Free If I Could Do It Again by Ashley Stoyanoff

can only come up with one logical conclusion: I want to pretend there aren’t any others. “Because it’s really none of my business.”
    “Why’s that?” he asks.
    “Because it just isn’t,” I say. “Besides, I don’t particularly want to hear about the other women in your life.”
    He hums. “I thought I could talk to you about anything. Isn’t that what you told me?”
    I sigh again, this time long and loud as I recall that particular conversation. After a long pause, I say tentatively, “You can.”
    And I mean it for the most part. I want to know everything there is to know about him, see every side of him, dig deep down and understand everything that makes him who he is. But those letters … I don’t think I can handle knowing what’s in those letters.
    “Obviously not,” he says.
    The disappointment I hear in his voice makes my chest constrict. “Is this letter really that important?”
    “Yes.”
    “Fine.” My voice sounds snappy even to my own ears, but I can’t help it, can’t seem to smooth it out. I take a breath and then another. It does nothing to soothe the anxiety blooming in my chest. “Okay, fine. If it’s that important, tell me about it.”
    “Someone’s getting a little bitchy,” he says almost playfully—almost. “Is your period starting soon?”
    His comment startles a laugh from me. Did he really just say that? “You can be such an ass sometimes; you know that?”
    “I know.” He laughs, and then stalls for a beat. “Are you jealous of the letters I get, baby?”
    I roll my eyes. So, that’s his game here. He’s trying to make me jealous. Even so, it stuns me how easily he reads me, even over the phone. He sounds so edgy, but still so damn confident. I wish I had his confidence, wish I could speak my mind the same way he does, holding nothing back. “I’m not jealous.”
    “So that’s how it’s going to be? You’re going to lie to me now?” He hums his disapproval. “Come on, beautiful. If you’ve got something to say, now is the time.”
    I hesitate, not sure what to tell him. It’s been nearly a week since Richard went back to work. Nearly a week since he violated my privacy and destroyed my office. It’s been nearly a week since I told Joshua I don’t love him.
    Since I told Joshua I don’t love him …
    I blink, swallowing down a startled laugh, the pieces falling into place. Jesus, is he feeling insecure?
    I take a breath.
    And another.
    And then another.
    “Just tell me about the letter,” I say, although I feel anxiety bubbling in my stomach as the words slip out of my mouth. “Who was it from?”
    “Melissa.”
    That’s it. That’s all he says as though the name answers all the unspoken questions filling the air between us.
    My brow furrows. “Which one is that again?”
    “I dated her, remember?” he says. “The one that decided she couldn’t wait for me to get out, and hooked up with someone else. They broke up and she started writing me again. She’s the one I told about you.”
    Great. That’s the one that’s been trying to convince him to take her back. The last he told me, though, was that he had sent her a letter using me as an out, telling her he was in a committed relationship.
    “Oh, right. The one you lied to about us.”
    My response makes him laugh, though it’s not an amused sound. “She said she’s happy that I found you, but she hopes it doesn’t work out so she can be with me. She told me she loves me and wants to marry me. She even hinted that she’d like to get married before I get released.”
    I stop breathing at those words, and for a second my heart feels as though it stops right along with my lungs.
    And then … it races.
    My skin flushes and my eyes begin to sting. I blink fast, banishing away the threatening tears as I suck in a breath.
    This man … this man
is
trying to make me jealous.
    If I didn’t think it before, I’m convinced now.
    This is my punishment for letting my marriage fail.