Eleanor didn’t react dramatically. She just pulled out the chair beside me.
“Start talking.”
I glanced around.
“Where are the kids?”
“Mel and Becca kidnapped them,” Eleanor said lightly. “Sleepover.”
“For both of them?” I asked.
Alex rubbed the back of his neck.
“We’re . . . experimenting with alone time.”
The realization hit me.
“Oh my God,” I said, standing halfway up. “I am not crashing your date night. I’m so sorry.”
Eleanor reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me back down.
“Sit.”
“But—”
“Sit,” she repeated.
Alex nodded. “We’re not fragile.”
“You’re a new couple with little kid free time,” I insisted.
“And you’re spiraling,” Eleanor replied. “We’re talking this out.”
So I did. I told them everything. About the company. About the retirement home. About him saying he had no intention of divorcing me. About him buying my independence out from under me in the name of protecting me. About the way my chest had felt when he said it was real for him. And the way my stomach had twisted anyway. When I finished, the kitchen was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator.
Alex spoke first.
“I get where he’s coming from,” he said.
I blinked. “Of course you do,” I said.
He smiled faintly. “No. I mean—I understand the instinct.”
“Which one? The rich man takeover instinct?”
He smiled and gave his head a little shake. “Definitely not the one. Just the fix-it instinct.” Eleanor snorted softly. Alex ignored her. “When you’ve failed people before,” he continued, his tone gentler now, “you overcorrect.”
I looked at him more carefully. “You think that’s what this is?”
“I think he probably lives with a low-level fear of losing things he loves,” Alex said. “So when he sees a threat, he eliminates it.”
“That doesn’t mean I want to be part of the elimination strategy,” I said.
“Right,” Alex agreed. “But intention matters.”
I crossed my arms. “So does impact.”
“Absolutely,” Eleanor said.
