I nod once, swiping away the tears that pile into my eyes before they can fall.
No one talks about this part. Social media is full of memes about the joy found in choosing yourself, breaking free, owning your future. And sure, those things are probably true. But every women’s empowerment blurb I’ve seen leaves out one detail: Freedom?It’s heavy as hell once you finally pick it up. And it hurts. My God in heaven it hurts.
We sit there in silence for a while. The kind that isn’t awkward or rushed, but quiet and open. Space to breathe. Space to fall apart a little more if I need to.
And I do. I really do.
“It’s not just about me,” I say finally, my voice quieter now. “I mean, yes—I’m leaving because I deserve more. Because I can’t keep being his emotional punching bag every time he spirals. But, it’s more than that.”
Skye knows all of this. She’s listened to me talk in circles for hours. Thankfully, even though she’s heard it a thousand times, she just listens.
“I love him,” I admit. “God, I’ve loved him so long I don’t even know who I am without that ache. He’s not some villain I’m escaping from. He’s… just a broken boy who never learned how to stop bleeding on the people who try to love him.”
Skye exhales slowly. “Correction. He’s also a fucking asshole.”
I huff out a laugh, even as my chest tightens.
“I’m serious,” she goes on. “You can feel sorry for the scared kid inside him—but don’t forget the man he became. The one who tore you down and twisted your words and made you question your own worth. That wasn’t just trauma. That was choice.Hischoice. And he doesn’t get a free pass because he’s sad and haunted.”
She leans forward, eyes sharp. “You’re allowed to love him and still call him what he is. Call his behavior what it is—abuse. Verbal, mental, and fucking emotional abuse. You’re allowed to say you’re escaping, because you are. Just because he hasn’t been chasing you with fists doesn’t mean he hasn’t been ripping you to shreds for years.”
I press the heel of my hand to my chest, willing the crack in my voice not to split wide open.
“I’ve been trying to protect both of us,” I say. “Trying to carryboth his pain and mine. But it’s like all I did was enable him. Like he never healed because he just used me as a shield to hide behind, and I let him.”
My fingers twist the edge of the blanket.
“I used to think if I just held on a little longer, he’d wake up. Like he’d see me standing there in front of him. He’d one day believe he was worth fighting for and he’d stop trying to destroy everyone and everything in his path. But that’s not how it works. You can’t outlove someone’s self-hatred.”
I swallow. “I want him to get help. Real help. But he won’t. Not as long as I’m there to cushion the fall.”
Skye squeezes my thigh. “He’s needed to hit rock bottom for years. Maybe this time, he’ll finally feel it.”
I nod, slowly.
“I still hope he heals,” I whisper, no longer fighting the tears falling down my face. “He deserves to heal.”
Skye interrupts. “Tori?—”
“No, Skye. Don’t.” I stop her. “I’m serious. Yes, he’s an asshole. And yes, he has chosen, time and time again, to hurt me and belittle me and take out every bit of pain inside himself on me and his brother and whoever else is around him. But that doesn’t change the fact that he is a goddamn human being. He is a person worthy of love and a full life. He is broken, in need of help and healing, and just because I am walking away from him and this marriage does not mean I believe for even one second that he deserves anything less than that.”
She nods, not daring to interrupt again.
My voice wavers, faltering under the weight of my hope for Chase’s future and my fear that reality and hope are two very, very different things. “I hope he gets to live a full life. I do. I just know now—I’m not the one who can give it to him.”
Skye reaches over and laces her fingers through mine.
“You’ve bled enough for him,” she says. “Now it’s your turn to heal.”
Skye doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to. Her hand is still wrapped around mine, thumb brushing lazy arcs over my knuckles like she’s grounding me to the moment—to the reality that I’m allowed to choose something else. Something better. Even if it terrifies me.
“I don’t even know what it’s going to feel like,” I whisper. “Waking up without him. Living each day without the constant need to protect myself from whatever shit flies out of his mouth at any given moment.”
“You’ll love it. And, you’ll also probably hate it,” she says, not unkindly. “At first.”
I smile a little. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
“I’m serious. You’re going to feel like your skin doesn’t fit. Like you’ve stepped out of the life you were cast in and now you’re standing there naked on stage. But that feeling fades. The emptiness starts to feel like… space.”
