He cheated i chose two firefighters novel Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Scar’s POV

Dear Diary

Today was the day I felt my marriage begin to crack.

We had both taken the day off. It was supposed to be our three-year anniversary—one of those days you plan around: sex that leaves you sore, then a good dinner after. Instead, the second we climbed out of bed, Brennan pulled on clothes and headed straight next door.

No warning. No, “Hey, I’ll be right back.” Just gone.

I went into the kitchen anyway and made breakfast. When it was ready, I called for him. Nothing answered. I walked through the rooms, checked upstairs, checked everywhere like maybe he was in the shower or outside in the garage.

Then I heard laughter.

I looked out and saw him in the yard, running around with Eve—the little girl who lives next door. On Sloane’s porch, Sloane sat like she belonged there, watching them like it was a sweet little picture.

I stepped outside and told Brennan breakfast was done.

He barely paused. He told me he’d already eaten.

He had eaten with Sloane and Eve.

I just stood there, stunned, while he kept playing like nothing was wrong. Sloane’s eyes landed on me, and she gave me this smug little smile before she lifted a hand and waved.

I didn’t wave back. I turned around and went inside.

My appetite was gone. I scraped the pancakes into the trash, shoved the bacon into a bag, and put it in the fridge. I washed the dishes with my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. He still didn’t come in.

I went upstairs and showered.

By the time I had gotten dressed, he had finally come home.

He sat on the couch and put on the TV like the morning hadn’t happened. I dropped beside him and asked him what the hell that was.

He stared at me like I’d lost my mind. He asked what was wrong with me.

And that did it.

I reminded him it was our anniversary. I said we were supposed to spend the day together—just us—and he acted like I was asking for too much. He told me I needed to understand the world didn’t revolve around me, that other people needed attention too.

On our anniversary.

I’m still sitting here wondering: am I wrong for being hurt?

***

For two weeks I have been furious with my husband.

Ever since Sloane and Eve moved in next door, Brennan has been acting like someone I don’t recognize. If Sloane wants something, Brennan makes it happen. And he has been using our money to do it. He handed her his number, and now they text constantly—back and forth all day like they have their own little routine. Every time his phone lights up from her, his face softens into this smile that I haven’t been getting.

When I ask what they’re talking about, he says it’s nothing. Just chatting about their days. He claims he’s “mostly” talking to Eve.

But Sloane texts, and he goes.

First it was small things. A sink that needed fixing. A stair railing that was loose. Then a clogged toilet. Then a request to change a light bulb—an actual light bulb—and he still ran over there. He bought the parts too. When Eve put a hole in the wall, he drove to the hardware store and picked up what he needed to patch it, like he lived there.

When I point out the money, he tells me we can afford it because we’re a two-income household and Sloane is on her own.

In the mornings, when we leave for work, Sloane is outside waving. She tells us—really, she tells Brennan—to have a good day. I’ve watched him at work with his phone in his hand, texting while clients are in the middle of their workouts.

The irony makes me sick.

When he hired me, he had been strict about it: no phones when you’re with a client, because the client is the only priority. Now his screen is practically glued to his palm.

He has canceled clients more than once to pick Eve up from school because Sloane “wasn’t feeling well,” or because she had an interview, or because she “couldn’t make it.” On those days he even texted me telling me to figure out how to get home on my own, because he wasn’t coming back for me.

And when I did get home—alone—I would learn he had already eaten.

Dinner with Sloane and Eve. Again.

I’ve tried to talk to him. I’ve told him, more than once, that the amount of time he spends over there makes me uncomfortable. He scoffs every time, like I’m a child throwing a tantrum. He says I’m selfish. He says they’re alone. He says it’s obvious Eve needs a strong male role model, and Sloane “just needs help.”

That night, Brennan exploded.

“I can’t believe you called my mother,” he yelled, “all because I’m helping a single mom and her kid.”

I stared at him and heard my own voice come out cold. “Are you sure she’s single, Brennan? Because for the last five months she’s had my husband on demand. So tell me—have you slept with her yet? Because you aren’t sleeping with me. We haven’t had sex in four and a half months.”

His face tightened. “Are you serious? Of course I haven’t slept with her. I’m married, Scarlett. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” I shot back. “How would you feel if a single dad moved in next door and I spent all my time with him? Cooking for him, cleaning for him, shopping for him, doing his laundry—treating him like he was my real home?”

He waved it off like I’d said something stupid. “He wouldn’t need your help. Men already know how to handle that stuff. Single dads have the advantage. Women don’t do repairs. That’s why Sloane texts me—so I can take care of those things.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Women can’t learn?” I said. “Because I learned. How do you think the garbage disposal got fixed? Or the kitchen light? I did that.”

His eyes hardened into a glare. “Stop being selfish. You don’t even have a kid to look after.”

It hit me like a punch.

Pain flared through my chest. “Maybe I would,” I said, “if my husband actually paid attention to me.”

He threw his hands up. “Jesus, Scarlett. You act like I don’t love you.”

“It hasn’t felt like love,” I said. “You ignored our anniversary. We didn’t celebrate it. You don’t touch me. You don’t spend time with me. I feel unwanted. I feel pushed aside.”

His mouth twisted. “You’re being a bitch. A selfish one. I can’t even believe you.”

Then he stood, stormed out, and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame. I heard his truck start and roar away.

I cried until my face ached.

He has never spoken to me like that.

Tonight I feel like my life is coming apart in my hands. I feel like Brennan has been falling out of love with me. And I can’t stop thinking the worst part: it feels like my husband has been building a relationship with the woman next door—while I’m the one standing outside it, like the other woman.