He smiles. “You remember the cookies?”
I nod again. “Best cookies I’ve ever eaten.”
He leans back in his chair. “I taught myself the basics. My mother worked second shift when I was growing up, so if I wanted dinner at night I had to make it. It was either that or starve, so I bought a cookbook at a yard sale and made every single recipe in it over the course of a year. And I was only thirteen.”
I smile, shocked that I’m even able to. “The next time someone asks you how you learned to cook, you should tell them that story. Not the other one.”
He shakes his head. “You’re the only person who knows anything about me before the age of nineteen. I’d like to keep it that way.”
He begins telling me about working as a chef in the military. How he saved up as much money as he could so that when he got out, he https://books.yossr.com/en
could open his own restaurant. He started with a small café that did really well, then opened Bib’s a year and a half ago. “It does okay,” he says with modesty.
I glance around his kitchen and then look back at him. “Looks like it does more than just okay.”
He shrugs and takes another bite of his food. I don’t talk after that as we finish eating, because my mind wanders to his restaurant. The name of it. What he said in the interview. Then, of course, those thoughts lead me back to thoughts of Ryle and the anger in his voice as he yelled the last line of the interview at me.
I think Atlas can see the change in my demeanor, but he says nothing as he clears the table.
When he takes another seat, he chooses the chair right next to me this time. He places a reassuring hand on top of mine. “I have to go in to work for a few hours,” he says. “I don’t want you to leave. Stay here as long as you need, Lily. Just . . . please don’t go back home today.”
I shake my head when I hear the concern in his words. “I won’t. I’ll stay here,” I tell him. “I promise.”
“Do you need anything before I go?”
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”
He stands up and grabs his jacket. “I’ll make it as quick as I can. I’ll be back after lunch and I’ll bring you something to eat, okay?”
I force a smile. He opens a drawer and pulls out a pen and paper.
He writes something on it before he leaves. When he’s gone, I stand up and walk to the counter to read what he wrote. He listed instructions for how to set the alarm. He wrote his cell phone number, even though I have it memorized. He also wrote down his work number, his home address, and his work address.
At the bottom in small print, he wrote, “Just keep swimming, Lily.”
Dear Ellen,
Hi. It’s me. Lily Bloom. Well . . . technically it’s Lily Kincaid now.
I know it’s been a long time since I’ve written to you. A really long time.
After everything that happened with Atlas, I just couldn’t bring myself to open up the journals again. I couldn’t even bring myself to watch your show after school, because it hurt to watch it alone. In fact, all thoughts of you kind of https://books.yossr.com/en
depressed me. When I thought of you, I thought of Atlas. And to be honest, I didn’t want to think of Atlas, so I had to cut you out of my life, too.
I’m sorry about that. I’m sure you didn’t miss me like I missed you, but sometimes the things that matter to you most are also the things that hurt you the most. And in order to get over that hurt, you have to sever all the extensions that keep you tethered to that pain. You were an extension of my pain, so I guess that’s what I was doing. I was just trying to save myself a little bit of agony.
I’m sure your show is as great as ever, though. I hear you still dance at the beginning of some episodes, but I’ve grown to appreciate that. I think that’s one of the biggest signs a person has matured—knowing how to appreciate things that matter to others, even if they don’t matter very much to you.
I should probably catch you up on my life. My father died. I’m twenty-four now. I got a college degree, worked in marketing for a while, and now I own my own business. A floral shop. Life goals, FTW!
I also have a husband and he isn’t Atlas.
And . . . I live in Boston.
I know. Shocker.
The last time I wrote to you, I was sixteen. I was in a really bad place and I was so worried about Atlas. I’m not worried about Atlas anymore, but I am in a really bad place right now. More so than the last time I wrote to you.
I’m sorry I don’t seem to need to write to you when I’m in a good place. You tend to only get the shit end of my life, but that’s what friends are for, right?
I don’t even know where to start. I know you don’t know anything about my current life or my husband, Ryle. But there’s this thing we do where one of us says “naked truth,” and then we’re forced to be brutally honest and say what we’re really thinking.
So . . . naked truth.
Brace yourself.
I am in love with a man who physically hurts me. Of all people, I have no idea how I let myself get to this point.
There were many times growing up I wondered what was going through my mother’s head in the days after my father had hurt her. How she could possibly love a man who had laid his hands on her. A man who repeatedly hit her.
Repeatedly promised he would never do it again. Repeatedly hit her again.
I hate that I can empathize with her now.
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I’ve been sitting on Atlas’s couch for over four hours, wrestling with my feelings. I can’t get a grip on them. I can’t understand them. I don’t know how to process them. And true to my past, I realized that maybe I need to just get them out on paper. My apologies to you, Ellen. But get ready for a whole lot of word vomit.
If I had to compare this feeling to something, I would compare it to death.
Not just the death of anyone. The death of the one. The person who is closer to you than anyone else in the whole world. The one who, when you simply imagine their death, it makes your eyes tear up.
That’s what this feels like. It feels like Ryle has died.
It’s an astronomical amount of grief. An enormous amount of pain. It’s a sense that I’ve lost my best friend, my lover, my husband, my lifeline. But the difference between this feeling and death is the presence of another emotion that doesn’t necessarily follow in the event of an actual death.
Hatred.
I am so angry at him, Ellen. Words can’t express the amount of hatred I have for him. Yet somehow, in the midst of all my hatred, there are waves of reasoning that flow through me. I start to think things like “But I shouldn’t have had the magnet. I should have told him about the tattoo from the beginning. I shouldn’t have kept the journals.”
The reasoning is the hardest part of this. It eats at me, little by little, wearing down the strength my hatred lends to me. The reasoning forces me to imagine our future together, and how there are things I could do to prevent that type of anger. I’ll never betray him again. I’ll never keep secrets from him again. I’ll never give him reason to react that way again. We’ll both just have to work harder from now on.
For better, for worse, right?
I know these are the things that once went through my mother’s head. But the difference between the two of us is that she had more to worry about. She didn’t have the financial stability that I have. She didn’t have the resources to leave and give me what she thought was a decent shelter. She didn’t want to take me away from my father when I was used to living with both parents. I have a feeling reasoning really kicked her ass a time or two.
I can’t even begin to process the thought that I’m having a child with this man. There is a human being inside of me that we created together. And no matter which option I choose—whether I choose to stay or choose to leave—
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neither are choices I would wish upon my child. To grow up in a broken home or an abusive one? I’ve already failed this baby in life, and I’ve only known about his or her existence for a single day.
Ellen, I wish you could write back to me. I wish that you could say something funny to me right now, because my heart needs it. I have never felt this alone. This broken. This angry. This hurt.
People on the outside of situations like these often wonder why the woman goes back to the abuser. I read somewhere once that 85 percent of women return to abusive situations. That was before I realized I was in one, and when I heard that statistic, I thought it was because the women were stupid. I thought it was because they were weak. I thought these things about my own mother more than once.
But sometimes the reason women go back is simply because they’re in love. I love my husband, Ellen. I love so many things about him. I wish cutting my feelings off for the person who hurt me was as easy as I used to think it would be. Preventing your heart from forgiving someone you love is actually a hell of a lot harder than simply forgiving them.
I’m a statistic now. The things I’ve thought about women like me are now what others would think of me if they knew my current situation.
“How could she love him after what he did to her? How could she contemplate taking him back?”
It’s sad that those are the first thoughts that run through our minds when someone is abused. Shouldn’t there be more distaste in our mouths for the abusers than for those who continue to love the abusers?
I think of all the people who have been in this situation before me. Everyone who will be in this situation after me. Do we all repeat the same words in our heads in the days after experiencing abuse at the hands of those who love us?
“From this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part.”
Maybe those vows weren’t meant to be taken as literally as some spouses take them.
For better, for worse?
Fuck.
That.
Shit.
—Lily
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I’m lying on Atlas’s guest bed, staring up at the ceiling. It’s a normal bed. Really comfortable, actually. But it feels like I’m on a water bed.
Or maybe a raft, adrift at sea. And I scale over these huge waves, each of them carrying something different. Some are waves of sadness.
Some are waves of anger. Some are waves of tears. Some are waves of sleep.
Occasionally, I’ll place my hands on my stomach and a tiny wave of love will come. I have no idea how I can already love something so much, but I do. I think about whether or not it’ll be a boy or a girl and what I’ll name it. I wonder if it will look like me or Ryle. And then another wave of anger will come and crash down on that tiny wave of love.
I feel robbed of the joy a mother should have when she finds out she’s pregnant. I feel like Ryle took that from me last night and it’s just one more thing I have to hate him for.
Hatred is exhausting.
I force myself off the bed and into the shower. I’ve been in my room most of the day. Atlas returned home several hours ago and I heard him open the door at one point to check on me but I pretended to be asleep.
I feel awkward being here. Atlas is the very reason Ryle was angry at me last night, yet he’s the one I ran to when I needed help? Being here fills me with guilt. Maybe even a little bit of shame, as though my calling Atlas lends credibility to Ryle’s anger. But there’s literally nowhere I can go right now. I need a couple of days to process things and if I go to a hotel, Ryle could track the credit card charge and find me.He’d be able to find me at my mother’s. At Allysa’s. At Lucy’s. He’s even met Devin a couple of times and would more than likely go https://books.yossr.com/en
I can’t see him tracking down Atlas, though. Yet. I’m sure if I go a week avoiding his calls and texts, he’ll look everywhere he can possibly look to find me. But for now, I don’t think he would show up here.
Maybe that’s why I’m here. I feel safer here than anywhere else I could possibly go. And Atlas has an alarm system, so there’s that.
I glance at the nightstand to look at my phone. I skip over all the missed texts from Ryle and open the one from Allysa.
Allysa: Hey, Aunt Lily! They’re sending us home tonight. Come see us tomorrow when you get home from work.
She sent a picture of her and Rylee, and it makes me smile. Then cry. Damn these emotions.
I wait until my eyes are dry again before I walk into the living room.
Atlas is sitting at his kitchen table, working on his laptop. When he looks up at me, he smiles and closes it.
“Hey.”
I force a smile and then look in the kitchen. “Do you have anything to eat?”
Atlas stands up quickly. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, sit down. I’ll get something ready for you.”
I take a seat on the couch as he works his way around the kitchen.
The television is on, but it’s muted. I unmute it and click on the DVR.
He has a few shows recorded, but the one that catches my eye is The Ellen DeGeneres Show. I smile and click on the most recent unwatched episode and hit Play.
Atlas brings me a bowl of pasta and a glass of ice water. He glances at the TV and then sits down next to me on the couch.
For the next three hours, we watch a full week’s worth of episodes.
I laugh out loud six times. It feels good, but when I take a bathroom break and come back to the living room, the weight of it all starts to sink in again.
I sit back down on the couch next to Atlas. He’s leaning back with his feet propped up on the coffee table. I naturally lean into him and just like he used to do when we were teenagers, he pulls me against his chest and we just sit there in silence. His thumb brushes the https://books.yossr.com/en
outside of my shoulder, and I know it’s his unspoken way of saying he’s here for me. That he feels bad for me. And for the first time since he picked me up last night, I feel like talking about it. My head is resting against his shoulder and my hands are in my lap. I’m fidgeting with the drawstring on the pants that are way too big for me.
“Atlas?” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry I got so angry at you that night at the restaurant. You were right. Deep down I knew you were right, but I didn’t want to believe it.” I lift my head and look at him, cracking a pitiful smile. “You can say, ‘I told you so’ now.”
His eyebrows draw together, like my words somehow hurt him.
“Lily, this is not something I wanted to be right about. I prayed every day that I was wrong about him.”
I wince. I shouldn’t have said that to him. I know better than to think Atlas would ever think something like I told you so.
He squeezes my shoulder and leans forward, kissing the top of my head. I close my eyes as I soak up the familiarity of him. His smell, his touch, his comfort. I’ve never understood how someone can be so rock solid, yet comforting. But that’s always how I’ve viewed him. Like he could withstand anything, but somehow still feels the weight that everyone else carries.
I don’t like that I was never fully able to let go of him, no matter how hard I tried. I think about the fight with Ryle over Atlas’s phone number. The fight about the magnet, the article, the things he read in my journal, the tattoo. None of that would have happened if I would have just let go of Atlas and thrown it all away. Ryle wouldn’t have had anything to be so upset with me about.
I pull my hands up to my face after that thought, upset that there’s a part of me trying to blame Ryle’s reaction on my lack of closure with Atlas.
There’s no excuse. None.
This is just another wave I’m being forced to ride on. A wave of complete and utter confusion.
Atlas can feel the change in my composure. “You okay?”
I’m not.
I’m not okay, because until this moment, I had no idea how hurt I still am that he never came back for me. If he’d have just come back https://books.yossr.com/en
for me like he promised, I would have never even met Ryle. And I would have never been in this situation.
Yep. I’m definitely confused. How am I possibly lending blame to Atlas for any of this?
“I think I need to call it a night,” I say quietly, pulling away from him. I stand up and Atlas stands up, too.
“I’ll be gone most of the day tomorrow,” he says. “Will you be here when I get home?”
I cringe at his question. Of course he wants me to get my shit together and find another place to stay. What am I even still doing here? “No. No, I can get a hotel, it’s fine.” I turn to walk toward the hallway, but he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Lily,” he says, turning me around. “I wasn’t asking you to leave. I was just making sure you’d still be here. I want you to stay as long as you need to.”
His eyes are sincere, and if I didn’t think it would be a little inappropriate, I would throw my arms around him and hug him.
Because I’m not ready to leave yet. Just a couple more days before I’m forced to figure out what my next step is.
