Chett.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” He smiles.
“What the fuck?” Maggie gasps.
“Sloane!” Mom appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s dressed up. Hair perfect. Makeup flawless. Like this is a photo shoot instead of a family dinner. “Oh, honey, you look thin. Are you eating? Come in, it’s freezing outside.”
I can’t speak. Can’t move. Can only stare at Chett, looking at me like he’s won the lottery. But I let my mother usher me into my childhood home.
“Surprise.” He grins, that charming smile I used to love, plastered across his face. “Your mom thought it would be nice for us to spend the holiday together. As a family.”
“We can go anytime,” Maggie whispers, not letting go of my hand.
Anger bubbles to the surface. I can’t believe my own family would do this to me, on Thanksgiving.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” The words explode out of me.
“Sloane!” Mom gasps. “Language!”
I’m pointing now, my hand shaking. “What the actual fuck is he doing in this house?”
“Your mother invited me,” Chett says smoothly. He’s wearing the blue sweater I bought him last Christmas. The one that brings out his eyes. He planned this. He fucking planned this. “She thought we should talk. Work things out. The holidays are about family.”
“Work things out?” I laugh, but it sounds slightly unhinged. “We broke up. You cheated on me. There’s nothing to work out.”
“Sloane,” Dad says from his chair, his tone doing that disappointed-father thing. “It’s Thanksgiving. Can we not do this now?”
“Not do what? Acknowledge that my ex-fiancé is in your home like he belongs here?”
“He does belong here,” Mom says, and there’s something defensive in her voice. “Chett has been part of this family for nine years. We can’t just throw that away because you two had a fight.”
“A fight?” My voice is getting louder. I can’t help it. “He fucked his assistant! On our kitchen counter! That’s not a fight, that’s a dealbreaker!”
Mom makes a strangled sound. “Sloane Marie, we do not use that language in this house.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have invited my cheating ex to Thanksgiving!” I scream at her.
I feel Maggie’s hand on my arm. “Sloane …”
I spin to face her. “Did you know about this?”
“No!” Her eyes are wide. “I swear I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t want to tell you because you wouldn’t have come,” my mother states.
“Of course I wouldn’t have come. Because this is an ambush. This is manipulation.” I’m yelling now.
“It’s not manipulation,” Mom insists. “It’s an intervention. Sweetheart, you’re not thinking clearly. You’re making rash decisions. We’re just trying to help you see reason.”
“Reason?” I’m shaking. With rage. With hurt. With the betrayal of it all. “The reasonable thing was leaving a man who cheated on me.”
“It was one mistake,” Chett says, stepping closer. I step back. “One mistake in nine years, Sloane. You can’t just throw away everything we built over one mistake.”
“Stop calling it a mistake. You kept making that mistake for six months,” I yell at him.
“I know I messed up.” His voice shifts, goes soft and pleading. The voice he used to use when he wanted something. “But, baby, I love you. I’ve always loved you. And I know you love me too.”
“I don’t.” The words come out flat. Final. “I don’t love you, Chett. I hate you.”
