October, The Odd Ones

I turned around to leave, broken and numb, the inside of my chest hollow and buzzing. My feet moved before my brain caught up. My son—my own son—had told me to leave. And October didn't stop him.

"I'll be back tomorrow," I muttered, trying to sound like I had some control left. Like I could fix this if I just gave it a night.

Jimmy shifted, looked like he was about to say something—but October leaned down and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was, it made him go silent. He disappeared down the hallway without a word.

She stepped outside with me and shut the front door gently behind her. Then she turned, folding her arms against the chill like armor.

"I'll pack your things tomorrow," she said calmly. "You can pick them up when you're ready."

"What?" My voice cracked. "Why? Where am I going?"

She laughed—but it wasn't cruel. It was stunned. Exhausted. Almost pitying. "Sometimes I wonder how you made it this far being this clueless."

Her eyes locked on mine, sharp as glass. Cold and cutting—but not empty. No, there was still fire behind them. The kind born of someone who loved too much, too long, and got nothing in return.

"I want you out of the house," she said. "And out of our lives."

My chest tightened. The words hit like a slow punch to the ribs. I blinked, tried to process.

"What are you saying?" I asked, though I already knew.

"We're getting a divorce."

The words didn't register at first. They just hung there, sharp and impossible, suspended in the air like smoke that wouldn't clear.

The world tilted on its axis.

I froze—utterly still, like if I didn't move, maybe this wouldn't be real. Maybe I could rewind the moment. Rewrite the script. Wake up.

My legs went numb. I couldn't feel the ground anymore—like it had vanished beneath me. The pavement, the cool night air, even the sound of her voice—it all dissolved into static.

The streetlights behind her blurred, casting halos around her head. She looked unreal in that moment. Not heavenly—just distant. Like someone I used to know, used to love, and somehow lost without ever noticing the moment it happened.

"No," I whispered, but it didn't sound like my voice. "No, October... no."

She didn't repeat herself. She didn't have to.

Divorce.

The word didn't fit. It didn't belong to us. That wasn't our 온라인카지노게임. We weren't that couple who broke up, who gave up. She was my wife. My best friend. My person. The one who knew me when I was thirteen and full of stupid dreams. The one who held my hand through college, who believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. She built a life with me from nothing. Brick by brick, heartbreak by heartbreak.

How was I supposed to picture a world where she wasn't there?

I tried to see it—waking up alone, no one beside me. Coming home and not hearing her humming in the kitchen or telling Jimmy to take his shoes off. I tried to imagine her handwriting not being on the grocery lists, her scent not lingering on the pillow, her laughter not echoing down the hallway.

I couldn't.

She had been part of every chapter. Every version of me. How do you rip that out and expect the rest to make sense?

"This isn't happening," I murmured. "You can't just... leave. We're Thomas and October."

Her face cracked then—just a little. And for a second, I thought she might cave. That maybe she'd take it back.

But instead, she said softly, "We were."

And that past tense nearly destroyed me.

"No. No, you can't—" My voice cracked. "You love me."

She stared at me like. Her eyes filled, but no tears fell. And then she smiled. A soft, broken smile that cut deeper than any scream.

"I could've changed my mind, you know. If you had just said, 'No, you can't, I love you.'

"Of course I love you!" I blurted out—too fast, too loud, like volume could make it more true. "I married you. I've worked day and night to provide for us—for all of you! And now you want a divorce because of one damn party? I already explained what happened—"

""It is not about the damn Party! Don't you dare reduce this to one night. That was the tipping point, not the beginning." she snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of all the things she had held back for too long.

The words sliced through the space between us like a blade. Even the crickets seemed to hush, as if the whole world was pausing to bear witness.

She turned her face away, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscles working. Her chest rose and fell with effort, and when she finally exhaled, it was slow and heavy, like she was bleeding out everything she hadn't said all these years. A quiet kind of collapse.

When she looked at me again, her voice was quieter—but it carried more weight than anything she'd ever said.

"You've been neglecting me for so long, Thomas. Maybe since the beginning," she said, each word deliberate, like she was dragging them out from somewhere deep. "Sure, you provided. You brought home money. Paid the bills. Took care of what needed to be taken care of. You even brought flowers sometimes, or jewelry—gifts you didn't really pick so much as purchase. Like I was another checkbox on your to-do list."

Her voice trembled, but she held steady. "But emotionally? You've never really been there. Not fully. Not here—with me."

She tapped her chest, right over her heart.

"Physically, sure. You were in the house. At dinner. On the couch. But your mind? Your heart? Always somewhere else. Somewhere I couldn't reach. Somewhere I wasn't invited."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I had no defense. Because I knew what she meant.

"And I kept telling myself it was enough," she continued, eyes beginning to glisten. "I told myself that's just who you are. That men like you love quietly. That providing meant caring. That your silence wasn't rejection, just stress or distraction. But over time, that silence got louder than any fight we ever had. It filled every corner of our home. It followed me into bed. It made me feel like a ghost in my own marriage."

