“Sloane,” he said.
I made myself lift my head, made myself meet his eyes.
“This is it, isn’t it?” he said softly. “It’s really come to this.”
I still couldn’t speak. My throat was tight, and emotion surged in my chest, swelling so suddenly it felt like it might spill over. The pressure pressed inward, sharp and heavy, making it hard to breathe.
Tears started brimming in my eyes, and I couldn’t stop them. This time, I couldn’t stop them.
But I couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of everyone. No one could see me fall apart. Not like that. I wouldn’t let it.
Cameron’s eyes searched mine, and he saw it. He saw I was about to break. His eyes were red too, and he was fighting just as hard not to cry.
The tears came anyway, slipping down my cheeks. And in that moment, I remembered what he once said to me:“You care about me. You love me. But you’re not in love with me.”
He always believed I wasn’t in love with him. And he stayed anyway.
I knew the small moments I gave him were what held him together, what kept him with me year after year. They meant everything to him. I saw in his eyes how he clung to them like they were all he had. And somehow, they were once enough.
But my love was bigger than that.
I loved him with everything I had. Every part of me loved every part of him.
And I know how many times I said it. The wordsI love you. I remember every single one.
After we came back from the weekend at the lake cabin.
When we stood there and said our vows.
When our daughter came into the world and I saw him holding her.
And not for one minute—not one—since the first time those words left my mouth had I stopped feeling them.
I said them silently, every damn day, like a prayer.
To him.
For him.
And I knew it was not enough. I knew I was a fucking mess, broken in ways I couldn’t even explain.
But the feeling was still here. It’s never left.
It’s in my chest like a scream I couldn’t let out.
It’s in my blood, clawing under my skin, aching for him to feel it.
I didn’t know how to be perfect. I barely knew how to be good to him. I kept pushing him away, breaking him down, and I knew it wasn’t easy for him. It was killing him.
But I love him—God, I love him.
Why couldn’t I say the words? Why couldn’t I make him believe they were true?
Why did I say those words instead:“But now it’s all buried beneath how deeply I’ve come to despise you. Whatever I had left to give is gone. There’s nothing in me for you anymore. No love. Not even hope.”
I wanted him to ask me again right now if I was in love with him. I wanted to tell him that I am. That I didn’t just love him. I’m in love with him.
But it was too late now, wasn’t it? It was too late because he had chosen to leave me. He decided to betray me. He’d already given up on me.
