“You shouldn't have to. I mean, you could. I know you could. But you… you don’t have to.”
This shouldn’t hurt. Why does him saying that hurt?
His expression changes then. Not just regret—something deeper. Something like despair.
“I’m so sorry, Ash.” His voice is low, rough. “I never meant…”
But then he stops. Like even he knows sorry isn’t enough.
“I know,” I whisper. “But you did.”
I see his jaw tighten, and I know he’s clamping down on whatever he was going to say.
“You shut me out,” I add.
The words hover, suspended between us.
He swallows hard. But he doesn’t speak.
“I don’t hate you,” I go on. “God, I almost wish I did because that would make all this so much easier. And who knows, maybe I will later. But right now?” I shake my head. “I’m just… mad. So mad. Because you stopped seeing us. You stopped seeing me. I kept trying to hold everything together, waiting for you to wake up, and you… you just gave up.”
My voice cracks. “I just wish…” I scoop some sand out of the moat, while silence settles around us again.
Then finally, Beckett exhales, rough, a little broken. “Ashley.”
I look up and his gaze is locked on me, blue eyes focused and intense.
“I didn’t give up. I swear to God, I didn’t. I would never…”
“Well, what were you doing, then? Because I don’t understand.”
He glances away and my heart falls.
This is why I can’t get my hopes up. This is why I can’t let all this pretending feel like more than it is.
“It’s almost over,” he says.
I barely keep myself from choking on a sob. “I know. That’s why I?—”
“No.God.Not us, Ashley. Never us. This year. The travel. The meetings.” He closes his eyes. “The secrets.” And then opens them again. “Midtown is letting me go.”
For a second, I just stare at him, trying to wrap my head around the turn our conversation just took.
We were talking about our marriage being over, and now we’re talking abouthis work?
Midtown is letting him go?
Did he just say he was losing his job? Confusion, and something else—fear? —shoot off in my chest.
I’ve always worked towards security, both of us have, actually. Not sure if it’s because of my mom’s crazy upbringing, or something else, so…
But we would be okay. Divorced or not. We have savings. The house is practically paid for.
Then, as the shock fades, as those what-ifs are acknowledged, other feelings take over. Disbelief. Confusion.Anger.
“Wait—what? Why?” He’d all but sold his soul to that company.
Instead of answering my questions, he’s watching me with that unreadable look I’ve come to hate so much. Only this time, there’s something else there too.