I nod. “I need to go in to work for a few hours tomorrow,” I tell him. “There are some things I need to take care of. But if you really don’t mind, I’d like to stay here for a few more days.”
“I don’t mind, Lily. I’d prefer it.”
I force a smile and then head to the guest bedroom. At least he’s giving me a buffer before I’m forced to confront everything.
As much as his presence in my life confuses me right now, I’ve never been more thankful for him.
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My hand is trembling when I reach for the doorknob. I’ve never once been scared to walk into my own business before, but I’ve also never been this on edge.
The building is dark when I enter it, so I flip on the lights, holding my breath. I walk slowly to my office, pushing the door open with caution.
He’s nowhere, yet he’s everywhere.
When I take a seat at my desk, I turn on my phone for the first time since I went to bed last night. I wanted a good night’s sleep without having to worry about whether or not Ryle was trying to contact me.
When it powers on, I have twenty-nine missed texts from Ryle. It just so happens to be the same number of doors Ryle knocked on to find my apartment last year.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the irony.
I spend the rest of the day like this. Glancing over my shoulder, looking up at the door every time it opens. I wonder if he’s ruined me. If the fear of him will ever leave me.
Half a day goes by without a single phone call from him while I catch up on paperwork. Allysa calls me after lunch and I can tell by her voice that she has no idea about the fight Ryle and I had. I let her talk about the baby for a while before I pretend I have a customer and hang up.
I plan on leaving when Lucy returns from her lunch break. She has half an hour left.
Ryle walks through the front door three minutes later.
I’m the only one here.
As soon as I see him, I turn stone cold. I’m standing behind the counter, my hand on the cash register because it’s close to the stapler.
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I’m sure a stapler couldn’t do much harm against the arms of a neurosurgeon, but I’ll use what I have.
He slowly makes his way to the counter. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he was on top of me on our bed the other night. My whole body is immediately taken back to that moment, and I’m engulfed in the same level of emotions as I was in that moment. Both fear and anger rush through me when he reaches the counter.
He lifts his hand and places a set of keys on the counter in front of me. My eyes fall to the keys.
“I’m leaving for England tonight,” he says. “I’ll be gone for three months. I paid all the bills so you won’t have to worry about it while I’m gone.”
His voice is composed but I can see the veins in his neck as they prove his composure is taking all the effort he has. “You need time.”
He swallows hard. “And I want to give that to you.” He grimaces and pushes the keys to my apartment toward me. “Go back home, Lily. I won’t be there. I promise.”
He turns and begins walking toward the door. It occurs to me that he didn’t even try to apologize. I’m not angry about it. I understand it. He knows that an apology will never take back what he did. He knows that the best thing for us right now is separation.
He knows what a huge mistake he made . . . yet I still feel the need to dig that knife in a little deeper.
“Ryle.”
He looks back at me and it’s as if he puts a shield up between us.
He doesn’t turn all the way around and he’s stiff as he waits for whatever I’m about to say. He knows my words are going to hurt him.
“You know what the worst part about this whole thing is?” I ask.
He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me, waiting for my answer.
“All you had to do when you found my journal was ask me for a naked truth. I would have been honest with you. But you didn’t. You chose to not ask for my help and now we’ll both have to suffer the consequences of your actions for the rest of our lives.”
He grimaces with every word. “Lily,” he says, turning toward me.
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I hold up my hand to stop him from saying anything else. “Don’t.
You can leave now. Have fun in England.”
I can see the war waging inside of him. He knows he can’t get anywhere with me in this moment, no matter how hard he wants to beg for my forgiveness. He knows the only choice he has is to turn and walk out that door, even though it’s the last thing he wants to do.
When he finally forces himself out the door, I run and lock it. I slide down to the floor and hug my knees, burying my face against them. I’m shaking so hard, I can feel my teeth chatter.
I can’t believe part of that man is growing inside me. And I can’t believe I’ll one day have to admit that to him.
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After Ryle left me his keys this afternoon; I debated going back to our new apartment. I even had a cab pull up to the building, but I couldn’t force myself out of the car. I knew if I went back there today, I’d probably see Allysa at some point. I’m not ready to explain the stitches on my forehead to her. I’m not ready to see the kitchen where Ryle’s harsh words cut through me. I’m not ready to walk into the bedroom where I was completely destroyed.
So instead of returning to my own home, I took the cab back to Atlas’s house. It feels like my only safe zone right now. I don’t have to confront things when I’m hiding out here.
Atlas has already texted me twice today checking on me, so when I get a text a few minutes before seven o’clock in the evening, I assume it’s from him. It’s not; it’s from Allysa.
Allysa: You home from work yet? Come up and visit us, I’m already bored.
My heart sinks when I read her text. She has no idea what happened between me and Ryle. I wonder if Ryle even told her he left for England today. My thumb types and erases and types some more as I try to come up with a good excuse as to why I’m not there.
Me: I can’t. I’m in the emergency room. Hit my head on that shelf in the storage room at work. Getting stitches.
I hate that I lied to her, but it’ll save me from having to explain the cut and also why I’m not home right now.
Allysa: Oh no! Are you alone? Marshall can come sit with you since Ryle is gone.
Okay, so she knows Ryle left for England. That’s good. And she thinks we’re fine. This is good. That means I have at least three months before I have to tell her the truth.
Look at me, sweeping shit under the rug just like my mother.
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Me: No, I’m fine. I’ll be finished up by the time Marshall could even get here.
I’ll come by tomorrow after work. Give Rylee a kiss for me.
I lock the screen on my phone and set it on my bed. It’s dark outside now, so I immediately see the scroll of the headlights as someone pulls into the driveway. I instantly know that it isn’t Atlas, because he uses the driveway to the side of the house and parks in the garage. My heart begins to race as fear rushes through me. Is it Ryle?
Did he find out where Atlas lives?
Moments later, there’s a loud knock at the front door. More like pounding. The doorbell also rings.
I tiptoe to the window and barely move the curtains over far enough to take a look outside. I can’t see who’s at the door, but there’s a truck in the driveway. It doesn’t belong to Ryle.
Could it be Atlas’s girlfriend? Cassie?
I grab my phone and make my way down the hallway, toward the living room. The pounding on the door and the chime of the doorbell are still going off simultaneously. Whoever is at the door is being ridiculously impatient. If it is Cassie, I already find her extremely annoying.
“Atlas!” a guy yells. “Open the damn door!”
Another voice—also male—yells, “My balls are freezing up! They’re raisins, man, open the door!”
Before I open the door and let them know Atlas isn’t home, I text him, hoping he’s about to pull in the driveway and deal with this himself.
Me: Where are you? There are two men at your front door and I have no idea if I should let them in.
I wait through more presses of the doorbell and more pounding, but Atlas doesn’t immediately text me back. I finally walk to the door and leave the chain bolted, but unlock the deadbolt and open the door a few inches.
One of the guys is tall, about six feet or so. Despite the youthful look to his face, his hair is salt and pepper. Black with a little bit of gray sprinkled in. The other one is shorter by a few inches, with sandy brown hair and a baby face. They both look to be in their late https://books.yossr.com/en
twenties, maybe early thirties. The tall one’s face twists into confusion.
“Who are you?” he asks, peeking through the door.
“Lily. Who are you?”
The shorter one pushes in front of the taller one. “Is Atlas here?”
I don’t want to tell them no, because then they’ll know I’m here alone. I don’t necessarily hold much trust in the male population this week.
The phone in my hand rings and all three of us jump from the unexpectedness of it. It’s Atlas. I swipe the answer button and bring it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“It’s fine, Lily, they’re just friends of mine. I forgot it was Friday, we always play poker on Fridays. I’ll call them now and tell them to leave.”
I look back at the two of them and they’re just standing there, watching me. I feel bad that Atlas feels like he has to cancel his plans just because I’m crashing at his house. I shut the door and unlock the deadbolt, then open the door again, motioning them inside.
“It’s fine, Atlas. You don’t have to cancel your plans. I was about to go to bed anyway.”
“No, I’m on my way. I’ll have them leave.”
I still have the phone pressed to my ear when the two men enter the living room.
“See you soon,” I say to Atlas and then end the call. The next few seconds are awkward as the guys assess me and I assess them.
“What are your names?”
“I’m Darin,” the tall one says.
“Brad,” the shorter one says.
“Lily,” I say to them, even though I already told them my name.
“Atlas will be here soon.” I move to close the door and they seem to relax a little. Darin heads into the kitchen and helps himself to Atlas’s refrigerator.
Brad takes off his jacket and hangs it up. “Do you know how to play poker, Lily?”
I shrug. “It’s been a few years, but I used to play with friends in college.”
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Both of them walk toward the dining room table.
“What happened to your head?” Darin asks as he takes a seat. He asks it so casually, like it doesn’t even cross his mind that it might be a sensitive subject.
I don’t know why I have an urge to give him the naked truth.
Maybe I just want to see how someone will react when they find out my own husband did this to me.
“My husband happened. We got into a fight two nights ago and he head-butted me. Atlas took me to the emergency room. They gave me six stitches and told me I was pregnant. Now I’m hiding out here until I figure out what to do.”
Poor Darin is frozen, halfway between standing and sitting. He has no idea how to respond to that. Based on the look on his face, I think he’s convinced I’m crazy.
Brad pulls out his chair and takes a seat, pointing at me. “You should get some Rodan and Fields. The amp roller works wonders for scarring.”
I immediately laugh at his random response. Somehow.
“Jesus, Brad!” Darin says, finally sinking into his seat. “You’re worse than your wife with this direct sales shit. You’re like a walking infomercial.”
Brad raises his hands in defense. “What?” he says innocently. “I’m not trying to sell her anything, I’m being honest. The stuff works.
You’d know that if you’d use it on your damn acne.”
“Screw you,” Darin says.
“It’s like you’re trying to be a perpetual teenager,” Brad mutters.
“Acne isn’t cool when you’re thirty.”
Brad pulls out the chair next to him while Darin begins shuffling a deck of cards. “Have a seat, Lily. One of our friends decided to be an idiot and get married last week, and now his wife won’t let him come to poker night anymore. You can be his fill-in until he gets a divorce.”
I had every intention of hiding out in my room tonight, but these two make it hard to walk away. I take a seat next to Brad and reach across the table. “Hand me those,” I say to Darin. He’s shuffling the cards like a one-armed infant.
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He raises an eyebrow and pushes the deck of cards across the table.
I don’t know much about card games, but I can shuffle cards like a pro.I separate the cards into two piles and scoot them together, pressing my thumbs to the ends, watching as they beautifully intertwine. Darin and Brad are staring at the deck of cards, when there’s another knock on the door. This time the door swings open without pause and a guy walks in dressed in what looks like a very expensive tweed jacket. There’s a scarf wrapped around his neck, and he begins to unwind it as soon as he slams the door behind him. He nudges his head in my direction as he walks toward the kitchen. “Who are you?”
He’s older than the other two, probably in his mid-forties.
Atlas definitely has an interesting mix of friends.
“This is Lily,” Brad says. “She’s married to an asshole and just found out she’s pregnant with the asshole’s baby. Lily, this is Jimmy. He’s pompous and arrogant.”
“Pompous and arrogant are the same thing, idiot,” Jimmy says. He pulls out the chair next to Darin and nudges his head at the cards in my hands. “Did Atlas plant you here to hustle us? What kind of average person knows how to shuffle cards like that?”
I smile and begin to pass cards out to each of them. “I guess we’ll have to play a round to find out.”
• • •
We’re on our third round of bets when Atlas finally walks in. He closes the door behind him and looks around at the four of us. Brad said something funny right before Atlas opened the door, so I’m in the middle of a fit of laughter when Atlas locks eyes with me. He nods his head toward the kitchen and begins walking in that direction.“Fold,” I say, laying my cards flat on the table as I stand up to follow him. When I get to the kitchen, he’s standing where he isn’t visible to the guys at the table. I walk over to him and lean against the counter.
“You want me to ask them to leave?”
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I shake my head. “No, don’t do that. I’m actually enjoying it. It’s keeping my mind off things.”
He nods and I can’t help but notice how he smells like herbs.
Rosemary, specifically. It makes me wish I could see him in action at his restaurant.
“You hungry?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Not really. I ate some leftover pasta a couple hours ago.”
My hands are pressed into the counter on either side of me. He takes a step closer and puts one of his hands over mine, brushing his thumb across the top of it. I know he doesn’t mean for it to be anything more than a comforting gesture, but when he touches me, it feels like a whole lot more. A rush of warmth moves up my chest and I immediately drop my eyes to our hands. Atlas pauses his thumb for a second, like he feels it, too. He pulls his hand away and backs up a step.
“Sorry,” he mutters, turning toward the refrigerator, pretending to look for something. It’s obvious he’s trying to spare me from the awkwardness of what just happened.
I walk back to the table and pick up my cards for the next round. A couple of minutes later, Atlas walks over and takes the seat next to me.
Jimmy shuffles out a round of new cards to everyone. “So, Atlas. How do you and Lily know each other?”
Atlas picks up his cards one at a time. “Lily saved my life when we were kids,” he says, matter-of-fact. He glances over at me and winks, and I drown in guilt for the way that wink makes me feel. Especially at a time like this. Why is my heart doing this to me?
“Aw, that’s sweet,” Brad says. “Lily saved your life, now you’re saving hers.”
Atlas lowers his cards and glares at Brad. “Excuse me?”
“Relax,” Brad says. “Me and Lily are tight, she knows I’m kidding.”
Brad looks at me. “Your life might be complete crap right now, Lily, but it’ll get better. Trust me, I’ve been there.”
