. He picks his duffel and briefcase up from the floor, then finally his guitar. “I have to go.” His blue eyes are desolate, but certain.