Your replacement.
Irresponsible little girl.
What could you possibly need now?
You’re just making this worse for all of us.
And pride finally has me protecting my heart.
“Right,” I whisper. “I’ll h-help you pick the best candidate for Chloe.”
The words nearly choke me.
Because I mean them.
Because even now, even with him looking at me like I’m nothing more than a problem to be solved, I still love that little girl enough to make sure she’s okay.
Still love him.
But it’s not enough.
I blink back my tears. I lift my chin up high. And I walk out before he can say anything else.
Before he can hurt me any more.
Down the hall.
Pausing in the kitchen to grab that fucking stack of papers.
Up the stairs.
Into my room.
Only then do I let myself break.
Not loudly.
I don’t scream or throw things or rage.
I just stand there in the middle of the room, tears sliding silently down my face.
Then I dry my eyes, pick up the applications.
And I start reading.
Because in that moment, more than hurt, more than anger, what I feel is finality.
He made his choice.
Now I have to make mine.
And I’m not going to stay where I’m not wanted, not going to beg someone to want me, to choose me, to…
Love me.
Not ever again.
Thirty-Six
