We stare at one another, my frown deep, his nostrils flaring. “I’m doing this foryou,” he frustratedly explains. “I’m doing this so you don’t commit perjury when they ask you to testify—because I know you will.I’m doing this because when I take the deal, it all ends. You won’t be put on the stand, won’t lie for me, won’t be dragged any further into this shit show.”
“So, you’re making my own decisions for me again? Taking my choice away? Haven’t you learned anything, Alexander?”
“It’s also my decision to make. My life is on the line. I’m in charge of this.”
“And I can accept that. But don’t you dare pretend this is for me! Don’t you know by now that I would do anything for you?”
The reminder seems to get the best of his temper, and the harshness in his eyes softens, transforming into a plea instead. “You will move on eventually,” he explains calmly, “and I will become a thing of the past, a distant memory. That’s when you’ll see what I’m doing is the right thing.”
“I’ll never get over you. Could you get over me?”
He hesitates, tense and troubled. Of course, the answer is no. The truth is the same for both of us. “For the next decade, you will be the only thing on my mind, Andrea. When I’m locked up, waiting for the years to pass, I’ll think of you. I’ll be hoping you’ve moved on, that you’re having the life you deserve, the family you want, and a man who loves you as much as I do. You have always been a breath of life, and I’ll be hoping this is exactly what you’re doing.Living.”
As if he can’t repress it, he takes a step forward, wanting to comfort and hold me. But his infuriating control takes over again, and he keeps a safe distance between us.
“I don’t want any of that if it’s not with you,” I argue.
“You will. Eventually.”
I won’t change his mind, will I? No matter how much I try, I can’t find more arguments, more reasons for him to fight. I feel drained—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Today was always going to be hard, but this… this might be the hardest conversation I’ve ever had.
“So this is it?” I sob in a last attempt to make him change his mind. “You’re taking the deal and ending us? Giving away ten years of your life without a fight? How can this be the best alternative, Lex?”
“This is the only way I can be in control. The only way I can decide what happens.”
Of course. This is about controlling the narrative, making a calculated decision, and leaving nothing to chance. The reasonable and thought-through decision makes no sense to my bleeding heart. Where’s the hope? Where’s our love? Where’s his faith?
By taking the deal, he’s delivering two sentences. His and our story’s.
“I can’t believe this is how we end,” I struggle to say.
My trembling sob is the last drop. His restraint breaks fully, and his arms wrap around me before I can even see him coming. This isn’t fair. None of it is. Not when we struggled so hard to find our happiness together.
“You’ll be alright, my love,” he whispers, over and over as I cry into his chest.
I hate him like I have never hated him before. Fuck his resolve. Fuck his brain. Fuck his logic. Fuck his pragmatic mind. I hate him for not fighting. I hate him for deciding for me. I hate him so much that I want to tell him, to hurt him as deeply as I’m hurting. But I know he already is. And he’s losing so much more than I am.
So, instead of telling him how much I hate him, I say, “I love you.” My words are muffled by the fine fabric of his shirt, but I know he heard them because his embrace tightens.
This is our last time doing this. Our last time together.I can’t believe this is happening…I wasn’t ready for this wake-up call, this painful reminder that we’ve only been together for so many months. Despite the immeasurable love we have for one another, I’m only a girlfriend, a momentary paramour. Not a wife. Not a lifelong partner.
We remain in this poignant silence, vaguely hearing the activity outside the room. His strong, familiar heart beats against my ear, and I try to memorize everything about it, aware I’ll never hear it again.
When his hands reach for my face, I look up, following their tender pull. His misty eyes intently scan my face, like he’s trying to remember all of me for the last time, like he’ll never get the opportunity ever again. That only worsens my tears, which he wipes away with his thumbs.
“You’ll be alright, Andrea,” he utters like a promise.
“Liar.”
The ghost of a smirk makes the corner of his mouth lift just a little. “I don’t lie, remember?”
“Unless it’s important.”
“Not to you. I never lie to you.”
I want to answer, but three soft knocks behind me pull our attention away. “Mr. Coleman, the Marshal is here,” Mr. Zucker says through the door. “We must be going.”
Fuck, there’s no way it’s been ten minutes already. Looking up with watery eyes, I beg, “Don’t do it. Don’t take the deal. Let us fight for your freedom. Give us a chance to win.”
