He cheated i chose two firefighters novel Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Scar’s POV

Dear Diary

I don’t know how else to write this without sounding dramatic, but I’m almost certain my marriage has hit its end.

After that night—after Brennan spit “selfish bitch” at me—he showed up later with flowers and an apology like he could tape the whole thing back together. I never found out where he disappeared to. His mother’s, maybe. A bar. Somewhere that wasn’t with me.

And the strangest part? We never actually talked about it. The next day he moved through the house like nothing had cracked. I followed his lead. We slid right back into the motions.

For a full week, everything looked normal from the outside. Work. Dinner. Even sex—he made love to me, and it was so good it almost convinced me I’d imagined the ugliness. Eve and Sloane stayed quiet too. No messages, no interruptions. I let myself believe we were finally drifting back into place.

Then, at dinner one night, I brought up having kids.

Before Sloane ever moved in, he had been relentless about it—always asking when we could start trying, always talking about a family. Lately he’d gone silent, so I thought maybe the simplest thing was to tell him the truth: I was ready.

It did not land the way I pictured. Not even close.

***

“Babe,” I said, trying to keep my voice light while we ate, “I think I’m ready to start a family.”

Brennan stopped chewing. His eyes lifted, and he set his fork down with this slow, careful movement that made my stomach tighten.

“Why now?”

“I was going to tell you on our anniversary,” I said. “But… that didn’t really happen. You were caught up with Sloane and Eve.”

His jaw flexed. “Jesus, Scarlett. Not this again. I thought you’d moved past it.” He leaned back like I’d exhausted him. “Why would I want a baby with someone like you right now? All you’ve done is bitch about Sloane and Eve—who, for the record, haven’t even contacted me in over a week. I think I hurt their feelings.”

He kept going, like he couldn’t stop once he started. “I told Sloane I needed to spend time with you. I asked her to give me some space.”

I stared at him. “You had to tell our next-door neighbor you needed ‘space’ so you could spend time with your wife?” My voice sharpened despite my attempt to stay calm. “Listen to how that sounds. You’re acting like I’m the inconvenience.”

I felt heat rise in my face. “Is that what I am to you, Brennan? A burden? Did your mistress get mad you had to come home?”

“Mistress?” His laugh was sharp and ugly. “Seriously? I haven’t fucked Sloane.”

“Yet,” I shot back, bitter.

His glare could’ve cut glass. He shoved his chair back and stormed out.

But he didn’t climb into his truck and leave.

He went next door.

Something inside me snapped into a cold, furious clarity. So this is what we are now, I thought. We fight, and he runs to another woman. I couldn’t stomach it anymore.

I crossed the yard and hammered on Sloane’s door.

She opened it like she was expecting applause.

“Scar,” she whispered, putting on a concerned face, “please. Eve is sleeping.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I said. “Where is my husband?”

“I’m right here,” Brennan answered.

I looked past her shoulder. He was on her couch, sprawled like he belonged there.

“Come home,” I said.

He didn’t even stand. “No. I don’t think so.” His voice was flat. “I can’t stand being around you right now.”

I turned my eyes to Sloane. Her mouth tightened in this smug little curve, like she’d won something.

My chest hurt so badly I thought I might fold in half. Tears gathered, hot and humiliating, but I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing them fall.

Brennan finally tore his attention away from the TV and really looked at me. Whatever expression I couldn’t hide must’ve scared him—his face went pale.

Still, he said nothing.

I held his gaze for another second, then gave a small nod. That was all I had left. I turned around and walked back to my house.

I moved on autopilot. Upstairs. Backpack. Clothes shoved in without folding. Wallet. Then I grabbed his truck keys.

I didn’t even lock the door.

Outside, I started his truck and waited, staring at the neighbor’s house, hoping he’d come running after me.

He didn’t.

I pulled out and drove.

The moment I got a little distance, everything I’d been holding back spilled loose. I cried so hard I couldn’t see. I had to yank the truck over because the road blurred into nothing.

My marriage is over.

He said he couldn’t stand me.

I let myself break for another minute, then wiped my face and forced air into my lungs until I could breathe without choking.

I had work in the morning, but there was no way I was going back to that house tonight.

So I drove to my mother-in-law’s.

When she opened the door and saw me, she didn’t ask questions first. She just exhaled like she already knew and opened her arms. I fell into her and cried against her shoulder.

“Tell me,” she said gently, steering me toward the couch. “What happened?”

I tried to speak and my voice trembled. “I told him I’m ready to start a family. He asked why now. And when I said I’d wanted to tell him on our anniversary but he was busy with that woman and her kid… he exploded.”

My throat tightened again. “He told me he asked her for space so he could spend time with me. Mama—he said he needed space from her to be with me, his wife.”

The words tasted like acid. “So I called her his mistress, and he stormed out. But he didn’t go for a drive. He went to her house.”

I covered my mouth as sobs rose. “And when I went over there, he told me he couldn’t stand me right now.”

Brennan: I called my mother and she told me you were there. Why are you at my mother’s? Stop dragging her into our problems.

Brennan: Fine. I’ll Uber to work. We’ll talk later.

Tears slid down my cheeks, slow and silent.

Not I’m sorry.

Not Are you okay.

Not I love you.

Just annoyance. Just logistics.

I wiped my face and stared at the screen until it blurred.

I guess I’ll see how today goes.

At work, there was no space to fall apart. A client was already waiting. One appointment bled into the next, and I stayed busy on purpose. After that, I did my own workout like routine was a life raft.

Brennan was busy too. I saw him moving through the day, but I couldn’t look at him for long. If I met his eyes, I knew I would crack, and my clients didn’t pay me to watch me unravel.

When the day finally ended, I went looking for him. Maybe we could get dinner. Maybe we could talk like adults.

He was gone.

I walked into the office and found a note.

Had to go help Sloane. Eve’s sick. We will talk when you get home. We need to work this out.

He left me. He actually left me—to go help her.

Rage burned clean through the exhaustion.

And then, underneath it, something quieter: a hard question I couldn’t keep dodging.

What do I want to do?

Not what would keep me sane day-to-day. Not what would look acceptable from the outside.

Do I stay married to a man who keeps choosing her?

I don’t have proof he’s cheated. All I have is being pushed aside again and again.

Am I really willing to throw away four years together—three years of marriage—because I’ve been neglected?