Her voice cracked again, raw now, and her hands clenched at her sides.

"Do you know what it's like to sit across from someone you love and feel invisible? To scream on the inside while smiling on the outside because you don't want the kids to notice? To beg someone with your eyes to just see you, and watch them look right through you? When you were constantly seeing her"

Tears slipped down her cheek, and she didn't bother to wipe them away. She just let them fall, like she was done hiding them.

"I waited, Thomas. I waited for you to come back to me. I waited through late nights and missed dinners, through work trips and vague apologies, through Laura's name showing up more times than mine in your calendar. I waited until waiting became who I was."

She took one final step back, like she was pulling herself out of the wreckage.

"Sometimes I wondered if I had to actually disappear for you to notice I was gone."

The silence that followed was deafening. I wanted to say something. Anything. But all the words I'd left unsaid for years now piled up and choked me, useless.

"You neglected me," she continued. "And then... you betrayed me."

"I never had any affairs," I said quickly. "I never even touched another woman."

She tilted her head, blinking slow like she was choosing not to scream. "You think betrayal only happens between sheets?"

My mouth opened, but she cut me off again.

"You know, a part of me—the part that's loved you for years—understands where you're coming from. It does. But that part is buried. Under every time I sat beside you and felt alone. Under every moment I watched you prioritize work, or Laura, or your pride—over me."

Her voice broke again, but she didn't cry this time.

"Every time you chose her over your children. Every time you saw how I was hurting and looked away. That is betrayal too."

She wrapped her arms tighter around herself. "I begged you for months, Thomas. Begged you to come back to me. But maybe you were never really here at all."

I just stood there. Watching her. Hearing her—but only hearing buzzing in my head.

"I'm tired," she whispered. "And even the kids—especially Jimmy—see it. I don't want to teach them that this is what love looks like. That this is what a marriage should be."

I couldn't say a word. I was choking on everything I'd never said when it would have mattered.

She turned around and went back inside, leaving the door closed behind her like a full stop at the end of everything. I didn't move. Couldn't.

Divorce.
Betrayed.
Neglected.

The words looped in my head like sirens, but nothing felt real. My hands hung useless at my sides. My legs might as well have been carved from stone.

Eventually, I turned. I don't remember walking to the car. I don't remember driving. I must've been running on muscle memory. When I looked up again, I was in a park, somewhere not far, but far enough from everything that had just collapsed. I sat on a bench, staring at nothing. Just breathing.

My phone buzzed on the seat beside me. Again. And again. I didn't look. I knew it was him. My father. And probably Laura, too. Maybe even my lawyer. I could already hear my father's voice, venomous and cruel. I turned the phone over, silencing it.

And for some reason, I did something I hadn't done in years—I called Beth, my sister. She picked up on the second ring.

"I knew eventually you'd call," she said, like she'd been waiting. "Let me guess—she's leaving?"

I tried to speak, but all I managed was a choked, "Uh—I... yes. Beth..." My voice cracked like something inside me had split wide open.

She didn't say anything at first. Then, gently: "Hey, breathe."

I sucked in air like it might hold me together.

"How can she do this?" I asked, voice small. "We're a family. We love each other."

There was a long pause on the other end. Just the sound of her breath and mine, circling the emptiness between us.

"Hello?" I whispered.

"I'm here," she said finally. "I just don't know if you're ready to hear what I think."

I swallowed. "Go ahead. I'm already broken."

Beth exhaled, and when she spoke again, her voice was soft, but not soft enough to spare me.

"Thomas, I love you. You know that. I've always loved you. And maybe more than anyone, I understand what it's like to grow up under Dad's thumb. I know what it's like to bend, to break, to shape yourself into what he wants because you think maybe—just maybe—one day he'll look at you and be proud."

Her voice cracked—not with weakness, but the weight of old wounds she'd never said out loud.

"I know what it's like to fight for his approval like your life depends on it. Because when we were kids, it did feel like that, didn't it? Like if he didn't see you, you might as well not exist."

I nodded slowly, though she couldn't see me. My throat ached. Her words rang too close to home.

"But you..." Her voice shifted. Firmer now. Sharper. "You crave his attention more than anyone and anything else. Even your wife."

"That's not—"

"Stop talking," she cut in, her tone fierce. "Just listen. For once, just listen."

I did.

"You put him—and everything he values—above everyone you love. He loves work, so you killed yourself to become his heir. He wanted someone ruthless, so you swallowed your softness whole. He loves luxury, so you bought the biggest house, the flashiest car, the showy lifestyle. He hates weakness, so you buried your emotions. He loves control, so you gave him yours. And when he started prioritizing Laura—that manipulative snake in lipstick—you followed suit. You mirrored his choices even when they were the very things destroying you."

The truth landed like a slap to the face. My breath hitched. My fingers curled in my lap like they could hold me together.

"You became a man he could admire," Beth continued, quieter now. "But in doing that, you stopped being the man October fell in love with."

