October, The Odd Ones

When I picked up my children, I didn't cry. Not when Alice ran into my arms. Not when Lola squealed and tugged at my shirt. Not even when Jimmy, quiet and unreadable, got in the car without a word. I just buckled everyone in, started the engine, and drove us home.

The driveway already had Thomas's car in it. That hadn't happened in... God, how long? Months? Maybe longer.

Inside, he was setting the table with takeout containers lined up neatly—Italian. Jimmy's favorite. He looked up when we walked in, hands wiping awkwardly on a dish towel like he was trying to look helpful.

"There you are," he said. "Thought I'd surprise you with dinner."

The smile he wore was familiar and distant—like the kind you give strangers in a waiting room.

Alice squealed and ran to him. Lola kicked her legs in my arms, reaching. I handed her over, and Thomas looked between us all like a man trying to recognize his own reflection.

We ate in awkward silence. Thomas served the plates, filled the water glasses, offered more bread. He tried conversation. A joke. Something about a coworker and an elevator. No one laughed.

Jimmy didn't even glance up from his plate.

I didn't look at Thomas.

After dinner, I started clearing the table, but he gently took Alice from her seat.

"I've got her. I'll get her to bed."

I nodded.

Once Lola was changed and down, I stood outside Jimmy's door for a long time. My hand hovered above the wood before I finally knocked.

"Jimmy?" My voice felt like it echoed.

A pause. Then: "Yeah."

I opened the door slowly. He was lying on his bed, arms behind his head, eyes on the ceiling.

"Can I come in?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

I sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping my hands folded in my lap.

"I just wanted to say..." My voice cracked and I took a breath. "I know things haven't been easy. For a while now. And I haven't been the best example."

He didn't look at me, but his brow twitched.

" but I heard you..I see it now...I've stayed quiet about things I should've spoken up about. I've let myself be small. And that taught you something I never meant to teach."

Still no response. But he was listening.

"I've been showing you what it looks like to love someone more than you love yourself. And that's not okay. I see that now."

His jaw shifted. Tension.

"I'm sorry, Jem. Truly. For all of it. But I'm not going to keep living like that. I'm going to fight for me. And for you. And Alice and Lola. For the love we all deserve."

My voice shook at the end. I reached over and brushed the hair off his forehead. He didn't move away.

"I love you more than I know how to say."

For a long time, silence. Then, just as I stood up, his voice came—quiet, rough.

"I love you too Mom."

I froze.

"I just want you to love yourself," he added, barely a whisper.

I bit down a sob and nodded, kissing his forehead.

"I'm learning," I whispered. "I promise."

The bedroom was dim when I walked in. Thomas was sitting on the edge of the bed like he was waiting for something.

"We need to talk," he said. "Now that we've both calmed down."

I folded my arms. "Do we?"

"I think we should," he said, standing. "I didn't want to when things were hot, but I've had time to think. About your birthday. And I want to apologize."

I let out a small, humorless laugh. "This isn't about my birthday, Thomas."

He frowned, confused. "Okay... then what's it about?"

It's about patterns," I said, pulling open my drawer, searching for something comfortable to sleep in. "It's about how you've consistently prioritized everything else—especially her—over your own family."

"Her?" he asked, voice rising.

"Laura."

He stood. "Jesus, October, Nothing is going on between me and Laura.."

I looked at him, really looked at him. "I don't believe you."

His jaw dropped like I'd slapped him.

"Unbelievable," he muttered. "You know how busy I've been—"

"I know," I cut in. "Busy helping her. Busy being there for her. At my expense. You ignore birthdays. Date nights. Bedtime stories. But she needs a file reviewed or a late meeting? You're there."

"She's a coworker."

"She should've been a boundary."

His brow furrowed, confusion painted across his face like he couldn't recognize me anymore.
Disbelief twisted his features. "Since when have you become so insecure about our marriage?"

And something inside me snapped.
Not a little crack. A rupture. A damn breaking after too many silent floods.

My voice tore out of me before I could stop it—louder than I meant, sharper than I'd ever dared.
"Insecure?" I screamed, the word slicing through the room like shattered glass.
"You want to know when?" My chest was heaving, my pulse roaring in my ears. "Since you started choosing her!"

I jabbed a finger toward the door, toward the building where she existed like a shadow behind every excuse he gave.
"Again. And again. And again."

My voice cracked, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.
"Since every time I reached for you, your mind was already somewhere else. Since you started giving her the version of you I never got—your time, your attention, your respect."

I stepped forward now, tears stinging my eyes but refusing to fall. "Don't call it insecurity just because I finally noticed." I shook my head, disbelief echoing back to him. "Don't make me the problem because I dared to feel unloved."

He looked stunned, as if I'd just pulled a curtain off a truth he wasn't ready to face.

