The Wrong Woman

60. Dhruv

The last person I wanted to think about was Rani.

I'd slept on the couch, Cookie on the floor at my feet, and in the morning, I made sure I ignored her.

Even our dog was confused about what to do last night; he would follow me but when I would go the opposite way and Rani, the other way, he would go after her. He wouldn't have that problem today, the cheeky little thing. I bent down to scratch his ears as he rested near the coffee table, and glanced up the stairs and at the overhead landing.

She wasn't there. I hadn't seen her when I went up to the bedroom to get changed and a part of me was relieved; the less chance of bumping into her, the less angry and hurt swirled within me. The other part of me churned, wanting to catch a glimpse of her or have her explain to me that her explanation last night was silly and that the real reason was something else.

But this was different. The situation was different and things were ten times more painful than they had been when we'd spent so long without talking to each other. Now that she'd said to my face that everything would be fixed and then went and...and spouted off some kind of superstitious crap to explain why she'd been off with me, I'd finally understood that a divorce was probably the best.

Rani never cared about it before so why would she now? She got the answer she wanted and that was all. I was hosing down the empty kennels at work whilst the dogs on this side were being taken out for a walk by the other animal assistants; the hose in my hand tightened until the spray of water jetting out was a thin stream of sharp water.

"Woah, what's with the killer frown?" I loosened my grip on the green hose and looked back briefly. Frankie stood there with her rubber boots, arms across her chest. There wasn't a smile on her face that suggested she was joking around.

Good. Because I wasn't in the mood.

I didn't respond to her. Turning my back, I got rid of the murky dirt that was tracked all over before filling the dog bowls resting outside the dry floors with water.

"You know I'm here for you if you want to talk." Those words reminded me of Rani. Or whoever she identified as now, and what she used to say that was so sweet and unlike herself that—

I told myself that I wouldn't think about her and here, even at work, she was all I could think about.

For Christ's sake.

"I appreciate that," I told Frankie, stiffly. "But I don't want to talk." Brief was the name of that conversation. I heard her footsteps resound against the floor but just before she left, I stopped her. "Hey." Her pink ponytail slapped against her face as she whipped around. "I'm sorry for ignoring you. I'm not in a spot to judge you."

The expression on her face was shocked to say the least, but I wasn't in the mood to explain why or what I meant by my words. Truth be told, I wasn't exactly sure either. I just knew that I felt cheated by the way Rani had treated me and what she had done. It was hypocritical of me to judge Frankie for ruining a relationship when my own wife was doing the same. The context may be different but the feelings it evoked were the same.

"Thanks," whispered Frankie, who was still standing near the doors. "I don't know what's going on, but from the short time I've known you, you have a huge heart. Don't let anyone make you think otherwise."