Darin laughs. “You’ve been beat up and pregnant and hiding out at another man’s house?” he says to Brad.
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Atlas slaps his cards on the table and pushes back in his chair.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he yells at Darin.
I reach over and squeeze his arm reassuringly. “Relax,” I say. “We bonded before you got here. I actually don’t mind that they’re making light of my situation. It really does make it a little less heavy.”
He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I’m so confused,” he says. “You were alone with them for ten minutes.”
I laugh. “You can learn a lot about someone in ten minutes.” I try to redirect the conversation. “So how do you all know each other?”
Darin leans forward and points at himself. “I’m the sous chef at Bib’s.” He points at Brad. “He’s the dishwasher.”
“For now,” Brad interjects. “I’m working my way up.”
“What about you?” I say to Jimmy.
He smirks and says, “Take a guess.”
Based on the way he dresses and the fact that he’s been called arrogant and pompous, I’d have to assume . . . “Maître d’?”
Atlas laughs. “Jimmy actually works in valet.”
I glance back at Jimmy and raise an eyebrow. He tosses three poker chips down and says, “It’s true. I park cars for tips.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Atlas says. “He works in valet, but only because he’s so rich he gets bored.”
I smile. It reminds me of Allysa. “I have an employee like that. Only works because she’s bored. She’s actually the best employee I have.”
“Damn straight,” Jimmy mutters.
I take a look at my cards when it’s my turn and toss in the three poker chips. Atlas’s phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket. I’m raising the pot with another chip when he excuses himself from the table to take the call.
“Fold,” Brad says, slapping his cards on the table.
I’m watching the hallway Atlas just disappeared down in a hurry. It makes me wonder if he’s talking to Cassie, or if there’s someone else in his life. I know what he does for a living. I know he has at least three friends. I just know nothing about his love life.
Darin lays his cards on the table. Four of a kind. I lay down my straight flush and reach forward for all the poker chips as Darin groans.
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“So does Cassie not usually come to poker night?” I ask, fishing for more information on Atlas. Information I’m too scared to ask him myself.
“Cassie?” Brad says.
I stack my winnings up in front of me and nod. “Isn’t that his girlfriend’s name?”
Darin laughs. “Atlas doesn’t have a girlfriend. I’ve known him for two years and he’s never mentioned anyone named Cassie.” He begins passing out new cards, but I’m trying to absorb the information he just gave me. I pick up my first two cards when Atlas walks back into the room.
“Hey, Atlas,” Jimmy says. “Who the hell is Cassie and how come we’ve never heard you talk about her?”
Oh, shit.
I’m completely mortified. I tighten my grip around the cards in my hands and try to avoid looking up at Atlas, but the room grows so quiet, it would be more obvious if I didn’t look at him.
He’s staring at Jimmy. Jimmy is staring at him. Brad and Darin are staring at me.
Atlas folds his lips together for a moment and then says, “There is no Cassie.” His eyes meet mine, but only for a brief second. But in that brief second, I can see it written all over his face.
There never was a Cassie.
He lied to me.
Atlas clears his throat and then says, “Listen, guys. I should have cancelled tonight. This week has been kind of . . .” He rubs his hand over his mouth and Jimmy stands up.
He squeezes Atlas on the shoulder and says, “Next week. My place.”
Atlas nods appreciatively. The three of them begin to gather their cards and poker chips. Brad pries my cards from my fingers apologetically because I’m unable to move as I clutch them tightly.
“It was lovely meeting you, Lily,” Brad says. I somehow find the strength to smile and stand up. I give them all hugs goodbye and after the front door closes behind them, it’s just me and Atlas in the room.
And no Cassie.
Cassie’s never even been in this room, because Cassie doesn’t exist.
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Atlas hasn’t moved from his spot near the table. Neither have I.
He’s standing firm with his arms folded across his chest. His head is slightly tilted down but his eyes are boring into me from across the table.
Why would he lie to me?
Ryle and I weren’t even an official couple yet when I ran into Atlas at that restaurant the first time. Hell, if Atlas had given me any reason to believe there was a chance between us that night, I know without a doubt that I would have chosen him over Ryle. I barely even knew Ryle at that point.
But Atlas didn’t say anything. He lied to me and told me he’d been in a relationship for an entire year. Why? Why would he do that unless he didn’t want me to think I had a chance with him?
Maybe I’ve been wrong all this time. Maybe he never even loved me to begin with and he knew that inventing this Cassie person would keep me away from him for good.
Yet, here I am. Crashing at his house. Interacting with his friends.
Eating his food. Using his shower.
I can feel the tears begin to sting my eyes and the last thing I want is to stand in front of him and cry right now. I walk around the table and rush past him. I don’t make it far when he grabs my hand. “Wait.”
I stop, still facing the other direction.
“Talk to me, Lily.”
He’s right behind me now, his hand still wrapped around mine. I pull it away from him and walk to the other side of the living room.
I spin and face him just as the first tear rolls down my cheek. “Why did you never come back for me?”
He looked prepared for anything to come out of my mouth other than the words I just spoke to him. He runs a hand through his hair and walks to the couch, taking a seat. After blowing out a calming breath, he carefully looks over at me.
“I did, Lily.”
I don’t allow air to move in or out of my lungs.
I stand completely still, processing his answer.
He came back for me?
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He folds his hands together in front of him. “When I got out of the Marines the first time, I went back to Maine, hoping to find you. I asked around and found out which college you went to. I wasn’t sure what to expect when I showed up, because we were two different people by then. It had been four years since we saw each other. I knew a lot about both of us had probably changed in those four years.”
My knees feel weak, so I walk to the chair next to him and lower myself. He came back for me?
“I walked around your campus the whole day looking for you.
Finally, late that afternoon, I saw you. You were sitting in the courtyard with a group of your friends. I watched you for a long time, trying to work up the courage to walk over to you. You were laughing.
You looked happy. You were vibrant like I’d never seen you before. I had never felt that kind of happiness for another person like I felt when I saw you that day. Just knowing you were okay . . .”
He pauses for a moment. My hands are clenched around my stomach, because it hurts. It hurts knowing I was so close to him and I didn’t even know.
“I began walking toward you when someone came up behind you.
A guy. He dropped to his knees next to you and when you saw him, you smiled and threw your arms around him. Then you kissed him.”
I close my eyes . He was just a boy I dated for six months. He never even made me feel a fraction of what I had felt for Atlas.
He blows out a sharp breath. “I left after that. When I saw that you were happy, it was the worst and best feeling a person could ever have at once. But I believed at that point that my life was still not good enough for you. I had nothing to offer you but love, and to me, you deserved more than that. The next day I signed up for another tour in the Marines. And now . . .” He tosses his hand up lazily in the air, like nothing about his life is impressive.
I bury my head in my hands to take a moment. I quietly grieve what could have been. What is. What wasn’t. My fingers move to the tattoo on my shoulder. I begin to wonder if I’ll ever be able to fill in that hole now.
It makes me wonder if Atlas ever feels like I felt when I got this tattoo. Like all the air is being let out of his heart.
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I still don’t understand why he lied to me after running into me at his restaurant. If he really felt the things I felt for him, why would he make something like that up?
“Why did you lie about having a girlfriend?”
He rubs a hand over his face and I can already see the regret before I even hear it in his voice. “I said that because . . . you looked happy that night. When I saw you telling him goodbye, it hurt like hell, but at the same time I was relieved that you seemed to be in a really good place. I didn’t want you to worry about me. And I don’t know . . . maybe I was a little jealous. I don’t know, Lily. I regretted lying to you as soon as I did it.”
My hand goes to my mouth. My mind starts to race just as fast as my heart is racing. I instantly start thinking about the what-ifs. What if he would have been honest with me? Told me how he’d felt? Where would we be now?
I want to ask him why he did it. Why he didn’t fight for me. But I don’t have to ask him, because I already know the answer. He thought he was giving me what I wanted, because all he’s ever wanted for me was happiness. And for some stupid reason, he’s never felt I could get that with him.
Considerate Atlas.
The more I think about it, the more difficult it becomes to breathe.
I think about Atlas. Ryle. Tonight. Two nights ago. It’s too much.
I stand up and make my way back to the guest bedroom. I pick up my phone and grab my purse and go back to the living room. Atlas hasn’t moved.
“Ryle left for England today,” I say. “I think I should probably go home now. Can you drive me?”
A sadness enters his eyes and when it does, I know that leaving is the right thing to do. Neither of us has closure. I’m not sure we’ll ever get it. I’m beginning to think closure is a myth, and being here right now while I’m still processing everything that’s happening to my life is just going to make things worse for me. I have to eliminate as much confusion as possible, and right now, my feelings for Atlas top the list of most confusing.
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He presses his lips tightly together for a moment, and then he nods and grabs his keys.
• • •
Neither of us speaks the entire drive to my apartment. He doesn’t drop me off. He pulls into the parking lot and gets out of his car. “I’d feel better if you let me walk you up,” he says.I nod and we wade through even more silence as we ride the elevator up to the seventh floor. He follows me all the way to my apartment. I fish around in my purse for the keys and don’t even realize my hands are shaking until my third failed attempt to open the door. Atlas calmly takes the keys from me and I step aside as he opens the door for me.
“Do you want me to make sure no one’s here?” he asks.
I nod. I know Ryle isn’t here because he’s on his way to England, but I’m honestly still a little scared to walk into the apartment by myself.
Atlas walks in before me and flips on the lights. He continues walking through the apartment, flipping on all the lights and walking into each of the rooms. When he makes it back to the living room, he slides his hands in his jacket pockets. He takes a deep breath and then says, “I don’t know what happens next, Lily.”
He does. He knows. He just doesn’t want it to happen, because we both know how much it hurts to say goodbye to each other.
I look away from him because seeing the look on his face right now cuts straight to my heart. I fold my arms over my chest and stare at the floor. “I have a lot to work through, Atlas. A lot. And I’m scared I won’t be able to do it with you in my life.” I lift my eyes back to his. “I hope you don’t take offense to that, because if anything, it’s a compliment.”
He regards me silently for a moment, not at all surprised by what I’m saying. But I can see there’s so much he wants to say. There’s a lot I wish I could say to him, too, but we both know discussing the two of us isn’t appropriate at this point. I’m married. I’m pregnant with another man’s baby. And he’s standing in the living room of an https://books.yossr.com/en
apartment that another man bought for me. I’d say these aren’t very good conditions in which to bring up all the things we should have said to each other a long time ago.
He looks at the door momentarily as if he’s trying to decide to leave or speak. I can see the twitch in his jaw right before he locks eyes with me. “If you ever need me, I want you to call me,” he says.
“But only if it’s an emergency. I’m not capable of being casual with you, Lily.”
I’m taken aback by his words, but only momentarily. As much as I wasn’t expecting him to admit it, he’s absolutely right. Since the day we met, there has been nothing casual about our relationship. It’s either all in or not in at all. That’s why he separated ties when he left for the military. He knew that a casual friendship would never work between us. It would have been too painful.
Apparently, that hasn’t changed.
“Goodbye, Atlas.”
Saying those words again tears me up almost as much as the first time I had to say them. He winces and then turns and walks to the door like he can’t leave fast enough. When the door closes behind him, I walk over and lock it, then press my head against it.
Two days ago I was asking myself how my life could possibly get any better. Today I’m asking myself how it could possibly get any worse.
I jump back with the sudden knock at the door. It’s only been ten seconds since he walked out, so I know it’s Atlas. I unlock it and open it and I’m suddenly pressed against something soft. Atlas’s arms wrap tightly around me, desperately, and his lips are pressed against the side of my head.
I squeeze my eyes shut and finally let the tears fall. I’ve cried so many tears for Ryle over the past two days, I have no idea how I still have any left for Atlas. But I do, because they’re falling down my cheeks like rain.
“Lily,” he whispers, still holding me tightly. “I know this is the last thing you need to hear right now. But I have to say it because I’ve walked away from you too many times without saying what I really want to say.”
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He pulls back to look down at me and when he sees my tears, he brings his hands up to my cheeks. “In the future . . . if by some miracle you ever find yourself in the position to fall in love again . . .
fall in love with me.” He presses his lips against my forehead. “You’re still my favorite person, Lily. Always will be.”
He releases me and walks away, not even needing a response.
When I close the door again, I slide to the floor. My heart feels like it wants to give up. I don’t blame it. It’s suffered through two separate heartaches in the course of two days.
And I have a feeling it’s going to be a long time before either of those heartaches can even begin to heal.
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Allysa drops onto the couch beside me and Rylee. “I miss you so much, Lily,” she says. “I’m thinking about coming back to work a day or two a week.”
I laugh, a little shocked by her comment. “I live downstairs and I visit almost every day. How can you possibly miss me?”
She pouts as she pulls her legs up beneath her. “Fine, it’s not you I miss. I miss work. And sometimes I just want out of this house.”
It’s been six weeks since she had Rylee, so I’m sure she would be cleared to come back to work. But I honestly didn’t think she’d even want to come back now that she has Rylee. I bend forward and give Rylee a kiss on her nose. “Would you bring Rylee with you?”
Allysa shakes her head. “No, you keep me too busy for that.
Marshall can watch her while I work.”
“You mean you don’t have people for that?”
Marshall is passing through the living room when he hears me say that. “Shush, Lily. Don’t speak like a rich girl in front of my daughter.
Blasphemy.”
I laugh. That’s why I come over here a few nights a week, because it’s the only time I laugh. It’s been six weeks since Ryle left for England, and no one knows what happened between us. Ryle hasn’t told anyone, and neither have I. Everyone, my mother included, believes he simply left for the study at Cambridge and that nothing has changed between us.
