I lean down to kiss him—God, I want to kiss him—and he turns his head, giving me his jaw like I’m an inconvenience.
I keep moving. Not because I want to. Because I have to. Because if I stop now, I’ll have my answer before I’m ready to hear it.
No, Tori. There is no hope to be found here. This was a waste of time and effort. All you’ve done is stabbed yourself in the heart once again.
My hands press to his chest. My hips shift, aligning with his, begging silently for him to join me. To meet me halfway, in more ways than one. His eyes stay closed, his mouth slack, his focus entirely inward.
I feel it when he’s close—the tightening of his stomach, the change in his breathing. I’m nowhere near, but I adjust my angle, searching for friction, willing my body to catch up to his. Maybe we can still finish together.
Of course, we don’t.
He grunts, releases, and stills. For one suspended second, I think he’s going to reach for me—wrap his arms around me, offer a smile, a kiss, anything. Instead, he taps the side of my thigh, aperfunctory signal to get off him.Time to get off the horse, lassie. Ride’s over.
I move away, a new understanding ofhollow and alonesettling over my entire being. He leans over the side of the bed, grabs his crumpled T-shirt from the floor, wipes himself, and tosses it at me without looking.
I hold the shirt in my hands for a long moment before using it, the damp fabric clinging to my skin like proof of something ugly I can’t unsee. Proof I asked for this—invited it—because I needed to know, once and for all, if there was anything left worth saving.
When I finally use it, the fabric drags against my skin, erasing more than just the evidence of what we’ve done. It wipes away the last version of me that believed in him.
I lie back and pull the comforter to my neck. He’s already turned away, bare back to me, breathing evening out like nothing happened.
Years ago, I used to watch him like this and feel safe, warm, claimed. Now, the space between us feels like an ocean, and I’m treading water while he sleeps on shore.
The satin nightgown twists at my waist, cool against my overheated skin. Tears slip into my hairline, pooling before sinking into the pillow. I let them fall. They feel like they’ve been waiting for this moment.
The ache in my chest is heavy, unrelenting. And he has absolutely no idea what’s coming.
I knew better. God, I knew better. I needed one last chance—one last fragile thread of hope. That maybe he’d see me. That maybe he’d wake up and remember who he is when he’s not drowning in alcohol and his own misery.
I think about that one anniversary night—the way his hands were steady but tender, how he’d brushed my hair back just to look at me, how we’d fallen asleep tangled together. I convinced myself we could find that again if I just tried hard enough.
But tonight proved what I didn’t want to face. I handed ChaseMartin the last intact piece of our marriage, and he crushed it without even looking.
The room smells faintly of him—soap, sweat, stale beer—my perfume clinging in the air like an afterthought. My mind drifts to all the nights I went to bed alone while he stayed up drinking and watching TV, the times I reached for his hand and felt him pull away, the moments I realized halfway through speaking that he wasn’t listening.
As soon as memories of his harsh words, drunken temper, and fist in the wall flood in, I shut them out. I lived through enough of those moments for one lifetime. I have no need to replay them in my mind.
It wasn’t always like this, but the good moments became crumbs scattered between months of fighting, drinking, distance. And I was the one crawling to collect them, pretending it was enough.
Tomorrow he leaves for Boston. And tomorrow, I’ll pack my life into my SUV and drive away from this marriage, this town, and this version of myself. I’ll leave behind the woman who begged for scraps and called them meals, who tiptoed through her own home.
I picture loading the last box into the back, the slam of the hatch final. I’ll climb into the driver’s seat, check the mirror, half-expecting to see him in the doorway. But he won’t be there. He won’t even know I’m gone until the key turns in the lock and the silence greets him instead of me.
For years, I feared life without him. Now, I fear the life I’d have if I stayed.
When I hit that button to start the ignition, it won’t just be the end of us.
It will be the beginning of me—untethered, unhindered, and free.
NINETEEN
TORI
“When you moved out,that didn’t give you permission to disappear, bitch.” Skye shoves Alis with her foot from across the couch, nearly tipping a very full glass of Cab Sauv into Alis’s lap.
She yelps and jerks the glass overhead like she’s blocking a volleyball spike. “I’m sorry! I’m so bad at peopleing.”
“The worst,” Skye says. She is in pajama shorts with tiny lightning bolts on them and a cropped sweatshirt that reads COFFEE & CHAOS. Her purple hair is twisted into two messy space buns and, somehow, she has eyeliner wings sharp enough to slice cheese. Add in the retinol under-eye patches, and she’s truly a sight to behold.
