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I let this slide. No point in getting into it with her. Last weekend aside, I was very good at what I did for a living. I didn’t need her advice or her criticisms. I didn’t need anything from my mother and I never had.

There was no love lost between me and Amber. I didn’t want to see anything happen to her—but I also knew there was nothing I could do about it if it did.

Amber’s crises cycled. And she bit the hand that fed her, every time. If I offered to let her come dry out here, like Grandma always did, I’d live to regret it. I’d be more likely to find myself canceling missing checks and searching for family heirlooms at pawnshops in Rochester than I would be saving her from herself. So I had to do my best to save the house instead.

“I’ll have the cash in the account Monday,” I said.

“Fine.”

She hung up on me.

I stood outside for a minute, staring at the mural on the side of the pharmacy. I wasn’t getting six months. I’d be lucky if Amber gave me six weeks. The best I could do was hope for as much time as possible.

In a season, one way or another, my life would never be the same.

Chapter 22

Alexis

This was the second morning in a row that I woke up to Neil ruining my day. Yesterday he turned off the power in the house, and today he was in my kitchen.

He was sitting at the table, sipping an espresso, wearing his gray pants and white golf polo.

I wanted to scream.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling at me. “I made the quiche you like.” He nodded to the bar, where a slice of my favorite spinach and broccoli quiche sat with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice on a tray. There was a ramekin of mixed berries on the plate and a tiny vase with a single flower in it.

I loved that quiche. He made it on special occasions like my birthday.

He was doing the thing.

The thing he always did. He was trying to make nice and act like nothing had happened. Like his bad behavior was a cut movie scene that never took place. Like I was going to suddenly forget that he’d turned the power off to the house yesterday, or that he was living here against my will after subjecting me to years of emotional and mental abuse and I was just going to sit and have a casual and pleasant breakfast with him. In fact, he was probably banking on it.

Only I wasn’t the same woman now.

I used to be so worn down from his mood swings and so desperate for any bit of kindness from him that I’d just give in. I’d just let it go, let him get away with it. I’d thank him for the flowers or act excited about the expensive vacation he’d booked instead of actually saying he was sorry. I’d eat the quiche.

Fuck the quiche.

I ignored him and went to the fridge to get my protein shake.

He was gone a lot. He was the chief of surgery, so he worked eighty-hour weeks plus on-call shifts. There were very few mornings I’d have to deal with this—but I would deal with it. Because I would be damned if Neil got my house.

He probably thought this little “I’m living here” stunt was going to make me fold like I always did when he bullied me.

But I was done being bullied. Done.

I’d had a long talk with my therapist about this situation. Neil wasn’t a violent person—he was just a jerk. I had absolutely no fear for my safety with him being here, and if I had, I’d have given up the house, no matter how badly I wanted it. My therapist had been more concerned about whether I could handle the mental and emotional toll it would take to see it through.

And the answer was yes.

I don’t think I could handle the toll it would take if I didn’t.

Letting him get away with this felt like allowing myself to be victimized all over again.

He wanted me displaced and the home that I deserved and earned to be taken from me as some sick punishment for daring to not take him back. I would never give him the satisfaction.

Something in me had shifted in the last few weeks. It was like the more distance I got from this relationship, the stronger I became, and standing up to him was getting easier and easier. I was perfectly willing to put up with his presence and hold my ground in exchange for the chance to finally show him I could.