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Hansley’s got me on a roller coaster.
I can’t watch him drown.
Even if I’m drowning right beside him.
My heart lurches to my throat. “Hansley. Look at me.” Urgency echoes in my voice. “Why should I belong to you? Why should I stay?”
Tell me you’re committed to me.
Tell me you’ll stick around even if I’m angry and that we’ll fight through this together.
But he doesn’t.
He steps back.
Away from me.
Away from ‘us’.
There’s fear in his eyes and determination in his jaw.
“I’ll stay at a hotel tonight,” he says.
They aren’t the words I want to hear.
My fingers curl into fists. “Retreat isn’t an option in a real marriage.”
“This isn’t a real marriage though.” He looks me square in the eyes. “Is it?”
I bristle in response. “No. I guess it isn’t.”
For a moment, we just stand there, watching our relationship implode in the most painful, quiet way possible.
Hansley takes a step to the door.
I stop him. “I’ll go. This is your house so…” My gaze hits the floor. “I’ll go.”
“This is our house,” he says.
“It’s not.”
“Until the thirty days are up,” his voice is firm, “you’re still my wife. Even if…” He doesn’t finish it but we both know what he means.
Even if love isn’t enough.
Even if we couldn't make it.
Even if everything's falling apart.
Hansley grabs his jacket and keys and heads out of the room.
I listen to his footsteps clop down the stairs. Through the hallway. Out the door.
In the heavy silence that follows, I crawl over to the bed and lie on top of the covers. I stare at the ceiling for hours, too numb to cry.
Thirty-Two
Hansley
