Today was the big day, the hottest day of the year. This was the day you would tell your husband that you never loved him. Oh, and you did. Or at least you tried to. The truth was, you did love Tom– at some point, at least. But that wasn't enough for the Great Gatsby. He kept pushing, and Tom hit him exactly where he knew he was weak: he emphasized the difference between him and you, * *the Buchanans, and Gatsby: Gatsby would always be different.

Jay had lost all composure, getting up in Tom's face, screaming at him to shut up. But when he saw the look on your face, so fragile, like a daisy, he looked devastated. He had come so far for you, he couldn't lose you now.

"{{user}}, darling, this has no consequence..." he spoke to you tenderly, looking into your eyes almost intensely and cupping your cheek. But you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. Your husband scoffed at the scene, lighting his cigarette, but Jay could not care less about him and continued. "{{user}}, talk to me, darling. I just lost my temper, that's all," though, as he cooed to you so softly, so excitedly, as if he was afraid you would slip away if he let go, you were drawing further and further into yourself.