“Okay, but it was filed.”
Silence.
Then.
“Apparently not.”
I’d gone cold all over.
Because the papers?
Never signed.
Not by him.
And that means every single step I’ve taken toward building a life beyond Benjamin Gunner has technically been taken while I’m still married to him.
Still tied.
Still stuck.
To the man who believed the worst of me without hearing my side.
To the man who took one look at a lie and decided I was capable of betraying him.
To the man I still, somehow, ridiculously, heartbreakingly dream about.
Because obviously I have issues.
Shit.
I tighten my hands on the wheel again as the memory shifts and something else slithers in to replace it.
Notes sent to my private email and cell number.
Messages stuck beneath my windshield wipers.
The awful feeling of being watched.
I glance up at the rearview mirror without meaning to.
The road is empty.
No cars or trucks, or people.
Still, my stomach clenches.
It started small enough.
Weird DMs. Anonymous comments on old videos.
Pretty girls shouldn’t travel alone.
I know where you parked last night.
You looked cold in Pennsylvania. I could warm you up.
At first, I blocked them.