I also still haven’t told anyone about the pregnancy.
I’ve been to the doctor twice. It turns out I was already twelve weeks along the night I found out I was pregnant, which makes me eighteen weeks along now. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. I’ve been on the pill since I was eighteen. Apparently being forgetful a few times caught up with me.
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I’m beginning to show, but it’s cold out so it’s been easy to hide.
No one suspects a thing when you have on a baggy sweater and a jacket.
I know I need to tell someone soon, but I feel like Ryle should be the first one I tell, and I don’t want to do that over a long-distance phone conversation. He’ll be back in six weeks. If I can somehow keep things quiet until then, I’ll decide where to go from there.
I look down at Rylee and she’s smiling up at me. I make silly faces at her to make her smile more. There have been so many times I’ve wanted to tell Allysa about the pregnancy, but it makes it hard when the secret I’m keeping is being kept from her own brother. I don’t want to put her in that kind of situation, no matter how much it kills me that I can’t talk to her about it.
“How are you holding up without Ryle?” Allysa asks. “You ready for him to come home?”
I nod, but I don’t say anything. I always try to brush off the subject when she brings him up.
Allysa leans back into the couch and says, “Is he still liking Cambridge?”
“Yes,” I say, sticking my tongue out at Rylee. She grins. I wonder if my baby will look like her. I hope so. She’s really cute, but I might be a little partial.
“Did he ever figure out the subway system there?” Allysa laughs. “I swear, every time I talk to him, he’s lost. He can’t figure out whether to take the A-line or the B-line.”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “He figured it out.”
Allysa sits up on the couch. “Marshall!”
Marshall walks into the living room and Allysa pulls Rylee out of my hands. She hands her to Marshall and says, “Will you change her diaper?”
I don’t know why she asks him that. I just changed her diaper.
Marshall scrunches up his nose and lifts Rylee out of Allysa’s arms.
“Are you a stinky girl?”
They’re wearing matching onesies.
Allysa grabs my hands and yanks me off the couch so fast, I squeal.
“Where are we going?”
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She doesn’t answer me. She marches toward her bedroom and then slams the door once we’re both inside. She paces back and forth a few times and then she stops and faces me.
“You better tell me what the hell is going on right now, Lily!”
I pull back in shock. What is she talking about?
My hands instantly go to my stomach, because I think maybe she’s noticed, but she doesn’t look at my stomach. She takes a step forward and pokes a finger in my chest. “There is no subway system in Cambridge, England, you idiot!”
“What?” I am so confused.
“I made that up!” she says. “Something hasn’t been right with you for a long time. You’re my best friend, Lily. And I know my brother. I talk to him every week, and he isn’t the same. Something happened between you two, and I want to know what it is right now!”
Shit. I guess this is happening sooner rather than later.
I slowly bring my hands up to my mouth, not sure what to tell her.
How much to tell her. I had no idea until this moment how much it’s been killing me that I haven’t been able to talk to her about this. I almost feel a little relieved that she reads me so well.
I walk to her bed and take a seat on it. “Allysa,” I whisper. “Sit down.”
I know this is going to hurt her almost as much as it hurt me. She walks over to her bed and sits down next to me, pulling my hands to hers.
“I don’t even know where to start.”
She squeezes my hands, but says nothing. For the next fifteen minutes, I tell her everything. I tell her about the fight. I tell her about Atlas picking me up. I tell her about the hospital. I tell her about the pregnancy.
I tell her about how, for the last six weeks, I cry myself to sleep every night because I have never felt so alone and so scared.
When I’m finished telling her everything, we’re both crying. She hasn’t responded to what I’ve told her with anything other than the occasional “Oh, Lily.”
She doesn’t have to respond, though. Ryle is her brother. I know she wants me to take his past into consideration just like the last time https://books.yossr.com/en
it happened. I know she’ll want me to work things out with him because he’s her brother. We’re supposed to be one big, happy family.
I know exactly what she’s thinking.
She’s quiet for a long time as she struggles through everything I’ve told her. She finally lifts her eyes to mine and squeezes my hands. “My brother loves you, Lily. He loves you so much. You have changed his entire life and have made him someone that I never thought he could be. As his sister, I wish more than anything that you could find a way to forgive him. But as your best friend, I have to tell you that if you take him back, I will never speak to you again.”
It takes a moment for her words to register, but when they do, I start sobbing.
She starts sobbing.
She wraps her arms around me and we cry over the mutual love we have for Ryle. We cry over how much we hate him right now.
After several minutes of us sobbing pathetically on her bed, she releases me and walks over to her dresser to retrieve a box of tissues.
We’re both wiping our eyes and sniffling when I say, “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”
She nods. “I know. And now I’m gonna be the best aunt.” She wipes her nose and sniffles again, but she’s smiling. “Lily. You’re having a baby.” She says it with excitement, and it’s the first moment I’ve been able to share any sense of joy over my pregnancy. “I hate to say it, but I noticed you put on weight. I thought you were just depressed and eating a lot since Ryle left.”
She walks to the back of her closet and starts pulling things out for me. “I have so many maternity clothes to give you.”
We start going through clothes and she pulls down a suitcase and opens it. She begins to throw things toward the suitcase until it starts to overflow.
“I could never wear these,” I tell her, holding up a shirt that still has the tag on it. “They’re all designer. I’ll get them dirty.”
She laughs and shoves them into the suitcase anyway. “I won’t need them back. If I get pregnant again, I’ll just have my people buy me more.” She pulls a shirt off a hanger and hands it to me. “Here, try this one on.”
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I take my shirt off and then pull the maternity shirt over my head.
When I get it into place, I look in the mirror.
I look . . . pregnant. Like you-can’t-hide-this-shit pregnant.
She puts a hand on my stomach and stares in the mirror with me.
“Have you found out if it’s a boy or a girl?”
I shake my head. “I don’t really want to know.”
“I hope it’s a girl,” she says. “Our daughters can be besties.”
“Lily?”
We both spin around to find Marshall standing in the doorway. His eyes are on my stomach. On Allysa’s hand still on my stomach. He tilts his head. He points at me.
“You . . .” he says, confused. “Lily, there’s a . . . do you realize you’re pregnant?”
Allysa calmly walks to the door and puts her hand on the doorknob. “There are some things you are never, ever to repeat if you want to keep me as your wife. This is one of those things.
Understood?”
Marshall raises his eyebrows and takes a step back. “Yes. Okay. Got it. Lily is not pregnant.” He kisses Allysa on the forehead and looks back at me. “I am not telling you congratulations, Lily. For absolutely nothing.” Allysa shoves him all the way out the door and closes it, then turns back to me.
“We need to plan a baby shower,” she says.
“No. I need to tell Ryle first.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “We don’t need him to plan a shower. We’ll just keep it between the two of us until then.”
She pulls out her laptop, and for the first time since I found out I was pregnant, I feel happy about it.
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It’s rather convenient only having to take an elevator to get home from Allysa’s, as much as I want to move out of my own apartment at times. It’s still strange living there. We only lived there a week before we split up and Ryle left for England. It never even had the chance to feel like home and now it feels a little tainted. I haven’t even been able to sleep in our bedroom since that night, so I’ve been sleeping in the guest room on my old bed.
Allysa and Marshall are still the only ones who know about the pregnancy. It’s only been two weeks since I told them, which makes me twenty weeks along now. I know I should tell my mother, but Ryle will be back in a few weeks. I feel like I should tell him first before anyone else finds out. If I can just somehow hide my baby bump from her until he gets back to the States.
I should probably just accept the fact that I’m more than likely going to have to call him and tell him long-distance. I haven’t seen my mother face-to-face in two weeks. It’s the longest we’ve gone without seeing each other since she moved to Boston, so if something doesn’t happen soon she’ll show up at my front door when I’m not prepared.
I swear my stomach has doubled in size these last two weeks alone.
If someone sees me who knows me well, it’ll be impossible to hide. So far, no one at the floral shop has asked about it. I think I’m still on the cusp of “Is she pregnant? Or just chubby?”
I start to unlock the door to my apartment, but it begins to open from the other side. Before I can pull the jacket over to hide my stomach from whoever is on the other side of the door, Ryle’s eyes land on me. I’m wearing one of the shirts Allysa gave me and it’s kind of impossible to hide the fact that I’m wearing a maternity shirt when he’s staring right at it.
Ryle.
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My heart begins to smash against the walls of my chest. My neck begins to itch, so I bring my hand up and rest it there, feeling the pounding of my heart against my palm.
It’s pounding because I’m terrified of him.
It’s pounding because I hate him.
It’s pounding because I’ve missed him.
His eyes slowly crawl from my stomach to my face. A hurtful expression takes over him, like I’ve just stabbed him straight through the heart. He takes a step back into my apartment and his hands come up to his mouth.
He begins to shake his head in confusion. I can see the betrayal all over his face when he barely forces out my name. “Lily?”
I stand frozen, one hand on my stomach in protection, the other hand still flat against my chest. I’m too scared to move or say anything. I don’t want to react until I know exactly how he’s going to react.
When he sees the fear in my eyes and the small gasps of breath I’m barely inhaling, he holds up a reassuring palm.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Lily. I’m just here to talk to you.” He swings the door open wider and points into the living room. “Look.”
He steps aside and my eyes fall to someone standing behind him.
Now I’m the one who feels betrayed.
“Marshall?”
Marshall immediately holds up his hands in defense. “I had no idea he was coming home early, Lily. Ryle texted and asked for my help.
He specifically told me not to say anything to you or Issa. Please don’t let her divorce me, I’m simply an innocent bystander.”
I shake my head, trying to understand what I’m seeing.
“I asked him to meet me here so you’d feel more comfortable talking to me,” Ryle says. “He’s here for you, he’s not here for me.”
I glance back at Marshall and he nods. It gives me enough reassurance to enter the apartment. Ryle is still somewhat in shock, which is understandable. His eyes keep meeting my stomach and then flicking away like it hurts to look at me. He runs two hands through his hair and then points down the hallway while looking at Marshall.
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“We’ll be in the bedroom. If you hear me get . . . if I start to yell . . .”
Marshall knows what Ryle is asking him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
As I follow Ryle into my bedroom, I wonder what that must be like.
To have no idea what might set you off or how bad your reaction will be. To have absolutely no control over your own emotions.
For a brief moment, I feel a minuscule amount of sorrow for him.
But when my eyes fall to our bed and I remember that night, my sorrow diminishes completely.
Ryle pushes the door shut, but doesn’t close it all the way. He looks like he’s aged an entire year in the two months it’s been since I’ve seen him. The bags under his eyes, the furrowed brow, the sunken posture. If regret took human form, it would look identical to Ryle.
His eyes fall to my stomach again and he takes a slow step forward.
Then another. He’s cautious, as he should be. He reaches out a timid hand, asking for permission to touch me. I nod softly.
He takes one more step forward and then places a steady palm against my stomach.
I can feel the warmth of his hand through my shirt, and my eyes snap shut. Despite the resentment I’ve built up in my heart toward him, it doesn’t mean the emotions aren’t still there. Just because someone hurts you doesn’t mean you can simply stop loving them. It’s not a person’s actions that hurt the most. It’s the love. If there was no love attached to the action, the pain would be a little easier to bear.
He moves his hand over my stomach and I open my eyes again.
He’s shaking his head, like he can’t process what’s happening right now. I watch as he slowly sinks to his knees in front of me.
His arms snake around my waist and he presses his lips against my stomach. He clasps his hands around my lower back and presses his forehead against me.
It’s hard to describe what I feel for him in this moment. Like any mother would want for her child, it’s a beautiful thing to see the love he already has. It’s been hard not sharing this with anyone. It’s hard not being able to share this with him, no matter how much resentment I hold toward him. My hands go to his hair while he holds me against him. Part of me wants to scream at him and call the police https://books.yossr.com/en
like I should have done that night. Part of me feels for that little boy who held his brother in his arms and watched him die. Part of me wishes I would have never met him. Part of me wishes I could forgive him.
He unwraps his arms from around my waist and presses a hand into the mattress next to us. He pulls himself up and then sits on the bed. His elbows rest on his knees and his hands are drawn up to his mouth.
I sit next to him, knowing we have to have this conversation, but not wanting to. “Naked truths?”
He nods.
I don’t know which one of us is supposed to go first. I don’t really have much to say to him at this point, so I wait for him to speak first.
“I don’t even know where to start, Lily.” He rubs his hands down his face.
“How about you start with, ‘I’m sorry I attacked you.’ ”
His eyes meet mine, wide with certainty. “Lily, you have no idea. I am so sorry. You have no idea what I’ve been through these past two months knowing what I’ve done to you.”
I clench my teeth together. I can feel my fingers as they fist around the blanket beside me.
I have no idea what he’s been through?
I shake my head, slowly. “You have no idea, Ryle.”
I stand up, the anger and hatred spilling out of me. I spin, pointing at him. “You have no idea! You have no idea what it’s like to go through what you’ve put me through! To fear for your life at the hands of the man you love? To get physically sick just thinking about what he’s done to you? You have no idea, Ryle! None! Fuck you! Fuck you for doing this to me!”
I suck in a huge breath, shocked at myself. The anger just came like a wave. I swipe at my tears and spin around, unable to look at him.
“Lily,” he says. “I don’t . . .”
“No!” I yell, spinning around again. “I am not finished! You don’t get to say your truth until I’ve said mine!”
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He’s grabbing at his jaw, squeezing the stress out of it. He drops his eyes to the floor, unable to look at the rage in mine. I take three steps toward him and drop to my knees. I place my hands on his legs, forcing him to look me straight in the eyes while I speak to him.
