“I’m serious, you need to let loose and live a little,” she continues. “You come into work every day with the weight of the world on your shoulders. We see it. We don’t want to pry, but we see you and you need to find someone to speak to or else it will consume you.”
I’ve never heard Jodie speak so seriously the entire time I’ve known her, and to know she’s seen through my bravado, makes me feel warm inside. “Thank you,” I almost whisper.
“Hey, whatever, I don’t do soppy. Go get fucking laid and we might see you smile in the mornings.” All thoughtfulness is gone as quickly as it came, and she’s back to being her vulgar self. “But seriously, if you don’t, tell him I’m coming. I won’t have you waste a perfectly gorgeous man.”
“Bye, Jodie, see you tomorrow.” I shake my head, hanging up the call. It feels good to be normal today, it makes me realise how much I’ve been drowning in my own bubble of chaos.
I fire off a quick text to Clay to thank him for today and place my phone on the side.
Opening the kitchen cupboard, I grab a glass and opt for the chilled wine that’s sitting in the fridge.
I sit on my bed, grab the remote and scroll through the standard channels I have. I couldn’t afford any subscriptions, so I’m stuck with the usual crap that’s on the television.
My phone vibrates on the side, and I consider leaving it, but the thought of hearing from Clay again has me smiling from ear to ear.
The number isn’t saved in my phone, which is odd. This is a new number, and there are literally a handful of people who have it, all of which are saved contacts.
Unknown: Stay away from my fucking children. This is the only warning I’m giving you before I notify the courts.
My hands tremble as I stare at the message from Liam. Trust him to spoil a perfectly good day. It’s almost like he’s tuned into me, reading when I’m happy. And then he sticks the boot in some more to remind me of my place. I take a breath, frustration pouring from me. I haven’t done anything wrong. I haven’t broken any rules. Yet the threat of him informing the courts has me sick to my stomach. I type out a reply.
Me: They’re our children, Liam. Maybe you should give your fucking stuck-up princess the memo that she shouldn’t be bringing them around my place of work or turning up to where I am.
But before sending it, I delete it.
I can’t get into an argument with him. He’ll just use it against me. But I’m sick of being intimidated and made out to be the one with the issues. He’s the married man that had an affair, he’s the one that threw our entire relationship away like it was nothing. Yet I seem to be the one suffering the consequences.
I slam my phone on the side, angry that I can’t even reply without making this worse for myself. They’re my children. Lizzy is right, I needed to fight for them. I can’t let him win when he’s playing so unfairly. And I certainly can’t walk away without trying. For their sakes.
I barely slept last night. The puffy bags under my eyes are impossible to miss and no amount of make-up can disguise the evidence today.
Locking my door, I head out of the building, only to find Liam waiting by the entrance.
My stomach drops.
I spin on my heel, ready to retreat inside, but his hand shoots out, fingers clamping around my arm. His grip tightens when I try to pull free.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice drips with venom.
I glance up at him, then down at his hand clamped around my arm, his grip like a vice. Words fail me.
“Did you get my message?” he growls, tightening his hold with every word.
I nod, and it’s all I can manage as the lump in my throat feels the size of a golf ball. I try to swallow it down, but it’s useless. I’m frozen in fear.
“And are you not going to fucking answer me?”
My bottom lip trembles as I fight back tears.
“What, are we fucking mute now? You think it’s okay to stalk my kids and my fiancée, but can’t find your voice to answer me?”
I yank at my arm, desperate to break free, but his strength overpowers mine.
Fiancée.
The word hits like a punch to the gut. She’s replaced me completely. Soon she’ll be their stepmum and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“I . . . I . . . erm . . . no,” I stutter, not quite sure what I’m answering.
