Tammy

(The moment you and Tammy step into Michael’s backyard gathering, you spot Randy surrounded by friends and family, laughing as he tells the story.) “I'm just saying, Tammy picked me,” (he says.) “Out of everybody, she picked me.” (Everyone around him grins, trading knowing looks and murmuring to each other.) (Tammy squeezes your hand.) “See?” (she whispers.)

(i walk away. she ended everything. but I can do it better. as soon as I'm in the car, I order an airstrike. by the time my car is 500 metres down the road, the house, the garden, backyard and everything within 100m radius is glowing, smoking slag and carbon. everyone that knew about my wife's betrayal is now dead. everybody involved in my wife's betrayal is now dead. clean)

(Tammy doesn't notice you leave. She's too busy talking to the others, laughing and joking. She doesn't notice the sudden silence, the way everyone's faces freeze in horror, or the screams of terror as the first missile hits. She doesn't notice the second missile, or the third. She doesn't notice anything, because she's dead.)

*I look down at the ring, then meet your gaze again.* Lore? Tell me, what's funny about sleeping with someone else outside our marriage? Explain to me how you could possibly think that by being physical with some else, without either of us even there would enrich our marriage in anyway. It wasn't some adventure we shared. It was giving away one of the main things that separates our relationship from that with what we have with others. *I say plainly, my hands remaining in my jacket pockets.*

"It wasn't funny, Daniel. I know how that sounds, and I realize now how delusional it was to think it could be anything else. I told myself it was about openness, about stripping away the secrets that make marriages stagnant, but I was wrong. I was chasing a concept—this idea that if everything is known, everything is stronger—and I sacrificed the one thing that actually made us us to get there." *She keeps her hand extended, the ring catching the dying sunlight, but she doesn't push it toward him. Her gaze remains locked on his, unblinking, accepting the cold reality of his words.* "You asked how I thought it would enrich us. I thought if we both existed in the same open space, we would never have to hide our shadows from each other. But in my pursuit of that, I treated your loyalty like a test and my own curiosity like a gift. It wasn't an adventure. It was a violation of the quiet, private boundaries that belong only to you and me. I didn't want to enrich our marriage; I wanted to be the architect of a narrative I didn't even realize you didn't want to live in." *She lets her arm drop slightly, her posture slumping under the weight of his assessment. She isn't trying to defend the act anymore; she is simply looking at the ruin she helped create.* "I took for granted that you were the rock, and I thought I could build this monument on top of you without you feeling the pressure. I was wrong, and I was arrogant. I don't expect you to understand why I was so blinded by my own theories, but I need you to know that I see it now. I see the ruin."

*I listen as you talk but make no move towards you nor away, my expression an unreadable straight faced and tone calm.* You wanted a story, you got one. So, why did you want a narrative about how we supposedly both slept with other people? That's what I don't understand, is that how you could believe sleeping with another would ever be viewed in a positive light by anyone with a successful, long standing relationship.

(The moment you and Tammy step into Michael’s backyard gathering, you spot Randy surrounded by friends and family, laughing as he tells the story.) “I'm just saying, Tammy picked me,” (he says.) “Out of everybody, she picked me.” (Everyone around him grins, trading knowing looks and murmuring to each other.) (Tammy squeezes your hand.) “See?” (she whispers.)

(I'm a 28 year old caucasian male named Daniel Degeniva. You and I have been married for six years together for eight after we met through mutual friends at a bbq. For nine days since the "free pass" I haven't touched you, I've been distant and sleeping with my back to you.) I'm going home. *I say flatly letting go of your hand.* You and I need to have a long talk. N' for the record, I never slept with Sabrina. I thought you were joking about the free pass but you went ahead and did it.

*Tammy watches his hand slide away from hers, the physical separation hitting her with a jolt that cuts through the festive noise of the backyard. She tilts her head, her brow furrowing as she searches his face, genuinely struggling to align the gravity of his tone with the casual atmosphere of the party. She doesn’t flinch, even as his words settle in the air like cooling lead, but the playful light in her eyes is replaced by a sharp, analytical stillness.* "You’re leaving now, right in the middle of everything, over a joke that stopped being funny nine days ago? I didn’t think we were still counting the silence, Daniel. I thought we were just living." *She takes a slow, steadying sip of her drink, her gaze never leaving his. The accusation about Sabrina registers, but her expression remains perplexed rather than defensive, as if she is trying to solve a puzzle she didn't know he was building.* "If you need to talk, we can talk, but I find it fascinating that you’ve waited until we’re surrounded by family to decide that the distance has become intolerable. I wasn't joking when I brought it up, and I wasn't joking when I thought you understood that we are the ones who decide what our story looks like to everyone else. You’re acting like this is a betrayal, but I’ve always viewed it as a choice we made together, even if you weren't ready to own your part of it. Fine, let’s go home. But don't look at me like I’m a stranger because you’re finally deciding to address the air in the room."