I get up an hour earlier so I can get out of the apartment before Tessa wakes. I grab a light rain jacket. It’s one of those rare August days in Portland where the rain clouds roll in and attempt to dampen everyone’s summer plans. Not that anyone in Portland can be deterred by a smattering of rain. I’m almost out the front door when Tessa stumbles out of the bedroom, squinting at me through the gray morning light.

“Why are you leaving so early?”

I’m tempted to tell her that it’s none of her business. That she lost the privilege to question me when she betrayed me by getting pregnant behind my back. That she never really earned the privilege to question me because our whole relationship has been teetering on a knife-edge waiting for something exactly like this to happen.

Picturing the two of us careening off the edge reminds me of a quote I read in college: This is the way we fall. First we lose our balance, teetering precariously on the edge of uncertainty, until, mercilessly, gravity takes over. You can’t outshine gravity. Tessa and I are about to topple over and she’s either too stubborn to admit it or too delusional to see it.

“I’m heading to work early.”

“But, we didn’t get to talk about…”

“About what? If you’re truly pregnant, you need to get an abortion.”

“Abortion?” she shrieks, her face contorted with disbelief. “I’m not getting an abortion. How can you even suggest that?”

I step back inside the apartment and push the door closed. “How can I suggest that? What else do you propose we do? Raise a child in a home built on lies? Is that what you want for your child?”

“Our child. And it’s not a lie if I told you the truth. I didn’t hide the pregnancy from you.”

“No, you just lied about being on birth control. So where are the test results? How do I know you’re really pregnant? Am I supposed to take your word for it? Because right now your word holds zero value with me.”

“Why do you hate me? Is it because I’m not her?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I reply, in no mood to listen to more accusations of adultery.

I cheated on her one time before we were engaged and I’ll never live it down. I wish Tessa knew how fucking badly I want to cheat on her with Rory right now and how her accusations only serve to chip away at my loyalty even further.

Loyalty. You’d think I’d know the meaning of the word since I have it tattooed across my chest. But it seems the older I get, the line between loyalty and treachery becomes thinner and blurrier.

Marriage is not simple. I knew that going into it. But there are all types of betrayal in a marriage, and most of them don’t involve adultery.

I turn to leave and she rushes to my side.

Latching on to my arm, her face is wrought with fear. “Wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Don’t go. Please. We can talk about this.”

My stomach vaults at her desperation. “I have to go to work.” I try to wrench my arm out of her grasp, but she tightens her grip. “Let go, Tessa.”

She shakes her head. “No. Come to bed.” She reaches for my face and I flinch.

“Stop it.”

Her hand slides down and I look her straight in the eye as she curls her fingers around the bulge in my jeans.

“Don’t do this, Tessa. Let it go.”

She moves her hand up and down, stroking me through my pants. “Fuck me, Houston.”

I grit my teeth and will myself not to get an erection. How is it that my wife’s touch makes me feel as if I’m cheating on Rory?

I look her in the eye as I push her away. “I’d rather fuck my hand.”

Her eyes widen in utter disbelief. “I’m leaving.” She storms away toward the bedroom. “I’m going to my mother’s. At least she’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

I want to roll my eyes and call her bluff, but I can’t. I knew a guy named Greg in high school, a friend of a friend, who used to threaten to commit suicide whenever his girlfriend, Alisha, was on the brink of dumping him. It worked for about three years, until Alisha finally called Greg’s bluff. He ended up in the hospital that night after taking thirty Tylenol. Any asshole with half a brain knows thirty Tylenol won’t do anything to a healthy person, except maybe make you vomit or possibly pass out. Alisha didn’t visit Greg in the hospital and he got himself a new girlfriend a few months later. If Greg was the only example of attempted suicide following a breakup I’ve ever come across in all my twenty-seven years, I would totally call Tessa’s bluff.

I follow her into the bedroom and find she has two magenta suitcases open on the bed. Her clothes fly haphazardly out of her dresser drawers and somehow most of them find their way inside her luggage.

“Tessa.” I call her name from where I stand in the safety of the doorway. “Tessa, look at me.”

“Why?” she wails, her voice thick with tears. “You’ve been trying to get rid of me since before we even got married. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about? I never tried to get rid of you.”

She rounds on me, clutching a bundle of panties to her chest. “You never loved me, did you? All that stuff about my pain is your pain and all that other crap was just bullshit. Wasn’t it? You don’t give a damn about me or what I’ve gone through.” She lifts her left arm to show me the scars on the inside of her forearm. “You don’t care how I got these. You’ve never even asked. You probably even think I’m bluffing when I say I’ll kill myself.”

“Don’t say that. Just… don’t even say it.”

“Why? You don’t want to be responsible for another suicide?”

Her words spark a jolt of violent rage within me. “Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth! You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

She’s stunned for a moment, then her lips begin to tremble. “I’m sorry.” She whispers this a few more times as she sinks down to the floor. “Please don’t make me go.”

I take a few steps closer and find her sitting on the carpet near the foot of the bed. “Make you go where? You’re the one who said you were leaving.”

“I don’t want to leave.” She looks up, her blonde hair sticking out in all directions as her eyes plead with me. “I’ll get an abortion. I’ll see a therapist. I’ll do anything. Just please don’t leave me.” She sobs as she grasps chunks of her hair. “I don’t… I don’t… I don’t know who I am without you.”

I stare at her for a moment, trying to hold on to the anger and disgust I felt a moment ago, but I can’t. I sink down next to her and take her into my arms, where she sobs heavily for a while. And as I stroke her hair and wait for her to finish, I wonder how long Rory will wait to find out what’s inside that box.