"I know, but..." I sink onto the couch. "Caine, I need some time."
Silence stretches between us.
"What kind of time?"
"I need to be alone. Just me and Liam. I can't jump from one relationship into another. It's too confusing for him, and honestly, it's too much for me."
"How much time?" His voice sounds strained.
"I don't know. Maybe a few months? I need to get my life sorted out, figure out custody, and get ready to go back to school."
"Jenna—"
"Please." The word comes out more desperate than I intended. "I'm asking you to give me space. No calls, no visits, no gifts. I need to prove to myself that I can do this on my own."
The silence that follows feels heavy, loaded with everything we're not saying.
"If that's what you need," he finally whispers.
"It is."
After we hang up, I stare at the phone in my lap, wondering if I've just made the biggest mistake of my life.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The empty cardboard box sits open on our bed, and just the sight of it makes my heart ache. Reeves has already packed some of his clothes this morning while Liam was at school. He took his guitar, his amplifier, and most of his books. The house feels hollow without his presence filling up the spaces.
I'm about to fill the box with more of his stuff when Oliver appears from nowhere, his silver fur catching the afternoon light streaming through our bedroom window. He sniffs the cardboard edges, whiskers twitching with curiosity, then hops inside with that graceful cat leap that always makes me smile.
His green eyes peer over the cardboard rim like he's conquered some great fortress, and despite everything—despite the divorce papers sitting on my nightstand, despite the mess I've made of our lives—I laugh.
"Really, Oliver? That's your new bed?"
He meows once, then begins that elaborate cat ritual of turning in circles, pawing at the bottom of the box like he's preparing the most luxurious sleeping quarters. His little pink tongue darts out as he concentrates, completely serious about this important task.
"You know Caine spent good money on that fancy cat bed downstairs."
Oliver ignores me completely. He finally settles into a perfect curl, tail wrapped around his body, and closes his eyes. The contentment on his face is absolute. Pure.
I sit on the edge of the bed, watching him. This kitten, who arrived in the middle of my chaos, who Liam loves so fiercely, who somehow makes everything feel a little less broken. Reeves was so angry about Oliver at first, but even he warmed up to the little guy eventually.
"At least someone's happy with the changes around here," I whisper.
Oliver opens one eye, studies me for a moment, then closes it again. His tiny chest rises and falls with deep, peaceful breaths.
I reach over and gently stroke his fur. He purrs immediately, that motor sound cats make when the world is exactly as it should be. For just this moment,watching him sleep in Reeves’s moving box, I feel something close to peace.
Maybe we'll all figure out how to be okay.
I place his t-shirts in the box, the ones I used to steal and wear around the house. The fabric still smells like Old Spice and something uniquely him. My chest tightens as I pack his cologne, the bottle nearly empty.
Seven years. We built a life together, had dreams. I remember the day we bought this house, how he carried me over the threshold like we were newlyweds. How he'd dance with me in the kitchen while dinner cooked, spinning me around until I was dizzy with laughter.
That man is still in there somewhere, buried under the gambling and the lies and the anger. I want to help him find his way back, but I don't know how. Every time I try to picture reaching out, offering support, I remember his hand striking my cheek, the word "whore" spilling from his lips like poison.
The phone rings. Caine's name appears on the screen.
My heart does that stupid skip it always does when I see his name. My breath catches despite myself. But irritation flares right behind the flutter of excitement.
