Continuation from last...

"Never forget what a man says to you when he is angry." - Henry Ward Beecher

"Rosalie, get off me."

"Why are you doing this?"

"I don't love you anymore. I told you. We haven't been husband and wife for over a year. We're roommates."

"I can fix things."

"You can't."

"Please Emmett..."

Why didn't he just leave? Oh, right. She cried. His one weakness - a woman crying. He hated seeing it. Even more so when he was the cause of it. So he reached over and touched her hand - big mistake. She reacted, quickly, by sitting in his lap. It made him uncomfortable and unnerved him. He just wanted to go back home, to Bella's, not console the woman he once considered a wife.

He stood, lifting her with him, and placed her in his chair. He paced the living room, needing a second to simply breathe. She went to him and stood in his path. He jerked his body away from her. "Don't start with that shit!"

She narrowed her eyes. "We are going to work this out. You can't just give up. That's not like you."

"I gave up a long time ago. I stayed out of some misplaced sense of loyalty to you. It's over though. Giving me shit isn't going to make this better. Christ Rosalie, you've got a boyfriend! Think about him for once."

Her jaw dropped in shock... he knew... but how?

He laughed and shook his head. "I'm not mad... not anymore. I was. Then - well I moved on. Quil seems like a good guy."

"How do you know his name? What-who... Did he tell you?"

His loud laughter made her skin crawl with renewed annoyance.

"I'm a cop, remember? You're not as sneaky as you think. Hell, you may as well have been fucking him in the same room as me."

She was stunned silent. He knew and he didn't care. Not anymore. He moved on. What the fuck did that mean?

Rosalie leveled a glare at Emmett, "You moved on. Is that what you said?"

He refused to answer her question. Instead, he went to their old bedroom closet, snatched up the duffel bag, and stuffed clothes in it.

She followed him. "I asked you a question."

"I heard. Yep, I moved on. You did too. Quit making this some kind of fucking blame game bullshit."

"Oh, I see. Is that how it is? You can talk about my boyfriend, but I can't ask about your whore?" She sneered.

His movements ceased. Every muscle in his body tensed.

She couldn't stop herself. It was as if her filter had been obliterated. "Does she make you feel like I did? Does she enjoy what was mine first?"

He turned around and looked at her. His blue eyes shone with absolute hatred. "Make your peace with our impending divorce. Keep in mind that I got a lot of dirt on you. Pictures, cell phone bills, and the number of an oblivious, love-struck guy in Seattle."

With that, he zipped his bag closed, and left the house.

Rosalie's fury got the best of her once again. She grabbed her keys and waited until he pulled out of the driveway, onto the street, then turned left. One thought ran through her mind as she trailed two cars behind him - who the hell was this whore?

Never in a hundred years would she have guessed. Not unless she saw with her own eyes; and she did. She watched him take his bag out of the trunk and walk up to a small, white house. A woman who appeared slightly familiar opened the front door, jumped on him and smothered his face with kisses. He laughed - free, open, happy - and kissed her back. When the woman pulled away from him and giggled, Rosalie's recognized her - Bella Swan.

Un-beta'd. Woke up to write this. Couldn't get it out of my head. I thought the quote was fitting for not only men, but also women.

Thank you LilyAurora for pre-reading.