The Longer The Fall, Aviva Gat [top 10 books to read txt] 📗

the time.” He wasn’t sure he was really convinced himself. He remembered a time when he felt more in control. When he dictated their relationship. That time was real. What had changed?

“So what would she do if the tables were turned?”

“Put me in a corner. Force me to do what she wants. Make me think that what she wants is for the greater good.”

“So that’s what you need to do,” Hunter responded and Brandon suddenly felt inspired by this man he was sure he was supposed to hate. The men were smiling, drinking their aperitifs when their wives arrived and that was when something switched inside Brandon. He grabbed his wife’s hand and gave it a squeeze. He could beat her. He could control her. After all, he had done it once before.

The rest of the evening, he acted very lovingly. A hand on her knee, a fleeting grin, it would keep Madeline on her toes instead of letting her think she had everything all figured out. In the car, when she asked what he and Hunter had spoken about in her absence, he responded, “He told me everything.” It may not have been exactly true, but figuratively, it was.

“And what’s everything?” Madeline asked with a sarcastic tone as though she didn’t believe it.

“Madeline, let’s stop playing this game,” he said. “I’m done with it.” Madeline didn’t respond. She knew that she couldn’t win with anything she could say. Silence was her best option. When the couple arrived at home, Brandon hung up his keys and walked into the office—the room that neither of them spent time in unless they were looking for something they had long ago stuffed away for storage. When he came back out, he placed a card on the kitchen table in front of Madeline. The red and white business card was faded but instantly recognizable with its cursive lettering: Smith and Sons Landscaping. “Hunter left this in your hotel room seven years ago,” Brandon confronted her. “It was in his jacket, which the hotel thought was mine and shipped here. I’ve known all along. I’m the one who took the photos of you with him at Langham. You think a bunch of kids from Harlem could have hacked into the hotel’s security system to get the photos?”

Madeline looked at her husband. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I know you and I knew you would never admit it.” Brandon paused. “Look, here we are, and you still won’t admit it. I love you and that’s why I’ve stayed all this time. We’re good partners. But I can’t stay with you lying to me anymore. I’m leaving.” Without waiting for a response, Brandon left the kitchen and went up the stairs to their master bedroom. He was ready to pack a bag, stay in a hotel for a night or two and see what would happen.

Downstairs, Madeline stayed in the kitchen, the echoes of Brandon’s words still hanging in the air. She felt caught, cornered, in a way she had never felt before. It tickled her, made her itch all over, made her squirm in her skin; a new sensation for her. The thought of Brandon leaving terrified her. On the surface level, this could greatly ruin her reelection campaign—nobody could win an election in the midst of a divorce. On the second level, she relied on Brandon. For support, partnership. At her core, she felt a primal connection to him. Like if he would leave, so would her source of energy. She couldn’t lose that energy, it would end her.

She could hear his footsteps upstairs, the floorboards creaking in a familiar way that she realized she would miss. Should she go to him? Beg for forgiveness? Implore him to stay? Her core wanted to, but the shell she had built around her stopped her from moving. She waited.

Brandon came back downstairs wearing jeans and a t-shirt. A Stanford duffel bag was swung over his shoulder. He sighed when he saw her in the kitchen. With a nod, he went to the door, grabbing his keys from the hook.

“Wait!” Madeline said, shocking herself. “Wait a minute.” She was ready to tell him everything. Anything to get him to stay.

“No,” he said. “I’m done waiting. Let’s figure this out like adults.” He opened the front door and left, leaving Madeline in the dim light of the foyer. She listened as the car door clicked open and swung shut, the engine roared to life and the wheels rolled away. In the silence, she stood still.

Slowly, she went upstairs to the bedroom, navigating her house in the dark. Once in the master bedroom, which now seemed too big and empty, she turned on a light. Her eyes were drawn to the bed, where an envelope sat, neatly placed upon her pillow. Her core beckoned her to dive for it, to find out its contents, but her shell held her back. She should first brush her teeth, wash her face. Read it after a few moments of processing the evening’s events. She followed her shell’s advice and walked to her closet to change her clothes, but then her core took over and she found herself reaching for the envelope.

Her fingers ripped it open. Inside was a picture that Madeline had never seen before. It was a picture of her from years ago. She was standing on the grass outside Uris Hall, the business school at Columbia. The spot was instantly recognizable by the curl sculpture that marked the school’s entrance. Next to her were a few other members of her college Republican club: there was Avery, who she had kept in touch with until she moved to California. Ryan, who had surprised everyone by becoming a democrat a few years after graduation, and Michelle, who Madeline hadn’t seen since college. The students were standing together, laughing, each with a smile on their face. Madeline could see