Eight Weeks Later
I swallowthe lump rising in my throat, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall.
“Jensen? Did you hear me?”
The words hit harder than they should. It’s not like we haven’t talked about this being a possibility—a reality. But still…
I’m stunned.
She filed. She fucking filed.
“Jensen?”
I clear my throat, my eyes flicking between Tobias and Nina. “I heard you,” I say, my voice rough and thick with emotion. Then, because denial’s my default setting, I ask, “Are you sure?”
Tobias nods. “I spoke with Matt last week. He asked if we should tell you now or wait. We talked as a team. Decided you were strong enough to hear it. Someone attempted to serve you six weeks ago… a few days after you arrived.”
I don’t say anything.
“What are you feeling?” Nina asks. Her voice is calm and comforting, but laced with concern.
I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose as I lose the battle and let the storm of emotions rip through me. Tears spill freely now, and I sniff hard, struggling to get a grip.
“Like shit,” I manage. “Hurt.” I inhale, the breath ragged. “Fucking defeated.” A sob breaks loose.
“I’m going to leave you two to your session,” Tobias says gently as he stands. “If you need me later, Jensen, my office is always open.”
He leaves, and it’s just me and Nina, my therapist.
She doesn’t speak right away. Just sits there quietly, giving me space. Letting me process.
“I know this is a blow, and not one you were ready for. But we’ve talked about this. We’ve explored the possibility of Alley filing.” Her voice is steady but soft. “I’m sure you don’t want to talk about it… but I really think we should.”
My thoughts race in a hundred directions, but only one stands out.
She filed for divorce.She actually filed.
She gave up on us.
She gave up on me.
I stare at the floor, my chest burning, each breath shallow and tight.
I tried. Right after detox, I called her. Texted. Begged her to wait—to give me one more chance. I told her I was getting help. That I was finally serious. That I was done using.
She picked up once. Told me it was too late. That she wasn’t coming back. That she was done. And after that, nothing. No replies. No answers. Crickets.
Matt’s the only one I’ve been able to talk to here. Everyone else is off-limits. No texts. No voicemails. Just me, my thoughts, and the silence Alley left behind.
I don’t blame her. I really don’t. But God, it still hurts.
I reach for my water and take a sip, trying to swallow down the thick lump in my throat. “What am I supposed to say? This fucking sucks? What’s it all for if she’s not there when I get home?”
I really thought she might come back. When she left ten weeks ago, I knew something had shifted. That this time, she was serious. But I still thought I had a chance.
I had that bad night—the last one we ever spent together before she left. I must’ve been really fucked up because I don’t remember much. All I know is I went home, and Alley was there. We didn’t fight—at least, I don’t think we did. I don’t remember any yelling, and the next morning is fuzzy. I got high and left, and when I came back, she was gone.
Not gone to the store or out to lunch. Gone, like… gone. Bags packed. Out of our life.
