Instead, I held it like evidence.
Ryan walked into the kitchen a moment later, hair still damp, towel over his shoulder. He looked relaxed—like nothing in the world was wrong.
He noticed the phone in my hand but didn’t react. He simply grabbed a glass and poured himself some juice.
“Ryan,” I said quietly.
He took a sip and glanced at me casually.
“What?”
“What is this?” My voice cracked despite my effort to stay calm.
“My phone, Megan,” he sighed. “Sorry I left it out.”
“I saw the message.”
He leaned against the counter like we were discussing the weather.
“Yeah,” he said. “I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“That I’m seeing Amanda now,” he replied. “She makes me happy.”
I stared at him.
“You’re with her?”
“Yes.”
The way he said it—so calmly—hurt more than anything. It meant he’d already made his decision. I was simply the last person to hear about it.
“She makes me feel alive again,” he added.
“Alive?” I said. “Ryan, we have six children. What do you think our life is, a coma?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered. “You stopped caring about yourself.”
I blinked.
“You used to care about how you looked,” he continued. “About how we looked.”
My chest tightened.