I should've put the phone down. Instead, I held it like evidence, like it could still save me if I stared hard enough.
Footsteps padded down the hall. I stayed rooted in the kitchen.
Cole walked in, damp hair, sweatpants, and his towel draped over his shoulder. He looked casual and comfortable, without a care in the world.
He saw the phone in my hand and frowned slightly, but he just reached past me for a glass from the cupboard.
"Cole," I said, staring at him.
He didn't answer. He just filled the glass, took a sip, and then glanced at me like I was standing too close to the fridge.
I should've put the phone down.
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"Cole, what is this?" My voice cracked. I hated that it cracked.
"My phone, Paige," he sighed. "Sorry for leaving it on the counter."
"I saw the message, Cole."
He didn't even pause. He just grabbed the orange juice and poured more.
"Alyssa," I said, louder. "Your trainer."
"Yeah, Paige," he leaned against the counter. "I've been meaning to tell you."
"Tell me what, Cole?" I demanded.
He took another sip of orange juice like he was watching sport.
"I've been meaning to tell you."
"That I'm with Alyssa now. She makes me happy! You've let yourself go, and that's on you."
"You're with her?" I asked.
"Yes."
The second yes was the one that hurt, because it meant he'd rehearsed this, and I was the last person to learn my own life had been replaced.
And that was it. No apology, no shame. He spoke like the truth was a minor inconvenience he expected me to manage.
"You're with her?"
"She makes me feel alive again," he said, like he was auditioning for a breakup monologue.
Alive?
"We have six kids, Cole. What do you think this is, a coma?"
"You wouldn't understand," he said. "You don't see yourself anymore. You used to care about how you looked. How we looked."
I stared.
He kept going. "When was the last time you even put on real clothes? Or wore something that wasn't stained?"
"You don't see yourself anymore."
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