He cheated i chose two firefighters novel Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Scar’s POV

Dear Diary

I’ve got the evidence now. Two days ago I had to call an Uber to get myself home because Brennan took off—back to that woman. Again. It keeps happening, and every time he’s choosing her over me.

He has been tearing me apart for months. I don’t feel cherished. I feel small, disposable, like someone you can set down and forget. The future I used to picture so clearly looks blank now. He’s falling for her; I can see it in everything he does.

I never believed he’d cheat. Not Brennan. But I watched it happen. I even grabbed a fast photo on my phone, and now I can’t stop looking at it like it’s a bruise I keep pressing. He’s got her pulled in tight, her arms and legs wrapped around him like she belongs there.

I’ve been camping out at the gym instead of going to his mother’s place. He’s her son—she’d pick him every time. I keep wishing my mom were here. I want to call my parents and break down and tell them everything, but I don’t want them to hate him.

Because the sick part is, I still love Brennan.

***

Work has been heavy enough that I haven’t had to talk to him, and I’ve been grateful for that. I’ve decided I’m filing for divorce. My trust is gone, and without it there’s no marriage to save. I don’t do “try again” when something that basic has been wrecked.

Making that choice means starting over somewhere else—another city, maybe even another state. I’ve been doing well as a personal trainer and nutritionist, so I know I can rebuild, but I’ll have to do it away from him.

At least our finances were set up clean: his account, my account, and one joint account for bills. The joint was for expenses; the individual ones were for fun money and gifts.

Not anymore. Mine is survival now, and I’ve already moved half of the joint money into my personal account. That’s all I’m taking. The rest can stay with him.

I canceled my last two clients because I needed a lawyer today. I checked Brennan’s schedule and saw he’d be tied up for the next three hours.

Perfect.

I showered, pulled on leggings and a long sweater, and slid into black Converse. I fluffed my hair like appearances still mattered, then left the gym and called an Uber.

At the attorney’s office, I had him draw up the divorce agreement. I asked for nothing—no alimony, and Brennan could keep the house. A wedding gift for him and Sloane. I made sure my lawyer wrote that line in.

All I wanted was what belonged to me.

Another Uber took me back home. I yanked two duffle bags from the closet and started stuffing them with clothes and underwear. Three pairs of shoes. My jewelry. My makeup bag.

I opened the safe and pulled out my passport, my social security card, and my birth certificate. Then, last of all, I signed the papers.

I placed the divorce documents right in the center of our bed and slid my wedding ring on top like a final punctuation mark.

After that I called Natalie and asked if I could sleep on her couch.

I took one more look around the house and let myself cry.

“Goodbye,” I breathed.

I opened the front door—and froze.

Sloane was standing there.

“Oh… hi, Scar,” she said, eyes dropping to the floor. Embarrassed. Or guilty. Maybe both.

“What do you want, Sloane?”

“I saw someone moving in the window. I thought Bren was home.”

“Well, he’s not,” I said flatly. “He’ll be back soon.”

Her gaze flicked to my bags. “Are you leaving on a trip?”

I stared at her, and the hatred inside me surged so hard it made my hands shake.

“No.”

I shoved past her. One of my duffles bumped her, and she yelped as she stumbled back. I turned, locked the door, and faced her again.

“These will probably be yours soon,” I said, and held out my house keys. “But give them to Brennan.”

Her eyes went wide. “Where are you going?”

“Not your business. You won. You can have him.”

I left her there and walked a full mile with those duffles biting into my hands, heading for the dealership down the street. By the time I pushed through the doors, I’d forced my spine straight.

A salesman in a crisp white button-down and black slacks approached. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m buying a car.”

“Any make or model you’re looking for?”

“No,” I said. “Just something that’ll get me out of Montana and wherever I end up.”

I was done protecting him. I told her everything.

Natalie went from quiet to furious in seconds. She said she wanted to march over to Sloane’s place and beat the crap out of her—right after cutting Brennan’s balls off.

It was outrageous enough that I laughed, and I needed that laugh more than oxygen.

“We’re not cutting anything off,” I said, taking the tissue she offered and wiping my face. “And we’re not jumping a single mother.”

“So what now?” she asked.

I looked at her and felt that familiar mix of admiration and envy. She was stunning—smooth mocha skin, dark eyes, tight springy curls, and a body that owned every room. Confidence rolled off her like heat. I couldn’t imagine a man daring to betray her. Not that she gave most men a chance.

I let out a shaky chuckle. “I need to start over. I have to leave. I can’t stay in the same town with him. I was thinking… Florida?”

“Florida?” She frowned. “Do you even know anyone there? Do you have a plan? Where are you going to live? What about money?”

“Cheerful place,” I said. “And no, I don’t know anyone—which is kind of the point. I don’t have a plan yet, I don’t have a place yet, but I do have enough money to float until I find work.”

She huffed, softer now. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” I said. “We’ll talk. And you can visit.”

“I will,” she said, pointing at me like it was a promise. “And when I do, we’re tearing Florida up.”

I giggled, because she was my person.

“Thank you, Nat,” I whispered. “You’re my rock. I wish I could stay, but I can’t.”

“I get it, baby,” she said, patting my hand. “A broken heart needs time. And who knows? You might meet someone who helps you heal.”

“Nope,” I said immediately. “I’m done with men for a while. I want quiet. I want space.”

She smiled like she understood exactly. We cooked dinner together, drank wine, and talked through what my next steps could look like.

Being with her felt like someone rubbing ointment onto a burn.

That night I hugged her and went to sleep—not on the couch, but in her spare room.

Tomorrow, my new life begins.