Two weeks ago. And she carried that alone. Not because she wanted to. Because she trained herself to.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looks up at me, startled by the gentleness in my voice. “I’m not sure,” she says softly.
I keep my eyes on hers, steady, not accusing. “Nat…why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Close yourself off,” I say. “Hold me at a distance. Like you’re waiting for a reason not to let me in.”
She swallows, her fingers curling into the hem of her shirt. “I’m not trying to.”
“I know you’re not,” I say. “That’s why I’m asking.”
For a long moment, she just sits there, breathing slowly, like she’s deciding whether she’s brave enough to tell the truth. Then she leans back into the couch, her gaze drifting toward the tree lights reflecting off the windows.
“I was engaged once,” she says quietly.
I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just listen.
“His name was Darren.” She says it like the word tastes bitter. “And he wasn’t all bad. People always talk about red flags, but sometimes there really aren’t any red flags. Sometimes the person shows up on time. Or remembers how you love Reese’s mini peanut butter cups. Or fixesthe loose cabinet hinge without you asking. And you think:he loves me. He’s good. He’s mine.”
Her eyes soften with something vulnerable. “And then one day you realize you were wrong. Completely wrong. And you wonder how anyone could miss something that big. You start doubting not just the person…but yourself. Your judgment. Your ability to tell when someone is true.”
She looks at me then, and the rawness in her eyes hits me in the chest. “That’s why I get scared. I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. And I didn’t see it coming.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I say softly.
She shakes her head. “It feels like it was.”
“Nat,” I say, leaning closer, my knee brushing hers, “people who want to hurt you are good at lying. They don’t give you flashing warning signs. They make you feel safe. They make sure you don’t see the escape hatch until they’re already halfway out.”
Her breath catches, and she looks at me with something like recognition.
I settle a little deeper into the cushions, letting the truth in me rise to the surface. “I understand that feeling more than you think.”
She tilts her head, waiting.
“I never thought Lauren would betray me,” I say. “Not once. Not even when she left our honeymoon early. Not when she skipped out on my friends. Not when she always had somewhere else to be. I kept telling myself everything was fine. That I was the one overreacting.”
Natalie eyes are focused on me, listening to every word.
“I thought I knew who she was,” I say. “I thought I was a good judge of character. And I was completely wrong.”
Her face softens. “What did she do?”
I inhale, then let it out slowly. “She went through my files and emails. She sold private information about my clients to tabloids.”
Her eyes widen, the shock immediate and honest. “Jake…”
“I didn’t see it coming,” I say. “Not even a little. And afterward, I had the same questions you did. Am I blind? Did I miss every sign? Am I the kind of man who can’t tell when someone’s lying to him?”
She nods with understanding. They’re the exact questions she’s been living with too.
“But here’s the thing,” I continue. “She took enough from me. She doesn’t get to take everything. And definitely not the part that lets me believe good things can still happen.”
Natalie’s breath catches, just a little.
