Chapter thirty-five
Lindsay
Idon't plan to call my sister. I'm pacing the living room of the apartment I no longer live in—my old place, half-packed, half-abandoned—when the thought of Arthur's face as I walked out hits me sideways and my knees give out.
I end up sitting on the floor with my back against the couch, phone clutched in my hand like it might float away if I let go.
She answers on the second ring.
I get her name out. That's it. The rest comes out as sound—broken, shaking, humiliating. I cry hard enough that my chest aches.
"I messed it up," I manage eventually. "I ruined everything."
She doesn't interrupt. She doesn't fix. She just says, "Come here," and I unravel completely.
I pack an overnight bag with pure muscle memory.
As I lock the door behind me, I realize this is the first time since the wedding that I'm leaving without knowing where I'll land next.
And Arthur didn't stop me.
Henry was on the stairs as I left, his face is seared into my mind.
My sister's house smells like laundry detergent and garlic and normalcy. It feels lived-in—messy, warm, loud. She takes one look at my face and pulls me into a hug so tight it almost hurts.
Our mom is there, too. She's perched at the kitchen table with a mug of tea like she's been waiting for this moment, like she knew I'd eventually break.
They try, at first. My sister asks what happened, carefully, like she's approaching a skittish animal.
My mom starts in with concern disguised as wisdom—about men with power. About imbalance and complications.
I let them talk for a minute. Then my chest tightens again.
"Please," I say finally, voice hoarse. "I can't do this right now."
Something in my tone must land, because they stop. My sister squeezes my shoulder. My mom presses her lips together, clearly holding back a thousand opinions.
They show me the guest room. Fresh sheets. A glass of water on the nightstand. The door left open just a crack.
I lie down fully clothed and stare at the ceiling, wondering how a place can feel safe and still feel like failure.
Sleep doesn't come.
Instead, my mind plays a greatest hits reel of everything I did wrong. Walking out. Letting pride talk louder than fear. Believing that leaving would protect me instead of hollow me out.
Arthur's words replay, sharp and precise.
I tell myself I know he didn't mean it like that. We were in a fight. I tell myself he was scared. Angry. Defensive. All the things he gets when he feels out of control.
Then Henry's face replaces Arthur's. The way he looked at me when I left. Confused. Hurt.
I curl onto my side, pressing my fist into my mouth to keep the sound in. I wasn't just stupid. I was selfish.
I walked away from a child who didn't understand adult fractures, from a man who never learned how to say 'please don't leave' without turning it into a command.
I didn't just lose a marriage. I lost a family.
My sister knocks softly sometime after midnight. She doesn't come in until I tell her she can.