"You don't get to ask me why I feel this way," I said, voice low but lethal now, trembling with betrayal. "Not when you made a habit of putting her first—and expected me to be grateful you never touched her because the truth is I don't care if you didn't touch her. Do you hear me?"
My voice cracked, shaking loose from somewhere deep in my chest. "I don't care if it was physical or not. You still broke something."

My voice was shredded now, raw and splintered.
"You didn't have to sleep with her to make me feel like I didn't matter."

"October!" he snapped, stepping closer. "You are my wife. I would never go there. I promise you—there is nothing between us." His voice was rising now, desperate. "You honestly don't believe me?"

I didn't answer. Just stared at him. Cold. Hollowed out.
"You're not listening," I whispered. "You never really do." I straightened, my spine like steel now, "Answer me this: what did you two talk about after I left? Did you mention me?"

He shifted. Uneasy. Eyes darting, mouth fumbling.
"No... I mean—yeah. Just a bit. I mean, you're... you're rarely there at the company, so—"

"Hmm." My voice dropped to a slow simmer. "And what did you say?"

"Nothing! We didn't really talk about you, I swear. I just... I apologized. For you. In case she felt awkward after you—"
He stopped.
He stopped because he saw the change in my face.

"You did what?" My voice turned sharp, venomous. "You apologized—for me?"
I laughed, but it wasn't a sound of humor. It was the sound of something breaking.
"Because I'm the crazy, jealous wife, right? The embarrassment in heels who makes your workplace uncomfortable?"

"October—oh my god, what was wrong with apologizing? The energy was off after you left, I was just trying to fix it—"

"STOP TALKING!" I screamed, the words echoing off the walls like thunder in a cathedral.

He threw his hands up, exasperated. "What happened to you?"
His voice turned wounded, like he couldn't fathom the wreckage he stood in. "You used to be so sweet. So understanding. I'm exhausted, October. I've been working late. I'm trying to keep this job secure so I can provide for this family—"

"At my expense!" I snapped. "At our expense!"

The air between us pulsed, hot and thick with everything we'd never said.

"You don't get to use work as a shield anymore. You can't hide behind late meetings and glowing screens and your job while I raise this family like a ghost beside you."

"I haven't abandoned you," he muttered, weakly.

I took a step back. One slow, deliberate step like a woman learning to walk away.

"Yes," I said quietly. "You have. You just did it with your eyes wide open."

He looked stunned. Lost. Like he was seeing me for the first time in years.

"This isn't you," he whispered, like he didn't recognize the woman standing in front of him.

I laughed—low, bitter. "No. It's not."

I took a step back, away from him, from everything we were supposed to be.

"She's gone," I said, voice cracking. "The stupid little bang maid you married? The one who lit up like a child when you so much as looked her way? Who twisted herself into knots to keep you happy, thinking that was love?"

I looked him in the eye. "She died. The day she finally saw the truth."

He blinked, stunned. "October... what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that maybe you wanted a life with me—but you never actually loved me. You never chose me."

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

"You didn't lose her, Thomas," I continued, my voice trembling. "You killed her. Slowly. Deliberately. Every time you picked up her call while I was setting the table. Every time you looked at me like I was a burden instead of your wife. Every time you made me feel insane for wondering where you were. For asking for your time. For begging—begging—for your affection like some stranger who wandered into your house."

My chest heaved with every breath, but I held his gaze.

I used to think I was the crazy one. That if I just tried harder, you'd love me the way I deserved. But now I know better. And I'm done begging."

"October—what are you saying?" he asked, his voice cracking, like he already knew but couldn't bring himself to believe it.

I looked at him—really looked at him. The man I once worshipped. The man who made me feel like the luckiest girl alive. And then turned me into a ghost in my own life.

"I'm saying nothing will change for you," I said, my voice low but steady. "You'll still have your house. Your children. Your carefully curated image of the perfect man with the perfect life."

He flinched like I'd struck him.

"But I am done pretending this is a marriage. I'm done chasing crumbs of attention and calling it love. So we'll live like we always have—just with the masks off. Only now, you don't need to lie to me anymore. No more excuses. No more fake apologies. I don't need to hear why you missed dinner, or forgot my birthday, or looked right through me."

I paused, my throat tight.

"And I won't expect you to love me anymore. Or even care."

He just stood there—frozen—his lips parting as if to speak. But before he could form a single word— His phone buzzed.

Once. Then again.

I glanced over at the nightstand. The screen lit up.

A photo of Laura—just her, smiling sweetly into the camera, lips puckered in a kiss.

I reached for the phone and held it out.

"Your mistress is calling."

He flinched.

I set it gently in his hand.

"I'm going to take a shower," I said, turning toward the bathroom. "When I get out, I want you in the guest room. Or I will be."

He didn't follow.

Didn't argue.

Didn't answer.

He just stood there, holding his phone like it had burned him.

And I walked into the bathroom without looking back. The water ran hot.

I let it scald the parts of me that had grown numb.