“Yes. I kept the magnet Atlas gave me when we were kids. Yes. I kept the journals. No, I didn’t tell you about my tattoo. Yes, I probably should have. And yes, I still love him. And I’ll love him until I die, because he was a huge part of my life. And yes, I’m sure that hurts you. But none of that gave you the right to do what you did to me.
Even if you would have walked into my bedroom and caught us in bed together, you still would not have the right to lay a hand on me, you goddamn son of a bitch!”
I push off his knees and stand up again. “Now it’s your turn!” I yell.
I continue pacing the room. My heart is pounding like it wants out.
I wish I could give it a way out. I’d set the mother-fucker free right now if I could.
Several minutes pass as I continue to pace. Ryle’s silence and my anger eventually just fold together into pain.
My tears have exhausted me. I am so tired of feeling. I fall desperately onto my bed and cry into my pillow. I press my face so hard against my pillow, I can barely breathe.
I feel Ryle lie down next to me. He places a gentle hand on the back of my head, attempting to sooth away the pain he’s causing me.
My eyes are closed, still pressed into the pillow, but I feel him gently rest his head against mine.
“My truth is that I have absolutely nothing to say,” he says quietly.
“I’ll never be able to take back what I did to you. And you’ll never believe me if I promise it won’t happen again.” He presses a kiss against my head. “You are my world, Lily. My world. When I woke up on this bed that night and you were gone, I knew I would never get you back. I came here to tell you how incredibly sorry I am. I came to tell you I was taking that job offer in Minnesota. I came to tell you goodbye. But Lily . . .” His lips press against my head again and he exhales sharply. “Lily, I can’t do that now. You have a part of me inside of you. And I already love this baby more than I’ve ever loved https://books.yossr.com/en
anything in my whole life.” His voice cracks and he grips me even harder. “Please don’t take this away from me, Lily. Please.”
The pain in his voice ripples through me, and when I lift my tear-soaked face to look at him, he presses his lips desperately to mine and then pulls back. “Please, Lily. I love you. Help me.”
His lips briefly meet mine again. When I don’t push him away, his mouth comes back a third time.
A fourth.
When his lips meet mine the fifth time, they don’t leave.
He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him. My body is tired and weak, but it remembers him. My body remembers how his body can soothe everything I’m feeling. How his has a gentleness in it that my body has been craving for two months now.
“I love you,” he whispers against my mouth. His tongue sweeps softly against mine and it’s so wrong and so good and so painful.
Before I know it, I’m on my back and he’s crawling on top of me. His touch is everything I need and everything I shouldn’t.
His hand wraps in my hair and in an instant, I’m transferred back to that night.
I’m in the kitchen, and his hand is tugging my hair so hard it hurts.
He brushes the hair from my face and in an instant, I’m transferred back to that night.
I’m standing in the doorway, and his hand is trailing across my shoulder, right before he bites into me with all the strength in his jaw.
His forehead rests gently against mine and in an instant, I’m transferred back to that night.
I’m on this same bed beneath him when he slams his head against mine so hard I have to get six stitches.
My body becomes unresponsive to his. The anger begins to roll back over me. His mouth stops moving against mine when he feels me freeze.
When he pulls back and looks down on me, I don’t even have to say anything. Our eyes, locked together, speak more naked truths than our mouths ever have. My eyes are telling his that I can no longer stand being touched by him. His eyes are telling mine that he already knows.
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He backs away from me, crawling down my body until he’s at the edge of the bed with his back to me. He’s still nodding as he comes to a slow stand, fully aware that he’s not getting my forgiveness tonight.
He begins heading toward my bedroom door.
“Wait,” I say to him.
He half-turns, looking back at me from the doorway.
I lift my chin, looking at him with finality. “I wish this baby wasn’t yours, Ryle. With everything that I am, I wish this baby was not a part of you.”
If I thought his world couldn’t crumble more, I was wrong.
He walks out of my bedroom and I press my face into my pillow. I thought if I could just hurt him like he had hurt me, I would feel avenged.
I don’t.
Instead, I feel vindictive and mean.
I feel like I’m my father.
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Mom: I miss you. When am I going to see you?
I stare at the text. It’s been two days since Ryle found out I’m pregnant. I know it’s time to tell my mother. I’m not nervous about telling her I’m pregnant. The only thing that scares me is discussing my situation with Ryle with her.
Me: Miss you, too. I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon. Can you make lasagna?
As soon as I close out the text to her, I get another incoming text.
Allysa: Come upstairs and eat dinner with us tonight. It’s homemade pizza night.
I haven’t been to Allysa’s in a few days. Since before Ryle came home. I’m not sure where he’s staying, but I assume it’s with them.
The last thing I want right now is to have to be in the same apartment as him.
Me: Who all will be there?
Allysa: Lily . . . I wouldn’t do that to you. He’s working until 8 tomorrow morning. It’ll just be the three of us.
She knows me way too well. I text her back and tell her I’ll come over as soon as I finish up with work.
• • •
“What do babies eat at this age?”We’re all seated around the table. Rylee was asleep when I got here, but I woke her up so I could hold her. Allysa didn’t mind; she said she doesn’t want her wide awake when she’s ready to go to bed.
“Breast milk,” Marshall says with a mouthful. “But sometimes I stick my finger in my soda and put it in her mouth so she can taste it.”
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“Marshall!” Allysa yells. “You better be kidding.”
“Totally kidding,” he says, although I can’t tell if he really is.
“But when do they start eating baby food?” I ask. I figure I need to learn this stuff before giving birth.
“Around four months,” Allysa says with a yawn. She drops her fork and leans back in her chair, rubbing her eyes.
“You want me to keep her at my place tonight so you guys can get a full night of sleep?”
Allysa says, “No, it’s fine,” at the same time Marshall says, “That would be awesome.”
I laugh. “Really. I live right downstairs. I don’t work tomorrow so if I don’t get any sleep tonight I can just sleep in tomorrow.”
Allysa looks like she’s contemplating it for a moment. “I could leave my cell phone on in case you need me.”
I look back down at Rylee and grin. “Did you hear that? You get to have a sleepover with Aunt Lily!”
• • •
With everything Allysa is throwing in her diaper bag, it looks like I’m about to take Rylee on a trip across the country. “She’ll let you know when she’s hungry. Don’t use the microwave to heat the milk, just put it in . . .”“I know,” I interrupt. “I’ve made her like fifty bottles since she’s been alive.”
Allysa nods and then walks over to her bed. She drops the diaper bag down beside me. Marshall is in the living room feeding Rylee one last time, so Allysa lies down beside me on the bed while we wait. She props her head up on her hand.
“Do you know what this means?” she asks.
“No. What?”
“I get to have sex tonight. It’s been four months.”
I crinkle up my nose. “I didn’t need to know that.”
She laughs and falls down on her pillow, but then sits straight up.
“Shit,” she says. “I should probably shave my legs. I think it’s been four months since I did that, too.”
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I laugh, but then I gasp. My hands move quickly to my stomach.
“Oh my God! I just felt something!”
“Really?” Allysa puts her hand on my stomach and we’re both quiet for the next five minutes as we wait for it to happen again. It does, but it’s so soft, it’s almost unnoticeable. I laugh again as soon as it happens.
“I didn’t feel anything,” Allysa says, pouting. “I guess it’ll be a few more weeks before you can feel it from the outside, though. Is this the first time you felt it move?”
“Yeah. I’ve been scared I was growing the laziest baby in history.” I keep my hands on my stomach, hoping to feel it again. We sit quietly for a few more minutes, and I can’t help but wish my circumstances were different. Ryle should be here. He should be the one sitting beside me with his hand on my stomach. Not Allysa.
The thought almost takes away all the joy I’m feeling. Allysa must notice because she puts one of her hands on mine and squeezes.
When I look at her, she isn’t smiling anymore.
“Lily,” she says. “I’ve been wanting to say something to you.”
Oh, God. I don’t like the sound of her voice.
“What is it?”
She sighs and then forces a gloomy smile. “I know you’re sad that you’re going through this without my brother. No matter how involved he is, I just want you to know that this is going to be the best thing you’ve ever experienced in your life. You’re gonna be a great mom, Lily. This baby is really lucky.”
I’m glad Allysa is the only one in here right now, because her words make me laugh, cry, and snot like a hormonal teenager. I hug her and tell her thank you. It’s amazing how hearing those words gives me back the joy I was feeling.
She smiles and then says, “Now go get my baby and take her away from here so I can have some sex with my filthy rich husband.”
I roll off the bed and stand up. “You sure know how to bring levity into a situation. I’d say it’s your strong point.”
She smiles. “That’s what I’m here for. Now go away.”
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Of all the secrets I’ve held over the last few months, I’m the saddest about keeping everything from my mother. I don’t know how she’ll take it. I know she’ll be excited about the pregnancy, but I don’t know how she’ll feel about me and Ryle splitting up. She loves Ryle. And based on her history with these types of situations, she’ll probably find it very easy to excuse his behavior and try and convince me to take him back. And in all honesty, that’s part of the reason I’ve been stalling this, because I’m scared there’s a chance she might be successful.
Most days I’m strong. Most days I’m so mad at him that the thought of ever forgiving him is ludicrous. But some days I miss him so much I can’t breathe. I miss the fun I had with him. I miss making love to him. I miss missing him. He used to work so many hours that when he would walk in the front door at night I would rush across the room and jump in his arms because I missed him so much. I even miss how much he loved it when I would do that.
It’s the not-so-strong days when I wish my mother knew about everything that was going on. I sometimes just want to drive over to her house and curl up on the couch with her while she tucks my hair behind my ear and tells me it’ll all be okay. Sometimes even grown women need their mother’s comfort so we can just take a break from having to be strong all the time.
I sit in my car, parked in her driveway, for a good five minutes before I work up the strength to go inside. It sucks that I have to do this because I know that in a way, I’ll be breaking her heart, too. I hate it when she’s sad and telling her I married a man who might be like my father is going to make her really sad.
When I walk through the front door, she’s in the kitchen layering noodles in a pan. I don’t remove my coat right away for obvious https://books.yossr.com/en
reasons. I’m not wearing a maternity shirt but my bump is almost impossible to hide without a jacket. Especially from a mother.
“Hey, sweetie!” she says.
I walk into the kitchen and give her a side hug while she layers cheese over the top of the lasagna. Once the lasagna is in the oven, we walk over to the dining room table and take a seat. She leans back in her chair and takes a sip from a glass of tea.
She’s smiling. I hate it even more that she looks so happy right now.
“Lily,” she says. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
I don’t like this. I was coming over here to talk to her. I’m not prepared to receive a talk.
“What is it?” I ask hesitantly.
She grips her glass of tea with both hands. “I’m seeing someone.”
My mouth drops open.
“Really?” I ask, shaking my head. “That’s . . .” I’m about to say good, but then I grow instantly worried that she’s just put herself in a similar situation she was in with my father. She can see the worry on my face, so she grabs my hands in both of hers.
“He’s good, Lily. He’s so good. I promise.”
Relief washes over me in an instant, because I can see she’s telling the truth. I can see the happiness in her eyes. “Wow,” I say, not expecting this at all. “I’m happy for you. When can I meet him?”
“Tonight, if you want,” she says. “I can invite him over to eat with us.”I shake my head. “No,” I whisper. “Now’s not a good time.”
Her hands squeeze around mine as soon as she realizes I’m here to tell her something important. I start with the better part of the news first.
I stand up and remove my jacket. At first, she doesn’t think anything of it. She just assumes I’m making myself comfortable. But then I take one of her hands and I press it against my stomach.
“You’re gonna be a grandma.”
Her eyes widen and for several seconds, she’s stunned speechless.
But then tears begin to form. She jumps up and pulls me into a hug.
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“Lily!” she says. “Oh my God!” She pulls back, smiling. “That was so fast. Were you trying? You haven’t even been married for very long.”
I shake my head. “No. It was a shock. Believe me.”
She laughs and after another hug, we both sit down again. I try to keep up my smile, but it’s not the smile of an elated expectant mother. She sees that almost immediately. She slides a hand over her mouth. “Sweetie,” she whispers. “What’s the matter?”
Until this moment, I’ve fought to remain strong. I’ve fought to not feel too sorry for myself when I’m around other people. But sitting here with my mother, I crave weakness. I just want to be able to give up for a little while. I want her to take over and hug me and tell me it’ll all be okay. And for the next fifteen minutes while I cry in her arms, that’s exactly what happens. I just stop fighting for myself because I need someone else to do it for me.
I spare her most of the details of our relationship, but I do tell her the most important things. That he’s hurt me on more than one occasion, and I don’t know what to do. That I’m scared to have this baby alone. That I’m scared I might make the wrong decision. That I’m scared I’m being too weak and that I should have had him arrested. That I’m scared I’m being too sensitive and I don’t know if I’m overreacting. Basically, I tell her everything I haven’t even been brave enough to fully admit to myself.
She retrieves some napkins out of the kitchen and comes back to the table. After our eyes are finally dry, she begins to crumple the napkin up between her hands, rolling it over in circles as she stares down at it.
“Do you want to take him back?” she asks.
I don’t say yes. But I also don’t say no.
This is the first moment since this has happened that I’m being completely honest. I’m honest to her and to myself. Maybe because she’s the only one I know who has been through this. She’s the only one I know who would understand the massive amounts of confusion I’ve been experiencing.
I shake my head, but I also shrug. “Most of me feels like I’ll never be able to trust him again. But a huge part of me grieves what I had with him. We were so good together, Mom. The times I spent with https://books.yossr.com/en
him were some of the best moments of my life. And occasionally I feel like maybe I don’t want to give that up.”