I closed my eyes. Her words echoed in my skull like they were being carved into stone.

"She didn't fall in love with a CEO or a polished product of our father's empire. She fell in love with the kid who snuck her snacks in class, who held her hand when she was scared, who told her she was enough even when no one else did. But you buried that boy somewhere along the way. You buried him so deep chasing Dad's shadow, you forgot what sunlight feels like."

I didn't know whether I was crying or not. Everything just felt hot. And tight. And raw.

"Even if he wasn't scheming behind your back with Laura," she continued, steady and unsparing, "even if the birthday party hadn't happened... Thomas, you've been neglecting October and the kids for years."

I jerked upright, tension snapping down my spine. "I love my family," I said, louder than I meant to. "I'm there for them."

"No," Beth said gently but firmly. "You provide for them."

Her voice was calm, but each word landed with surgical precision.

"And I do believe you love them. But loving someone isn't just about paying for school and buying gifts. It's not just being in the same house. It's showing up. It's making them feel seen. Safe. Wanted. And Thomas... I'm not sure you know how to do that."

I flinched, and before I could reply, she added—softer, more tentative now, like she was bracing for a punch:

"And honestly? I'm not even sure if you really love October."

That one knocked the wind out of me. "What?!" My voice broke out of me like an open wound. "Of course I love her! Why do you all keep saying that?"

Beth didn't respond right away. I could hear her breathing on the other end—steady, like she was forcing herself to stay grounded while I fell apart.

"Because we've spent years watching how much she adores you," she said finally. "You were her whole world, Thomas. And all she ever wanted was to be yours too. But you gave her the bare minimum. And when Laura came into the picture? Even that disappeared."

I felt something inside me crack. I wanted to argue. Wanted to defend myself. But what would I say? That I was busy? That I was building a future for us?

"I'm not an expressive person," I muttered. "You know that."

"I do," Beth said. "I know you're guarded. I know you weren't raised to be soft or open. You were raised to lead. To perform. To conquer. But Thomas... even the most stoic man shows up when it matters. Even the quietest men find ways to say 'I see you, I care, I'm here.'"

I lowered my head into my hands.

"She waited for you," Beth added. "Longer than she should've. And now she's protecting herself the only way she can. By walking away."

I let the silence sit for a long time before speaking again, voice barely a whisper.

"Beth..." My voice cracked, barely a whisper. "What do I do now?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then a sigh—quiet, tired, full of sibling heartbreak.

"First," she said gently, "you give her space. You respect that. Don't call. Don't show up uninvited. She's been drowning in your absence for years—don't smother her now that you finally noticed."

I swallowed hard, the guilt settling like lead in my throat.

"Okay," I said. "And then?"

"And then," Beth continued, her voice a little firmer, "you take care of what's in front of you. You deal with Dad. You told me you're building a case, that you've seen things at the company that don't sit right. Handle it. Protect yourself."

I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my hand. "You think I still can?"

"I think," she said slowly, "you can't fix your marriage—or anything else—until you fix yourself."

I stayed quiet, her words sinking in.

"You've spent your whole life chasing Dad's approval," she went on. "Becoming what he wanted. Living in his image. And look where it got you. You don't even recognize yourself anymore, do you?"

I didn't answer. Because she was right.

"You need to figure out who you are when he's not pulling the strings. When you're not trying to impress him. And you need to be there for your family. Whether you're October's husband or not—those kids are still yours. She still matters. Even if legally... she won't be yours anymore."

That last line hit like a punch to the ribs.

"Beth..." I croaked.

"I know," she said, softer now. "I know it hurts. But pain doesn't excuse absence. Fix what you can. Accept what you broke. And if you ever want a chance of rebuilding anything—anything—start by showing up. Not with flowers. Not with promises. But with real, honest, consistent presence."

Tears slid down my face before I could stop them.

"Thank you," I whispered.

The line went quiet again. I let my head fall back, staring up at the sky. For the first time in a long time, it felt like I was seeing it without glass in between.

My father betrayed me.
My mother never protected me.
Laura used me.
My wife left me.
My kids resent me.

Is this what rock bottom feels like? Because it sure felt like I'd arrived. No, crashed into it. Face-first. 

I sat there in my car at the edge of the park, staring out into nothing—at a bench, at a tree, at the dark shapes that didn't move—numb. Hollowed out. Like everything I'd built, everything I'd believed about my life, had just collapsed under me. And I was the only one left in the wreckage.

But I wasn't the victim here. I was the cause. It was all my fault.

October's pain, her exhaustion, the way her voice cracked when she finally said, "divorce"—that was on me. Jimmy's anger, the distance in his eyes when he looked at me like I was a stranger—that was on me. Even my father's control over my life, the way I bent to him without even realizing it... that, too, was on me.

I neglected the woman I promised to love forever. I gave scraps to the kids who only ever wanted my time. I chose legacy over laughter, pride over presence, control over connection.

And now? Now, I was alone.

Completely, utterly alone.