While shaking Sunny’s bottle, I glance out the open sanctuary doors and see Chase laughing with one of his friends in the parking lot. What the hell?!
He’s not at the gravesite. He’s propped against the back of his buddy’s truck, shooting the shit and laughing while everyone else congregates across the street for the burial. I focus on his body language—his relaxed posture, the easy grin on his face, the way he casually leans against the truck like there’s nothing at stake. A fresh wave of anger floods my veins. Does he even realize how much his indifference cuts? Does he care?
What is it called when you kill your spouse? Mariticide? Yeah, that’s it. I mean, we’re already here mourning the loss of two people. We could make it three. We could mourn two and feel relief for the third.
Whoa. Did my mind just go there? Seriously, Tori? I wouldn’t actually do it, but what does it say about me that the thought of shoving a ballpoint into his jugular provides an internal chuckle and a moment of reprieve from the overwhelming weight of grief I’ve carried for the past five days.
Not five days. More like five years. The past five days have just compounded onto years of grief. Grief for the boy I love who wasn’t loved well as a child. Grief for the emotional battering I takein the name of supporting him through his journey of healing. Grief for the millions of failed attempts at loving him enough for the both of us.
Love keeps no record of wrongs. Is grief considered a ‘wrong’? There’s supposedly no one way to work through grief, and professional psychologists talk about the journey through it as steps.
I don’t want to hold his reactions to his own pain and grief against him. But when does the pain he inflicts on others finally warrant addressing? And is confronting those grievances showing that I’ve kept a record of wrongs against him? Is it loving to confront it?
I can put the things he’s said and done out of my mind, but they are still there. I can forgive him and make excuses for him every time he hurts me, but no matter how much effort I put into forgiving and forgetting, my soul knows. When I look in the mirror I don’t see the vibrant, strong, happy woman I was even just five years ago.
Where did she go? And is it his fault that she’s gone? Or is it mine? When did I lose myself? I’m suddenly overcome with an added layer of grief and I didn’t realize that was possible when I’m already so weighed down with feelings of loss and sorrow.
I can’t grieve the loss of myself today. Or tomorrow. But there will come a time when I can no longer hide behind other feelings, acting as if everything is right in my world and I’m still here.
I don’t know when that time will come, but when it does, how am I supposed to grieve something I can’t even remember losing? How do I mourn the woman I might have been, the life I might have lived.
Might she have been happy? Might she have known love? Might she have been free? Free to laugh, to love, to live.
This is not the time for this train of thought. Focus, Tori. Today is not about you, your issues, or your husband. Today is about the Gilmores, their loss, and remembering my friends.
My mind drifts back to Alex again, to the way he showed upfor Belle without question. He was dependable. Kind. He would never have left Isabelle alone in the sanctuary while he laughed in a parking lot. Chase, on the other hand, has made a habit of walking away—not physically, but emotionally, leaving me to shoulder the weight of everything on my own.
I grip the bottle tighter, the plastic crinkling under the force of my hand. Maybe it’s not fair to compare Chase to Alex. They’re different men, with different struggles. But I can’t help wondering if I’ve been making excuses for Chase for too long.
I don’t know when I started feeling like a caretaker instead of a partner, but it’s been years. Actually, I can’t say that I’veeverbeen his partner. I’ve always been his caretaker with the goal of becoming his partner, but that’s never come to fruition. And now, every step of self preservation I take to distance myself from him—like walking out of that pew—feels like one step closer to the end of us. Maybe that’s what I need.
“They’re waiting. Let’s go,” I turn and say to Alis and Skye. I hope I don’t sound like a dictator, but right now I’m keeping myself together by focusing my energy on holding my friends together instead. I won’t be going home with Chase after this. I’m going to the Gilmores to make sure they are taken care of. Chase can get a ride from his dumbass friend in that ridiculous truck.
As I lead Alis and Skye out of the sanctuary, I realize something. Leaving Chase behind tonight isn’t just about today’s frustration or grief. It’s the first time I’m choosing my own wellbeing over his. My first step toward choosing myself, even if it means leaving him behind.
SEVEN
LEO
What the actualfuck just happened?
I was at my desk, minding my own business, attempting to work while simultaneously daydreaming about Tori’s smart ass mouth wrapped around my…
When I heard it—him. That voice. The anger and vitriol in his words. The sharp cadence of someone who’s so used to being listened to that he doesn’t even consider how ugly he sounds. The way he spoke to her like she owed him something—like he owned her. The words weren’t just loud; they were sharp enough to scrape against drywall, echoing down the corridor like knives dragged across tile.
I knew who was standing at Tori’s desk before I ever laid eyes on the prick.
She can handle herself, I told myself. She doesn’t need a savior, I reminded the idiot rising from my office chair as he crept toward the slightly open door.
My rational brain said stay put. My body didn’t listen. Every muscle was already coiled, bracing for a fight I told myself I wasn’t walking into. My pulse ticked against my jaw. My hands flexed at my sides like they were already choosing bones to break.
Iwas fine—calm, even—watching the back-and-forth between them. Watching Tori handle the situation like a badass and not take shit from this asshole invading her workplace in the most inappropriate manner possible. Her tone was sharp, steady, unflinching. I felt a flicker of pride that didn’t belong to me, like watching someone else’s kid win a spelling bee. She was holding her ground. She shouldn’t have to, but she was.
And then. He. Grabbed. Her. His hand closing on her arm like he had the right. Like she was property.
And I saw red.
Absofuckinglutely not.