I wipe the napkin beneath my eye, soaking up more tears.
“Sometimes . . . when I’m really missing him . . . I tell myself that maybe it wasn’t that bad. Maybe I could put up with him when he’s at his worst just so I can have him when he’s at his best.”
She puts her hand on top of mine and rubs her thumb back and forth. “I know exactly what you mean, Lily. But the last thing you want to do is lose sight of your limit. Please don’t allow that to happen.”
I have no idea what she means by that. She sees the confusion in my expression, so she squeezes my arm and explains in more detail.
“We all have a limit. What we’re willing to put up with before we break. When I married your father, I knew exactly what my limit was.
But slowly . . . with every incident . . . my limit was pushed a little more. And a little more. The first time your father hit me, he was immediately sorry. He swore it would never happen again. The second time he hit me, he was even more sorry. The third time it happened, it was more than a hit. It was a beating. And every single time, I took him back. But the fourth time, it was only a slap. And when that happened, I felt relieved. I remember thinking, ‘At least he didn’t beat me this time. This wasn’t so bad.’ ”
She brings the napkin up to her eyes and says, “Every incident chips away at your limit. Every time you choose to stay, it makes the next time that much harder to leave. Eventually, you lose sight of your limit altogether, because you start to think, ‘I’ve lasted five years now.
What’s five more?’ ”
She grabs my hands and holds them while I cry. “Don’t be like me, Lily. I know that you believe he loves you, and I’m sure he does. But he’s not loving you the right way. He doesn’t love you the way you deserve to be loved. If Ryle truly loves you, he wouldn’t allow you to take him back. He would make the decision to leave you himself so that he knows for a fact he can never hurt you again. That’s the kind of love a woman deserves, Lily.”
I wish with all my heart that she didn’t learn these things from experience. I pull her to me and hug her.
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For whatever reason, I thought I would have to defend myself to her when I came over here. Not once did I think I would come over here and learn from her. I should know better. I thought my mother was weak in the past, but she’s actually one of the strongest women I know.
“Mom?” I say, pulling back. “I want to be you when I grow up.”
She laughs and brushes the hair from my face. I can see in the way she looks at me that she’d trade spots with me in a heartbeat. She’s feeling more pain for me in this moment than she ever felt for herself. “I want to tell you something,” she says.
She reaches for my hands again.
“The day you gave your father’s eulogy? I know you didn’t freeze up, Lily. You stood at that podium and refused to say a single good thing about that man. It was the proudest I have ever been of you. You were the only one in my life who ever stood up for me. You were strong when I was scared.” A tear falls from her eye when she says, “Be that girl, Lily. Brave and bold.”
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“What am I going to do with three car seats?”
I’m sitting on Allysa’s couch, staring at all the stuff. She threw me a baby shower today. My mother came. Ryle’s mother even flew in for it, but she’s in the guest room sleeping off her jet lag now. The girls from the floral shop came and a few friends from my old job. Even Devin came. It was actually a lot of fun, despite the fact that I’ve been dreading it for the past several weeks.
“That’s why I told you to start a registry, so none of the gifts would be duplicated,” Allysa says.
I sigh. “I guess I can have Mom return hers. She’s bought me enough stuff as it is.”
I stand up and start gathering all the gifts. Marshall already said he’d help me carry them down to my apartment, so Allysa helps me throw everything inside trash bags. I hold them open while she picks everything up from the floor. I’m almost thirty weeks pregnant now, so she doesn’t get the easier job of holding open the trash.
We have everything bagged up and Marshall is on his second trip down to my apartment when I open Allysa’s front door, prepared to drag a trash bag full of gifts to the elevator. What I’m not prepared for is Ryle, who is standing on the other side of the door looking back at me. We both look equally as shocked to see each other, considering we haven’t spoken since our fight three months ago.
This encounter was bound to happen, though. I can’t be best friends with my husband’s sister and live in the same building as him without eventually running into him.
I’m sure he knew I was having the shower today since his mother flew in for it, but he still looks a little surprised when he sees all the stuff behind me. It makes me wonder if him showing up just as I’m leaving is a coincidence or a suitable convenience. He looks down at https://books.yossr.com/en
the trash bag I’m holding and he takes it from my hands. “Let me get this.”
I let him. He takes that bag and another one down to the apartment while I gather my things. He and Marshall are walking back inside the apartment as I’m preparing to walk out.
Ryle grabs the last bag of stuff and begins to head toward the front door again. I’m following behind him when Marshall gives me a silent look, asking me if I’m okay with Ryle going downstairs with me. I nod.
I can’t keep avoiding Ryle forever, so now is as good a time as any to discuss where we go from here.
It’s only a few floors between their apartment and mine, but the elevator ride down with Ryle feels like the longest it’s ever taken. I catch him staring at my stomach a couple of times and it makes me wonder how it must feel, going three months without seeing me pregnant.
My apartment door is unlocked, so I push it open and he follows me inside. He takes the last of the stuff to the nursery and I can hear him moving things around, opening boxes. I stay in the kitchen and clean things that don’t even need cleaning. My heart is in my throat, knowing he’s in my apartment. I don’t feel scared of him in this moment. I just feel nervous. I wanted to be more prepared for this conversation because I absolutely hate confrontation. But I know we need to discuss the baby and our future. I just don’t want to. Not yet, anyway.
He walks down the hallway and into the kitchen. I catch him looking at my stomach again. He glances away just as quickly. “Do you want me to assemble the crib while I’m here?”
I should probably say no, but he’s half responsible for the child growing inside of me. If he’s going to offer physical labor I’m going to take it, no matter how angry I still am at him. “Yeah. That would be a big help.”
He points toward the laundry room. “Is my toolbox still in there?”
I nod and he heads toward the laundry room. I open the refrigerator and face it so I don’t have to watch him walk back through the kitchen. When he’s finally in the nursery again, I close the refrigerator and press my forehead against it as I grip the handle.
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I breathe in and out as I try to process everything that’s happening inside of me right now.
He looks really good. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, I forgot how beautiful he is. I have an urge to run down the hallway and jump into his arms. I want to feel his mouth on mine. I want to hear him tell me how much he loves me. I want him to lie down next to me and put his hand on my stomach like I’ve imagined him doing so many times.
It would be so easy. My life would be so much easier right now if I would just forgive him and take him back.
I close my eyes and repeat the words my mother said to me. “If Ryle truly loves you, he wouldn’t allow you to take him back.”
That reminder is the only thing that prevents me from running down the hallway.
• • •
I keep myself busy in the kitchen for the next hour as he remains in the nursery. I eventually have to walk past it to grab my phone charger from my room. On my way back down the hallway, I pause at the door of the nursery.The crib is assembled. He even put the bedding on. He’s standing over it, gripping the railing, staring inside the empty crib. He’s so quiet and still, he looks like a statue. He’s lost in thought and doesn’t even notice me standing outside the doorway. It makes me wonder where his mind has wandered.
Is he thinking about the baby? The child he won’t even be living with when it sleeps in that very crib?
Until this moment, I wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be a part of the baby’s life. But the look on his face proves to me that he does. I’ve never seen so much sadness in one expression, and I’m not even facing him straight on. I feel like the sadness he’s feeling in this moment has absolutely nothing to do with me and everything to do with thoughts of his child.
He glances up and sees me standing in the doorway. He pushes off the crib and shakes himself out of his trance. “Finished,” he says, https://books.yossr.com/en
waving a hand toward the crib. He begins putting his tools back inside the tool case. “Is there anything else you need while I’m here?”
I shake my head as I walk over to the crib and admire it. Since I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, I decided to go with a nature theme.
The bedding set is tan and green with pictures of plants and trees all over it. It matches the curtains and will eventually match a mural I plan to paint on the wall at some point. I also plan to fill the nursery with a few live plants from the shop. I can’t help but smile, finally seeing it all start to come together. He even put up the mobile. I reach up and turn it on and Brahms’s Lullaby begins to play. I stare at it as it makes a full spin and then I glance back at Ryle. He’s standing a few feet away, just watching me.
As I stare back at him, I think about how easy it is for humans to make judgments when we’re standing on the outside of a situation. I spent years judging my mother’s situation.
It’s easy when we’re on the outside to believe that we would walk away without a second thought if a person mistreated us. It’s easy to say we couldn’t continue to love someone who mistreats us when we aren’t the ones feeling the love of that person.
When you experience it firsthand, it isn’t so easy to hate the person who mistreats you when most of the time they’re your godsend.
Ryle’s eyes gain a little bit of hope, and I hate that he can see that my walls are temporarily lowered. He begins to take a slow step toward me. I know he’s about to pull me to him and hug me, so I take a quick step away from him.
And just like that, the wall is back up between us.
Allowing him back inside this apartment was a huge step for me in itself. He needs to realize that.
He hides whatever rejection he’s feeling with a stoic expression. He tucks the toolbox under his arm and then grabs the box the crib came in. It’s filled with all the trash from everything he opened and put together. “I’ll take this to the Dumpster,” he says, walking toward the door. “If you need help with anything else, just let me know, okay?”
I nod and somehow mutter, “Thank you.”
When I hear the front door close, I turn back and face the crib. My eyes fill with tears, and not for myself this time. Not for the baby.
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I cry for Ryle. Because even though he’s responsible for the situation he’s in, I know how sad he is about it. And when you love someone, seeing them sad also makes you sad.
Neither of us brought up our separation or even a chance at reconciliation. We didn’t even talk about what’s going to happen when this baby is born in ten weeks.
I’m just not ready for that conversation yet and the least he can do for me right now is show me patience.
The patience he still owes me from all the times he had none.
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I finish rinsing the paint out of the brushes and then walk back to the nursery to admire the mural. I spent most of yesterday and all of today painting it.
It’s been two weeks since Ryle came over and put the crib together.
Now that the mural is finished and I brought in a few plants from the store, I feel like the nursery is finally complete. I look around and feel a little sad that no one is here to admire the room with me. I grab my phone and text Allysa.
Me: Mural is finished! You should come down and look at it.
Allysa: I’m not home. Running errands. I’ll come look at it tomorrow, though.
I frown and decide to text my mother. She has to work tomorrow, but I know she’ll be just as excited to see it as I was to finish it.
Me: Feel like driving into town tonight? The nursery is finally finished.
Mom: Can’t. Recital night at school. I’ll be here late. I can’t wait to see it! I’ll come by tomorrow!
I sit down in the rocking chair and know that I shouldn’t do what I’m about to do, but I do it anyway.
Me: The nursery is finished. Do you want to come look at it?
Every nerve in my body springs to life as soon as I hit Send. I stare at my phone until his reply comes through.
Ryle: Of course. On my way down now.
I immediately stand up and begin making last minute touches. I fluff the pillows on the loveseat and straighten one of the wall hangings. I’m barely to the front door when I hear his knock. I open it and dammit. He’s wearing scrubs.
I step aside as he makes his way in.
“Allysa said you were painting a mural?”
I follow him down the hallway toward the nursery.
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“It’s taken two days to finish,” I tell him. “My body feels like I ran a marathon and all I did was walk up and down a step ladder a few times.”
He glances over his shoulder and I can see the concern in his expression. He’s worried that I was here doing it all on my own. He shouldn’t worry. I’ve got this.
When we make it to the nursery, he stops in the doorway. On the opposite wall, I painted a garden. It’s complete with almost every fruit and vegetable I could think of that grows in a garden. I’m not a painter, but it’s amazing what you can do with a projector and transparent paper.
“Wow,” Ryle says.
I grin, because I recognize the surprise in his voice and I know it’s genuine. He walks into the room and looks around, shaking his head the whole time. “Lily. It’s . . . wow.”
If he were Allysa, I’d clap and jump up and down. But he’s Ryle and with the way things have been between us, that would be a little awkward.
He walks over to the window where I set up a swing. He gives it a little push and it begins moving from side to side.
“It also moves front to back,” I tell him. I don’t know if he even knows anything about baby swings, but I was pretty impressed by that feature.
He walks over to the changing table and pulls one of the diapers out of the holder. He unfolds it and holds it up in front of him. “It’s so tiny,” he says. “I don’t remember Rylee being this tiny.”
Hearing him mention Rylee makes me a little sad. We’ve been living apart since the night she was born, so I’ve never been able to see him interact with her.
Ryle folds up the diaper and puts it back in the holder. When he turns to face me, he smiles, lifting his hands to motion around the room. “It’s really great, Lily,” he says. “All of it. You’re really doing . . .”
His hands drop to his hips and his smile falters. “You’re doing really well.”
A thickness seems to form in the air around me. It’s suddenly difficult to take in a full breath because for whatever reason, I feel like https://books.yossr.com/en
I need to cry. I just really like this moment and it saddens me that we couldn’t spend the entire pregnancy full of moments like these. It feels good sharing this with him, but I’m also scared I might be giving him false hope.
Now that he’s here and he saw the nursery, I’m not sure what to do next. It’s glaringly obvious that we need to discuss a lot of things, but I have no idea where to start. Or how.
I walk over to the rocking chair and take a seat. “Naked truth?” I say, looking up at him.
He exhales a huge breath and nods, then takes a seat on the sofa.
“Please. Lily, please tell me you’re ready to talk about this.”
His reaction eases my nerves a little, knowing he’s ready to discuss everything. I wrap my arms around my stomach and lean forward in the rocking chair. “You go first.”
He clasps his hands together between his knees. He looks at me with so much sincerity, I have to glance away.
“I don’t know what you want from me, Lily. I don’t know what role you want me to have. I’m trying to give you all the space you need, but at the same time I want to help more than you possibly know. I want to be in our baby’s life. I want to be your husband and I want to be good at it. But I have no idea what’s going through your head.”
