Maybe my voice sounded raw from crying, or maybe they were simply guilty. Either way, the room fell into an eerie stillness.
After what felt like forever, the door finally creaked open.
Wilbur stood there, shirt rumpled, acting like nothing was wrong. He even smiled. "Naomi? What are you doing here?"
I looked him in the eye, my own rimmed red. Forcing a smirk, I said, "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that? Didn’t you say you’d be staying with your parents tonight? What’s wrong, is she your mom now?" I shot back, pointing at Roxanne, who was clutching the hem of his shirt behind him.
That’s when I finally saw her face—young, maybe in her early twenties, still carrying traces of childish innocence. Yet here she was, clinging onto the man I’d loved for six years.
Something inside me shattered.
Wilbur’s eyes were red too, and he grabbed my wrist. "Naomi, I’m sorry. Please, just give me a chance to explain."
I glanced at the faint love bites on Roxanne’s neck and let out a low chuckle. "Oh? Go ahead. I’d love to hear what kind of excuse you’ll come up with."