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"Isla?" I soften my voice. "What is it?"
She swallows, then squares her shoulders. "There’s something I need to do." She picks out her phone from her bag, opens the camera, switches it to selfie mode then holds it up and asks, "Do you mind?"
I glance at the phone, then back at her. "You want me to hold the phone up so you can shoot a video?"
She nods.
"Is this for your social media feed?"
She nods again.
"Do you want to announce that we’re splitting?"
She doesn’t reply. Any emotion I saw on her face before is gone, replaced with steely determination.
"Youdowant to announce that we’re splitting."
"Please, can you just hold up the camera?"
My pulse booms in my ears. A trickle of sweat runs down my back. The only other time I was this scared was the day I refused to do as my kidnapper demanded. I looked at his face and knew, that was the day I was going to escape or die trying. No, I lie. That was easier. I had nothing to lose then, except my life. Today, I’m going to lose more than my life. I’m going to lose her.
"Liam, please," she whispers. Something shines deep in her eyes. A plea. An appeal. An entreaty. I can’t refuse her. I never have been able to refuse her. All she has to do is ask, and I’ll always give her anything she asks for. I’d set the world on fire for her. I’ll fight her enemies. Kill anyone who dares hurt her.
But what do I do when I’m the person she seems to not want to let into her life? I take the phone, trying to hide the tremor that grips me, and hold it up. She steps up closer so she’s standing in the circle of my arms, then turns so we are framed on screen. Her gaze meets mine in the camera. She nods, and I feel equal parts dread and relief. I don’t know what to expect, but I start recording because that’s what she asked me to do.
For a few seconds, we stay silent. Then she speaks to the camera, "There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve hidden from you. Something I haven’t been able to admit myself. But the time has come that I need to do this for myself, and for so many others like me who haven’t been able to share their true selves with the world. This is for them, and for my husband. But most of all, this is for me." She raises her gaze to mine once again. "No more hiding," she whispers, then reaches up and pulls off her hair.
42
Isla
I wish I could tell you I practiced that little speech I made to the camera, but I hadn’t. When I heard from Karina what Liam had done for me, it was like a veil was lifted. That knot of doubt that I hadn’t even realized I carried under my breastbone simply dissolved. I knew what I had to do. If he’d gone to such lengths to make me feel safe, if he felt so much for me, it was only right I share with him the one secret that stood between us.
I hadn’t planned on doing it so publicly. Not until that moment when I walked up to him, looked into his eyes, and knew it was best I get it all out in one go. So he’d know what I am. So he’d understand the reason we couldn’t be together anymore.
I pulled up the camera app on the phone, turned on the selfie mode, said my bit, and removed my wig. I typed up a short post in which I mentioned I have alopecia. Yeah, I’m courageous, but not enough to say it aloud. Yet. But at least, I said it in writing. And maybe it was a tad dramatic to whip off the wig like that, but there was no easy way to do it, was there?
Now, the wig hangs from my fingers. I place it on the table, then pull off my wig cap so my bald head is visible to everyone.
On-screen, Liam’s face is frozen in shock. He seems incapable of action. So, I take the phone from him and upload the video to my social media feed. There are no other words in this post. I think it’s quite self-explanatory.
Then, I slide the phone into my handbag, along with my wig and my wig cap. When I glance at him over my shoulder, the expression on his face is somewhere between surprise and anger. He hates how I look. He hates me for what I hid from him. I expected as much.
I walk out from behind the desk and head to the exit. I reach for the door and begin to pull it open when footsteps sound behind me.
The next moment, he’s there. He slams the door shut, turns, and leans against it. "Where do you think you’re going?"
His voice is controlled. I don’t dare raise my gaze, so all I can see of him is his chest and shoulders. The muscles of which are bunched and stretch the jacket of his suit.
"Let me go."
"No."
"I… I said what I came to say. I’m ready to leave."
"I’m not ready for you to leave."
A cloud of anger spools off of him and slams into my chest. It’s visceral in its intensity. The air between us is thick with emotions… with annoyance… with exasperation… and with rage.