His words fill me with guilt. Despite what has happened between us in the past, he’s still this baby’s father. He has the legal right to be a father, no matter how I feel about it. And I want him to be a father. I want him to be a good father. But deep down, I’m still holding on to one of my biggest fears, and I know I need to talk to him about it.
“I would never keep you from your child, Ryle. I’m happy you want to be involved. But . . .”
He leans forward and buries his face in his hands with that last word.
“What kind of mother would I be if a small part of me doesn’t have concern in regard to your temper? The way you lose control? How do I know something won’t set you off while you’re alone with this baby?”
So much agony floods his eyes, I think they might burst like dams.
He begins to shake his head adamantly. “Lily, I would never . . .”
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“I know, Ryle. You would never intentionally hurt your own child. I don’t even believe it was intentional when you hurt me, but you did.
And trust me, I want to believe that you would never do something like that. My father was only abusive toward my mother. There are many men— women even—who abuse their significant others without ever losing their temper with anyone else. I want to believe your words with all my heart, but you have to understand where my hesitation comes in. I’ll never deny you a relationship with your child. But I’m going to need you to be really patient with me while you rebuild all the trust you’ve broken.”
He nods in agreement. He has to know that I’m giving him much more than he deserves. “Absolutely,” he says. “This is on your terms.
Everything is on your terms, okay?”
Ryle’s hands come together again and he begins to chew nervously on his bottom lip. I sense he has more to say, but he’s doubting whether or not he should say it.
“Go ahead and say whatever you’re thinking while I’m in the mood to talk about it.”
He tilts his head back and looks up at the ceiling. Whatever it is, it’s hard for him. I don’t know if it’s because the question is hard to ask or because he’s scared of the answer I might give him.
“What about us?” he whispers.
I lean my head back and sigh. I knew this question would come, but it’s really difficult to give him an answer I don’t have. Divorce or reconciliation are really the only two options we have, but neither is a choice I want to make.
“I don’t want to give you false hope, Ryle,” I say quietly. “If I had to make a choice today . . . I’d probably choose divorce. But in all honesty, I don’t know if I would be making that choice because I’m overloaded with pregnancy hormones or because it’s what I really want. I don’t think it would be fair to either of us if I made that decision before the birth of this baby.”
He blows out a shaky breath and then brings a hand up to the back of his neck, squeezing tightly. Then he stands up and faces me.
“Thank you,” he says. “For inviting me over. For the conversation. I’ve https://books.yossr.com/en
been wanting to stop by since I was here a couple of weeks ago, but I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.”
“I don’t know how I would have felt about it, either,” I say with complete honesty. I try to push myself out of the rocking chair, but for some reason it’s become a lot harder in the past week. Ryle walks over and reaches for my hand to help me up.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to last until my due date when I can’t even get out of a chair without grunting.
Once I’m standing, he doesn’t immediately release my hand. We’re just a few inches apart, and I know if I look up at him I’ll feel things. I don’t want to feel things for him.
He finds my other hand until he’s holding both of them down at my sides. He threads his fingers through mine and I feel it all the way to my heart. I press my forehead against his chest and close my eyes.
His cheek meets the top of my head and we stand completely still, both of us too scared to move. I’m scared to move because I might be too weak to stop him from kissing me. He’s scared to move because he’s afraid if he does, I’ll pull away.
For what feels like five full minutes, neither of us moves a muscle.
“Ryle,” I finally say. “Can you promise me something?”
I feel him nod.
“Until this baby comes, please don’t try to talk me into forgiving you. And please don’t try to kiss me . . .” I pull away from his chest and look up at him. “I want to tackle one huge thing at a time, and right now my only priority is having this baby. I don’t want to add any more stress or confusion on top of everything that’s already happening.”
He squeezes both of my hands reassuringly. “One monumental life-changing thing at a time. Got it.”
I smile, relieved that we’ve finally had this conversation. I know I didn’t make a final decision about the two of us, but I still feel like I can breathe easier now that we’re on the same page.
He releases my hands. “I’m late for my shift,” he says, tossing a thumb over his shoulder. “I should get to work.”
I nod and see him out. It isn’t until after I’ve shut the door and am alone in my apartment that I realize I have a smile on my face.
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I’m still incredibly angry with him that we’re even in this predicament to begin with, so my smile is simply due to making a little headway. Sometimes parents have to work through their differences and bring a level of maturity into a situation in order to do what’s best for their child.
That’s exactly what we’re doing. Learning how to navigate our situation before our child is brought into the fold.
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I smell toast.
I stretch out on my bed and smile, because Ryle knows toast is my favorite. I lie here for a while before I even attempt to get up. It feels like it takes the effort of three men to roll me out of bed. I eventually take a deep breath, and then throw my feet over the side, pushing myself up from the mattress.
The first thing I do is pee. It’s really all I do now. I’m due in two days and my doctor says it could be another week. I started maternity leave last week, so this is my life right now. I pee and watch TV.
When I make it to the kitchen, Ryle is stirring a pan of scrambled eggs. He spins around when he hears me walk in. “Good morning,”
he says. “No baby yet?”
I shake my head and put my hand on my stomach. “No, but I peed nine times last night.”
Ryle laughs. “That’s a new record.” He spoons some eggs onto a plate and then tosses bacon and toast on it. He turns around and hands me the plate, pressing a quick kiss to the side of my head. “I gotta go. I’m already late. I’m leaving my phone on all day.”
I smile when I look down at my breakfast. Okay, so I eat, too. Pee, eat, and watch TV.
“Thank you,” I say cheerfully. I take my plate to the couch and turn on the TV. Ryle rushes around the living room, gathering his stuff.
“I’ll come check on you at lunch. I might be working late tonight, but Allysa said she can bring you dinner.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine, Ryle. The doctor said light bed rest, not complete debilitation.”
He starts to open the door, but pauses like he forgets something.
He runs back toward me and leans down, planting his lips on my https://books.yossr.com/en
stomach. “I’ll double your allowance if you decide to come out today,”
he says to the baby.
He talks to the baby a lot. I finally felt comfortable enough to let him feel the baby kick a couple of weeks ago and since then, he stops by sometimes just to talk to my belly and doesn’t even say much to me. I like it, though. I like how excited he is to be a father.
I grab the blanket Ryle slept on the couch with last night and wrap it over me. He’s been staying here for a week now, waiting for me to go into labor. I wasn’t sure about the arrangement at first, but it’s actually been really helpful. I still sleep in the guest bedroom. The third bedroom is now a nursery, which means the master bedroom is available for him to sleep in. But for whatever reason, he chooses to sleep on the couch. I think the memories in that bedroom plague him just as much as they plague me, so neither of us even bothers going in there.
The last several weeks have been really good. Aside from the fact that there’s absolutely no physical relationship between us at this point, things feel like they’ve kind of gone back to how they used to be. He still works a lot, but on the evenings he’s off, I’ve started having dinner upstairs with all of them. We never eat alone as a couple, though. Anything that might feel like a date or a couples thing, I avoid. I’m still trying to focus on one monumental thing at a time, and until this baby is born and my hormones are back to normal, I refuse to make a decision about my marriage. I’m sure I’m just using the pregnancy as an excuse to stall the inevitable, but being pregnant allows a person to be a little selfish.
My phone begins to ring, and I drop my head into the couch and groan. My phone is all the way in the kitchen. That’s like fifteen feet from here.
Ugh.
I push myself off the couch, but nothing happens.
I try it again. Still sitting.
I grab hold of the arm of my chair and pull myself up. Third time’s the charm.
When I stand, my glass of water spills all over me. I groan . . . but then I gasp.
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I wasn’t holding a glass of water.
Holy shit.
I look down and water is trickling down my leg. My phone is still ringing on the kitchen counter. I walk—or waddle—to the kitchen and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Lucy! Quick question. Our order of red roses was damaged in shipment, but we’ve got the Levenberg funeral today and they specifically wanted red roses for the casket spray. Do we have a backup plan?”
“Yeah, call the florist on Broadway. They owe me a favor.”
“Okay, thanks!”
I start to hang up so I can call Ryle and tell him my water broke, but I hear Lucy say, “Wait!”
I pull the phone back to my ear.
“About these invoices. Did you want me to pay them today or wait . . .”
“You can wait, it’s fine.”
Again, I start to hang up but she yells my name and starts firing off another question.
“Lucy,” I say calmly, interrupting her. “I’ll have to call you about all this tomorrow. I think my water just broke.”
There’s a pause. “Oh. OH! GO!”
I hang up right when the first sign of pain shoots through my stomach. I wince and start dialing Ryle’s number. He picks up on the first ring.
“Do I need to turn around?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, God. Really? It’s happening?”
“Yes.”
“Lily!” he says, excited. And then the phone goes dead.
I spend the next few minutes gathering everything I’ll need. I already have a hospital bag, but I feel kind of gross, so I jump in the shower to rinse off. The second burst of pain comes about ten minutes after the first. I bend forward and clench my stomach, letting https://books.yossr.com/en
the water beat down on my back. Right when I near the end of the contraction, I hear the bathroom door swing open.
“You’re in the shower?” Ryle says. “Lily, get out of the shower, let’s go!”“Hand me a towel.”
Ryle’s hand appears around the shower curtain a few seconds later.
I try to fit the towel around me before pulling the shower curtain aside. It’s odd, hiding your body from your own husband.
The towel doesn’t fit. It covers up my boobs but then opens like an upside-down V over my stomach.
Another contraction hits as I’m stepping out of the shower. Ryle grabs my hand and helps me breathe through it, then walks me into the bedroom. I’m calmly picking out clean clothes to wear to the hospital when I glance over at him.
He’s staring at my stomach. There’s a look on his face I can’t decipher.
His eyes meet mine and I pause what I’m doing.
There’s a moment that passes between us where I can’t tell if he’s about to frown or smile. His face twists into both somehow, and he blows out a quick breath, dropping his eyes back to my stomach.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.
A pang shoots through my chest that has nothing to do with the contractions. I realize this is the first time he’s seen my bare stomach.
It’s the first time he’s witnessed what I look like with his baby growing inside of me.
I walk over to him and take his hand. I place it on my stomach and hold it there. He smiles at me, brushing his thumb back and forth. It’s a beautiful moment. One of our better moments.
“Thank you, Lily.”
It’s written all over him, the way he’s touching my stomach, the way his eyes are looking back at mine. He’s not thanking me for this moment, or any moment that came before this one. He’s thanking me for all the moments I’m allowing him to have with his child.
I groan, leaning forward. “Fucking hell.”
The moment is over.
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Ryle grabs my clothes and helps me into them. He picks up all the things I tell him to carry and then we make our way to the elevator.
Slowly. I have a contraction when we’re halfway there.
“You should call Allysa,” I tell him when we pull out of the parking garage.
“I’m driving. I’ll call her when we get to the hospital. And your mom.”
I nod. I’m sure I could call them right now, but I kind of just want to make sure we make it to the hospital first, because it feels like this baby is being really impatient and wants to make its debut right here in the car.
We make it to the hospital, but my contractions are less than a minute apart when we arrive. By the time the doctor scrubs in and they get me to a bed, I’m dilated to a nine. It’s only five minutes later when I’m being told to push. Ryle doesn’t even have a chance to call anyone, it all happens so fast.
I squeeze Ryle’s hand with every push. At one point, I think about how important the hand I’m squeezing is to his career, but he says nothing. He just allows me to squeeze it as hard as I possibly can, and that’s exactly what I do.
“The head is almost out,” the doctor says. “Just a few more pushes.”
I can’t even describe the next few minutes. It’s a blur of pain and heavy breathing and anxiety and pure, unequivocal elation. And pressure. Such an enormous pressure, like I’m about to implode, and then, “It’s a girl!” Ryle says. “Lily, we have a daughter!”
I open my eyes and the doctor is holding her up. I can only make out the outline of her, because my eyes are full of too many tears.
When they lay her on my chest, it’s the absolute greatest moment of my life. I immediately touch her red lips and cheeks and fingers. Ryle cuts the umbilical cord, and when they take her from me to clean her up, I feel empty.
A few minutes later she’s back on my chest again, swaddled in a blanket.
I can do nothing but stare at her.
Ryle sits on the bed next to me and pulls the blanket down around her chin so we can get a better look at her face. We count her fingers https://books.yossr.com/en
and her toes. She tries to open her eyes and we think it’s the funniest thing in the world. She yawns and we both smile and fall even more in love with her.
After the last nurse leaves the room and we’re finally alone, Ryle asks if he can hold her. He raises the head of my bed to make it easier for both of us to sit on the bed. After I hand her to him, I lay my head on his shoulder and we just can’t stop staring at her.
“Lily,” he whispers. “Naked truth?”
I nod.
“She’s so much prettier than Marshall and Allysa’s baby.”
I laugh and elbow him.
“I’m kidding,” he whispers.
I know exactly what he means, though. Rylee is a gorgeous baby, but no one will ever hold a candle to our own daughter.
“What should we name her?” he asks. We didn’t have the typical relationship during this pregnancy, so the baby’s name hasn’t been something we’ve discussed yet.
“I’d like to name her after your sister,” I say, glancing at him. “Or maybe your brother?”
I’m not sure what he thinks of that. I personally think naming our daughter after his brother could be somewhat healing for him, but he may not see it that way.
He glances over at me, not expecting that answer. “Emerson?” he says. “That’s kind of cute for a girl name. We could call her Emma. Or Emmy.” He smiles proudly and looks down at her. “It’s perfect, actually.” He leans down and kisses Emerson on her forehead.
