The Cost of Paradise
I sit alone in the den, staring at the photo Maddie insisted we take last year. She’s in the center, bright and confident, the people’s governor with her arm around me and our son, Ben. She’s practically a shoe-in to be president. The Republicans have no one who can rival her. She’s amazing.
I think back to those days. We were happy then, I think. Or maybe we weren’t, and I was just too busy believing it to see the cracks.
Her laugh drifts in from the kitchen, low and private. It stops me in my tracks. It’s the kind of laugh she used to save for me, and now it’s Lucas who gets it. The sound hits me like a punch to the gut, followed by the faint clink of glasses. There’s the murmur of conversation—her voice, his, blending into something too familiar, too intimate. My hand tightens around the armrest of the chair, the wood digging into my palm. I’ve been trying to ignore this for months, trying to convince myself it’s just my imagination. But that laugh tells me everything.
The air smells faintly of her coffee, rich and bitter, the kind she only brews when Lucas is here. It’s their ritual now, I suppose. Late-night meetings over campaign strategy, the two of them huddled over laptops like co-conspirators. She swears it’s nothing, that Lucas is just her ticket to the presidency. “He’s good at his job, Andrew,” she told me with a smile. “Relax.”
Relax. That word churns in my stomach like acid.
Maddie has always been larger than life, even when we met. She was in law school, all fire and conviction, while I was finishing my residency. Back then, her ambition felt magnetic. She talked about changing the world, about making a difference. I loved her for it. I still do.
But lately, her ambition feels like a wall between us. The long hours, the constant phone calls, the endless strategy sessions—it’s like she’s living in another world, one where I’m just a bystander. And Lucas. Lucas has stepped right into the space I used to occupy. He’s everywhere now, always at her side, always in her ear.
The first crack came two months ago. Ben had a school play—a small thing, but he’d been rehearsing for weeks. He begged Maddie to come, practicing his lines at the dinner table, his eyes bright with hope. I reminded her three times that morning, texting her again an hour before it started.
The auditorium was packed, the air thick with the scent of popcorn and sweat. I sat in the second row, saving the seat beside me, glancing at the door every few minutes. Ben spotted me and waved, his face falling slightly when he saw the empty chair.
When we got home, Maddie was on the couch with Lucas, laptops open, talking strategy. The faint glow of their screens cast shadows on her face, making her look sharper, harder.
“You missed it,” I said, standing in the doorway. Ben ran past her without a word, his backpack slamming against the floor as he disappeared down the hall.
Maddie barely looked up. “I’ll make it up to him.”
“You keep saying that.”
Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing. “I’m doing this for all of us, Andrew. You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t miss moments like that?”
Before I could respond, Lucas chimed in, his tone calm and measured. “The campaign’s in a critical phase, Andrew. Maddie’s doing everything she can to balance it all.”
My fists clenched, but I said nothing. His voice grated on me, smooth and self-assured, like he was trying to manage me. I hated how Maddie leaned into it, like he was the only one who understood her.
Tonight, the house feels too quiet. I tell myself to let it go, to trust her, but the knot in my stomach tightens. When her phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, I glance at it without thinking.
Lucas’s name lights up the screen.
Last night was incredible. Can’t wait for DC.
The air leaves my lungs. My hand shakes as I swipe the screen. The message thread unfolds like a nightmare: dinner photos, inside jokes, texts sent late at night when I was asleep upstairs.
You’re amazing, Maddie. I think about you constantly.
I hear her footsteps on the stairs and shove the phone back onto the counter, my heart pounding. She walks in, radiant in a tailored suit, her hair freshly styled. She smells faintly of the perfume I bought her last Christmas—something soft and floral she barely wears anymore.
“Big day today,” she says, grabbing her phone without looking at me. “Are you coming to the rally?”
“Sure,” I manage, my voice tight.
I want to confront her then, demand answers, but the words lodge in my throat. She doesn’t even notice.
That night, after Ben is asleep, I stand in the doorway of her office, watching her work. The desk lamp casts a warm glow over her face, and for a moment, she looks like the woman I fell in love with—determined, unstoppable.
“Maddie,” I say, my voice hoarse.
She turns, distracted. “What is it?”
I pick up her phone. “I saw the messages.”
Her face freezes, the color draining from her cheeks. She stands slowly, her hands trembling. “Andrew, I can explain—”
“Explain what?” My voice cracks. “That you’ve been sneaking around with him? That you’ve been lying to me?”
“It wasn’t like that,” she says quickly. “It’s just… he listens to me, Andrew. He gets what I’m going through.”
I laugh bitterly. “And I don’t? I gave up everything for you, Maddie. My career, my time, my life. I’ve been here every step of the way, supporting you, raising our son, while you—” I choke on the words.
Her eyes fill with tears. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. It’s been so hard, Andrew. The pressure, the expectations… I needed someone, and Lucas was there.”
“And I wasn’t?”
“You were, but… it’s different.” She looks away, her voice breaking. “I made a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I laugh again, though it feels like a sob. “This wasn’t a mistake, Maddie. This was a choice.”
We don’t sleep that night. The words keep coming, raw and painful, until the dawn light streams through the window.
By morning, I’ve made my decision.
“I’m taking Ben to my parents’ for a while,” I say, standing in the doorway with my bag in hand.
Her face crumples. “Andrew, please—”
“You need to figure out what you really want,” I say, my voice steady despite the tears in my eyes. “And if it’s not us, I’ll understand. But I can’t stay here while you figure it out.”
She doesn’t stop me. As I walk out the door, I wonder if this is the moment our paradise falls apart for good.
Epilogue
Months later, I watch from the side of the stage as she stands on a national stage, delivering a concession speech that electrifies the crowd. She looks strong, confident, untouchable.
But when she glances at me after acknowledging the unrealized efforts of her new campaign manager Yvette, I see it—the regret, the pain, the cost. We have what’s left of a marriage. We still have a lot of work to do. Lucas is gone, and we kept the affair quiet. But Maddie will never have the presidency.
It’s like the poet John Milton tried to say: Paradise, once lost, is never truly regained.