“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, turning to smile at me. Her eyes scan my face, and the smile falters. “Everything okay?”
No, Mom. Things haven’t been okay for a long, long time.
I nod, thinking I can have a few minutes of happy small talk, before giving up and shaking my head. I don’t know how to put on a show anymore. I’m too tired to fake anything.
She sets the spoon down and wipes her hands on a towel. “Come sit. Tell me what’s going on.”
The last time I did that, you told me to submit better. That’s not fucking happening this time.
I sit. I breathe. And then I say it.
“I’m leaving Chase.”
Silence stretches between us like a rubber band pulled taut. Her eyes widen slightly, then soften, then cloud.
“Tori,” she says, her voice already carrying the edge of disapproval. “Honey, I know things have been hard?—”
I cut her off. “Mom. Stop.”
My protest means nothing. She continues, “I know you’re hurting. But you can’t just throw away a marriage because of a rough patch. You made vows.”
“I know,” I say. “I meant them. And I kept them. I’ve stayed. I’ve supported. I’ve tried. But Mom, it’s not a rough patch. It’s a pattern.”
She sighs and sits down across from me. “What about counseling? Or talking to Pastor James? Sometimes getting things out in the open with someone neutral can really help.”
“We’ve gone to counseling,” I say. “Both together and separately. Nothing changes. This is so much deeper than counseling. I’m not trying to say this is all on Chase, but this truly is something I cannot fix for him.”
She frowns. “Well, maybe this time would be different. Maybe if you gave it one more shot?—”
“Mom.” I cut in again—gently, but firm. “I love you. I know you want to believe that all marriages can be saved if people just try hard enough or pray hard enough or trust God enough. But that’s not always true. I can’t keep setting myself on fire to keep someone else warm. Chase doesn’t value himself, and until he does, he’ll never be able to value anyone else—not truly, and definitely not me. I’ve tried to love him enough for both of us. That’s not how love works. And I’m done.”
Her lips press into a line. Her eyes shimmer, but she doesn’t cry. She never cries easily. “I just worry you’re giving up on something sacred.”
“I’m not giving up,” I whisper. “I’m letting go. There’s a difference. Giving up is quitting. Letting go is accepting that holding on is killing me. And don’t I deserve better than that?”
She closes her eyes. A breath. A pause. “Tori?—”
“HE CALLED ME AN ANCHOR. A BURDEN. A WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT. THEN PUNCHED A HOLE IN THE WALL TWO INCHES FROM MY FACE. I. AM. DONE. THE END. NOT ANOTHER WORD OF PROTEST.”
You need something to open your eyes to the reality of my situation? There.
Her face pales, eyes widen. She swallows, and nods.
“Oh.”
Yeah. Oh.
“Does he know? That you're leaving, I mean,” she asks.
“Not yet. But he’ll figure it out when he gets back from Boston and I’m gone.”
Her voice is small, quiet. She doesn’t sound disappointed, just shaken. “Do you have somewhere to go?”
“Yes. I have a plan. I’ve been saving. I’m not making this decision recklessly. I just need you to respect it. And not tell anyone. Please. Not even Dad.”
She nods slowly. “Okay. I won’t. I’m assuming Skye is helping you?”
I laugh, for the first time in days. “Yeah,” I say, smiling. “She may be chaos, but she’s my chaos.”
