Page 98 of Insta Bride
“He loves you. He said the words. He loves you.”
My Night With Kye Branson
The clickbait title burned my eye sockets, and chilled the blood running through my veins until it disintegrated my heart.
Last night, we’d never been closer. I’d never felt more loved. Then, this morning I had to wake up to an empty bed, and flashing phone.
Kye: Getting you breakfast. Stay in bed and I’ll be back before you know it
Olivia: don’t do anything before you talk to him
Tash: I’ll kill him if Caleb or Pete don’t get to him first
Tash: For the record, I thought the two of you were solid
Kye: Call me
Kye: Call me before you check your newsfeed
Kye: E. Call me
Of course, I had to check my newsfeed.
My Night With Kye Branson
The title screamed at me and I was torn between clicking on the bait, or waiting until Kye got home to give me his side.
I didn’t know whether some bitch had decided to sell her story from years ago, months ago, or minutes ago.
The accompanying photo left no room for doubt. It was my husband.
I recognised the small tattoo on his hand. The same hand that was now covering a breast in a photo published to shock, intimidate and destroy me. Not just my marriage, but destroy me.
I remembered the last time we’d fought over a photo. Kye had made me promise to ask him first. “Babe, I can’t stop this shit from happening, but at least talk to me first.”
His text had asked me to call him.
Did I owe him that?
I felt him arrive on our floor. No, I couldn’t hear the elevator from down the other end of the corridor, but I’d become so attuned to my husband that I felt his presence seconds before the door opened to fill our apartment with the buttery smell of fresh croissants.
Normally, my favorite breakfast.
Today, the smell turned my stomach and I rushed to the bathroom to dry retch.
I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t.
“Hey babe,” he called. “Are you ready for food, me or both? I’m not insisting on the order.”
Kye strolled into the bedroom, prepared to greet me with the confidence of a man who could talk his way out of anything. “You’re not in bed?”
He’d placed the coffee and bag of pastries on the side table, before I’d come out of the bathroom. One look at my face and he knew.
“Fuck. You saw?”
“I wonder how much money I would make,” I sighed, bitterly with resignation. I couldn’t keep doing this.
Yet, I was powerless to resist when Kye pulled me to the bed, “Why do you need money?”