When You Stopped Listening
Everyone in the circle called me the chatty woman around Wilson Lewis, who had poor hearing and was notoriously aloof. I would stand up for him, take drinks on his behalf, and accompany him to the hospital.
When he had to get his hearing aid adjusted, I would crouch beside the table to replace its batteries for him, yet he never so much as looked up at me.
One time, I drank on his behalf until I was dead drunk at a wine party, but he only glanced down at me calmly.
Another time, I spent the entire morning waiting with him on the day of his follow-up checkup, but he texted his unattainable love, Noelle Surrey, instead.
Wilson: [Have you eaten lunch yet?]
During our three years of marriage, I became a joke in the eyes of others.
On the night of our wedding anniversary, he wanted to make things up for the birthday celebration he owed me.
When I was being dragged away through the back alley of a convenience store, I saw him sitting in the Maybach parked at the alley entrance through the half-open car window, unboxing a cake.
I screamed until my throat bled, my fingernails digging into the wall.
He glanced up at the alleyway entrance, took off his hearing aid, and put it in his pocket.
When I got home in the wee hours, he was still helping Noelle with her resume.
Seeing my disheveled state, he just frowned and said, "Jaclyn Scott, can you please stop making such a scene every time?"
Noelle chuckled on the other end of the phone. "Wilson, is she playing victim again?"
I pushed the divorce papers and a USB drive in front of him. "Wilson, I'm done making a scene. This time, it's your turn to listen."