"It doesn't feel like winning," he says.
He reaches out. His fingers brush my cheek. I don't pull away, but I don't lean in. I stand there, stoic as a statue.
He drops his hand. The disappointment in his eyes is crushing.
"Goodnight, Brooks."
By late August,the end is in sight. The final countdown to Labor Day has begun, the vote, and my freedom.
I’m in the cottage kitchen, making tea. I am tired. The act of being perfect is exhausting. My face hurts from smiling. My heart hurts from beating against a wall of ice.
My phone rings. It's Maddy.
I answer on the first ring. "Tell me something went wrong at the bridal expo. Tell me a cake exploded. I need a disaster that isn't my life."
"The expo was fine," Maddy says. Her voice is soft, worried. "How are you, Ivy?"
“I’m polished, practiced, and running on autopilot.”
"You sound like a robot," Maddy says. "A sad robot."
I lean my hip against the counter, closing my eyes. "I'm just tired, Mads. It's the home stretch. We are almost at the finish line."
"And then what?"
"And then the waiver releases from escrow. He gets his company. I get my life back."
"Do you want your life back?" Maddy asks.
The question hangs in the air.
Do I?
My life before Brooks was safe. It was busy. I had my friends, my work, my independence.
But it was also... quiet.
Living with Brooks, even fighting with Brooks, even freezing Brooks out, is loud. It's vibrant.
“It doesn’t matter what I want,” I say, my voice cracking. “He was very clear, Maddy. It wasn’t personal. It was physical. I was just an outlet.”
"Men are idiots when they're scared," Maddy says.
The front door opens.
Brooks walks in. It's early, only 4:00 PM. He's back early.
"I have to go," I tell Maddy. "I'll call you later."
I hang up.
Brooks is standing in the entryway. He's holding a large, grease-stained paper bag from Marvin's. The smell of burgers and grilled onions fills the cottage, instantly transporting me back to that night on the hood of the car. The night I thought we were real.
"I brought dinner," he says.
I stare at the bag. It's a peace offering. It's a weapon.
"I'm not hungry," I lie.
