“I’m protecting him.”
“No. You’re manipulating him. Like you always have.”
Carl takes another step into the room, his voice low and dangerous now. “You don’t belong here, Olive. You never did. You’re a distraction. A liability.”
I lift my chin. “And you’re a coward. Hiding behind a son you never earned.”
Rage flickers in his eyes, but he doesn’t have a comeback. Good. Because I’m done playing small to make space for men like him.
“Now get the hell out of my room,” I say, steel in my voice. “Or I’ll call Liam in here and tell him exactly how you’ve been spending his money and how you just spoke to the mother of his children.”
Carl glares at me like he wants to say more. But he doesn’t. He turns on his heel and slams the door on his way out.
I’m left standing there, heart racing, hands shaking but somehow stronger than I’ve felt in weeks.
I exhale loudly.
And tomorrow I’m going to tell Liam the same hard truths I just told his father. Even if he doesn’t want to hear it.
23
I toss and turn all night, the bedsheets tangling around my legs like the thoughts tangling in my head. Sleep refuses to come. My body’s exhausted, but my mind is wide awake, replaying every word, every look, every bruise that’s been left on my heart.
Just after four, I give up.
I flip on the light and start packing the belongings I left here months ago. The act feels too quiet, too final. There are still some things that won’t fit into the bag I found in the closet, but I’ll have to collect them later.
When I finish packing, I search the house until I find Sammi. She’s curled up in the room Liam converted just for her, sunlight barely brushing the windowsill, her soft body rising and falling with each contented breath. My throat tightens as I kneel beside her.
“He needs you more than I do, love,” I whisper, running my fingers gently through her fur.
She purrs, leaning into my hand like she understands. Like she knows this might be goodbye. I press a soft kiss to the top of her head, then stand.
The hallway is quiet as I make my way to Liam’s room. I pause outside his door, my heart pounding. For a moment, I almost turn away.
But I can’t leave without saying it.
I knock softly. “Liam? Can I come in?”
The door opens almost instantly, and he’s standing there already dressed, hair damp from the shower, tension written into the tight line of his shoulders.
“Ready to go?” he asks.
I don’t answer. I just step past him and into the room.
It hits me like a punch to the gut.
He’s sleeping on my side of the bed.
And there, near the pillow, is one of my old shirts, faded and crumpled, but unmistakably mine. A worn little piece of me he kept close when I wasn’t here.
My throat closes. I can’t breathe past it.
But I force myself to meet his eyes, steady and unflinching.
“Your father came to see me last night,” I say, my voice low and even.
His face shifts instantly, jaw tightening and shoulders going rigid. “What did he say?”