After a while, I pull away from his shoulder so I can watch him hold her. It’s a beautiful thing, seeing him interact with her like this. I can already see how much love he has for her just from the little time he’s known her. I can see that he would do anything to protect her.
Anything in the world.
It isn’t until this moment that I finally make a decision about him.
About us.
About what’s best for our family.
Ryle is amazing in so many ways. He’s compassionate. He’s caring.
He’s smart. He’s charismatic. He’s driven.
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My father was some of these things, too. He wasn’t very compassionate toward others, but there were times we spent together that I knew he loved me. He was smart. He was charismatic. He was driven. But I hated him so much more than I loved him. I was blinded to all the best things about him thanks to all the glimpses I got of him when he was at his worst. Five minutes of witnessing him at his worst couldn’t make up for even five years of him at his best.
I look at Emerson and I look at Ryle. And I know that I have to do what’s best for her. For the relationship I hope she builds with her father. I don’t make this decision for me and I don’t make it for Ryle.
I make it for her.
“Ryle?”
When he glances at me, he’s smiling. But when he assesses the look on my face, he stops.
“I want a divorce.”
He blinks twice. My words hit him like voltage. He winces and looks back down at our daughter, his shoulders hunched forward. “Lily,” he says, shaking his head back and forth. “Please don’t do this.”
His voice is pleading, and I hate that he’s been holding on to hope that I would eventually take him back. That’s partly my fault, I know, but I don’t think I realized what choice I was going to make until I held my daughter for the first time.
“Just one more chance, Lily. Please.” His voice cracks with tears when he speaks.
I know I’m hurting him at the worst possible time. I’m breaking his heart when this should be the best moment of his life. But I know if I don’t do it in this moment, I might never be able to convince him of why I can’t risk taking him back.
I begin to cry because this is hurting me as much as it’s hurting him. “Ryle,” I say gently. “What would you do? If one of these days, this little girl looked up at you and she said, ‘Daddy? My boyfriend hit me.’ What would you say to her, Ryle?”
He pulls Emerson to his chest and buries his face against the top of her blanket. “Stop, Lily,” he begs.
I push myself up straighter on the bed. I place my hand on Emerson’s back and try to get Ryle to look me in the eyes. “What if https://books.yossr.com/en
she came to you and said, ‘Daddy? My husband pushed me down the stairs.
He said it was an accident. What should I do?’ ”
His shoulders begin to shake, and for the first time since the day I met him, he has tears. Real tears that rush down his cheeks as he holds his daughter tightly against him. I’m crying, too, but I keep going. For her sake.
“What if . . .” My voice breaks. “What if she came to you and said,
‘My husband tried to rape me, Daddy. He held me down while I begged him to stop. But he swears he’ll never do it again. What should I do, Daddy?’ ”
He’s kissing her forehead, over and over, tears spilling down his face.
“What would you say to her, Ryle? Tell me. I need to know what you would say to our daughter if the man she loves with all her heart ever hurts her.”
A sob breaks from his chest. He leans toward me and wraps an arm around me. “I would beg her to leave him,” he says through his tears.
His lips press desperately against my forehead and I can feel some of his tears as they fall onto my cheeks. He moves his mouth to my ear and cradles both of us against him. “I would tell her that she is worth so much more. And I would beg her not to go back, no matter how much he loves her. She’s worth so much more.”
We become a sobbing mess of tears and broken hearts and shattered dreams. We hold each other. We hold our daughter. And as hard as this choice is, we break the pattern before the pattern breaks us.He hands her back to me and wipes his eyes. He stands up, still crying. Still trying to catch his breath. In the last fifteen minutes, he lost the love of his life. In the last fifteen minutes, he became a father to a beautiful little girl.
That’s what fifteen minutes can do to a person. It can destroy them.
It can save them.
He points toward the hallway, letting me know he needs to go gather himself. He’s sadder than I’ve ever seen him as he walks toward the door. But I know he’ll thank me for this one day. I know https://books.yossr.com/en
the day will come when he’ll understand that I made the right choice by his daughter.
When the door closes behind him, I look down at her. I know I’m not giving her the life I dreamed for her. A home where she lives with both parents who can love her and raise her together. But I don’t want her to live like I lived. I don’t want her to see her father at his worst. I don’t want her to see him when he loses his temper with me to the point that she no longer recognizes him as her father. Because no matter how many good moments she might share with Ryle throughout her lifetime, I know from experience that it would only be the worst ones that stuck with her.
Cycles exist because they are excruciating to break. It takes an astronomical amount of pain and courage to disrupt a familiar pattern. Sometimes it seems easier to just keep running in the same familiar circles, rather than facing the fear of jumping and possibly not landing on your feet.
My mother went through it.
I went through it.
I’ll be damned if I allow my daughter to go through it.
I kiss her on the forehead and make her a promise. “It stops here.
With me and you. It ends with us.”
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I push through the crowds of Boylston Street until I get to the cross street. I pull the stroller to a crawl and then stop at the edge of the curb. I pull the top of it back and look down at Emmy. She’s kicking her feet and smiling like usual. She’s a very happy baby. She has a calm energy about her and it’s addictive.
“How old is she?” a woman asks. She’s standing at the crosswalk with us, staring down at Emerson appreciatively.
“Eleven months.”
“She’s gorgeous,” she says. “Looks just like you. Identical mouths.”
I smile. “Thank you. But you should see her father. She definitely has his eyes.”
The sign flashes to walk, and I try to beat the crowd as we rush across the street. I’m already half an hour late and Ryle has texted me twice. He hasn’t experienced the joy of carrots yet, though. He’ll find out today just how messy they are, because I packed plenty in her bag.
I moved out of the apartment Ryle bought when Emerson was three months old. I got my own place closer to my work so I’m within walking distance, which is great. Ryle moved back into the apartment he bought, but between visiting Allysa’s place and Ryle’s days with Emerson, I feel like I’m still at their apartment building almost as much as I’m at mine.
“Almost there, Emmy.” We make a right around the corner and I’m in such a rush, a man has to step out of our way and into the wall just to avoid being plowed over. “Sorry,” I mutter, ducking my head and making my way around him.
“Lily?”
I stop.
I turn slowly, because I felt that voice all the way to my toes. There are only two voices that have ever done that to me, and Ryle’s doesn’t https://books.yossr.com/en
When I look back at him, his blue eyes are squinting against the sun. He lifts a hand to shield it and he grins. “Hey.”
“Hi,” I say, my frenzied brain trying to slow down and allow me to play catch-up.
He glances at the stroller and points at it. “Is that . . . is this your baby?”
I nod and he walks around to the front of the stroller. He kneels down and smiles widely at her. “Wow. She’s gorgeous, Lily,” he says.
“What’s her name?”
“Emerson. We call her Emmy sometimes.”
He puts his finger in her hand and she starts kicking, shaking his finger back and forth. He stares at her appreciatively for a moment and then stands back up again.
“You look great,” he says.
I try not to give him an obvious once-over, but it’s hard. He looks as good as ever, but this is the first time seeing him that I’m not trying to deny how gorgeous he turned out to be. A far cry from that homeless boy in my bedroom. Yet . . . somehow still exactly the same.
I can feel the buzz of my text message going off in my pocket again. Ryle.
I point down the street. “We’re really late,” I say. “Ryle has been waiting for half an hour.”
When I say Ryle’s name, there’s a sadness that reaches Atlas’s eyes, but he tries to disguise it. He nods and slowly steps aside for us to pass.
“It’s his day to have her,” I clarify, saying more in those six words than I could in most full conversations.
I see the relief flash in his eyes. He nods and points behind him.
“Yeah, I’m running late, too. Opened a new restaurant on Boylston last month.”
“Wow. Congratulations. I’ll have to take Mom there to check it out soon.”
He smiles. “You should. Let me know and I’ll make sure and cook for you myself.”
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There’s an awkward pause, and then I point down the street. “We have to . . .”
“Go,” he says with a smile.
I nod again and then duck my head and continue walking. I have no idea why I’m reacting this way. Like I don’t know how to hold a normal conversation. When I’m several yards away, I glance back over my shoulder. He hasn’t moved. He’s still watching me as I walk away.
We round the corner and I see Ryle waiting beside his car outside the floral shop. His face lights up when he sees us approaching. “Did you get my email?” He kneels down and begins to unstrap Emerson.
“Yeah, about the playpen recall?”
He nods as he pulls her out of the stroller. “Didn’t we buy one of those for her?”
I press the buttons to fold the stroller and then walk it to the back of his car. “Yeah, but it broke like a month ago. I threw it in the Dumpster.”
He pops the trunk, and then touches Emerson’s chin with his fingers. “Did you hear that, Emmy? Your mommy saved your life.” She smiles up at him and slaps playfully at his hand. He kisses her on the forehead and then picks up her stroller and tosses it in the trunk. I slam the trunk shut and lean over to give her a quick kiss.
“Love you, Emmy. See you tonight.”
Ryle opens the back door to put her in the car seat. I tell him goodbye and then I start to head back down the street in a rush.
“Lily!” he yells. “Where are you going?”
I’m sure he expected me to walk to the front door of my store, since I’m already late opening it. I probably should, but the nagging in my gut won’t go away. I need to do something about it. I spin around and walk backward. “There’s something I forgot to do! I’ll see you when I pick her up tonight!”
Ryle lifts Emerson’s hand and they wave goodbye to me. As soon as I round the corner, I break out into a sprint. I dodge people, bump into a few and cause one lady to curse at me, but it’s all worth it the moment I see the back of his head.
“Atlas!” I yell. He’s heading in the other direction, so I keep pushing through the crowd. “Atlas!”
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He stops walking but he doesn’t turn around. He cocks his head like he doesn’t want to fully trust his ears.
“Atlas!” I yell again.
This time when he turns, he turns with purpose. His eyes meet mine and there’s a three-second pause while we both stare at each other. But then we both start walking toward each other, determination in every step. Twenty steps separate us.
Ten.
Five.
One.
Neither of us takes that final step.
I’m out of breath, panting and nervous. “I forgot to tell you Emerson’s middle name.” I put my hands on my hips and exhale. “It’s Dory.”
He doesn’t immediately react, but then his eyes crinkle a little in the corners. His mouth twitches like he’s forcing back a smile. “What a perfect name for her.”
I nod, and smile, and then stop.
I’m not sure what to do now. I just needed him to know that, but now that I’ve told him, I didn’t really think of what I’d do or say next.
I nod again, and then glance around me, throwing a thumb over my shoulder. “Well . . . I guess I’ll . . .”
Atlas steps forward, grabs me, and pulls me hard against his chest. I immediately close my eyes when he wraps his arms around me. His hand goes up to the back of my head and he holds me still against him as we stand, surrounded by busy streets, blasts of horns, people brushing us as they pass in a hurry. He presses a gentle kiss into my hair, and all of that fades away.
“Lily,” he says quietly. “I feel like my life is good enough for you now. So whenever you’re ready . . .”
I clench his jacket in my hands and keep my face pressed tight against his chest. I suddenly feel like I’m fifteen again. My neck and cheeks flush from his words.
But I’m not fifteen.
I’m an adult with responsibilities and a child. I can’t just allow my teenage feelings to take over. Not without a little reassurance, at least.
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I pull back and look up at him. “Do you donate to charity?”
Atlas laughs with confusion. “Several. Why?”
“Do you want kids someday?”
He nods. “Of course I do.”
“Do you think you’ll ever want to leave Boston?”
He shakes his head. “No. Never. Everything is better here, remember?”
His answers give me the reassurance I need. I smile up at him.
“Okay. I’m ready.”
He pulls me tight against him and I laugh. With everything that has happened since the day he came into my life, I never expected this outcome. I’ve hoped for it a lot, but until now I wasn’t sure if it would ever happen.
I close my eyes when I feel his lips meet the spot on my collarbone.
He presses a gentle kiss there and it feels just like the first time he kissed me there all those years ago. He brings his mouth to my ear, and in a whisper, he says, “You can stop swimming now, Lily. We finally reached the shore.”
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It is recommended this section be read after reading the book, as it contains spoilers.
• • •
My earliest memory in life was from the age of two and a half years old. My bedroom didn’t have a door and was covered by a sheet nailed to the top of the door frame. I remember hearing my father yelling, so I peeked out from the other side of the sheet just as my father picked up our television and threw it at my mother, knocking her down.She divorced him before I turned three. Every memory beyond that of my father was a good one. He never once lost his temper with me or my sisters, despite having done so on numerous occasions with my mother.
I knew their marriage was an abusive one, but my mother never talked about it. To discuss it would have meant she was talking ill of my father and that’s something she never once did. She wanted the relationship I had with him to be free of any strain that stood between the two of them. Because of this, I have the utmost respect for parents who don’t involve their children in the dissolution of their relationships.
I asked my father about the abuse once. He was very candid about their relationship. He was an alcoholic during the years he was married to my mother and he was the first to admit he didn’t treat her well. In fact, he told me he had two knuckles replaced in his hand because he had hit her so hard, they broke against her skull.
My father regretted the way he treated my mother his entire life.
Mistreating her was the worst mistake he had ever made and he said https://books.yossr.com/en
he would grow old and die still madly in love with her.
I feel that was a very light punishment for what she endured.
When I decided I wanted to write this story, I first asked my mother for permission. I told her I wanted to write it for women like her. I also wanted to write it for all the people who didn’t quite understand women like her.
I was one of those people.
The mother I know is not weak. She was not someone I could envision forgiving a man for mistreating her on multiple occasions.
But while writing this book and getting into the mind-set of Lily, I quickly realized that it’s not as black and white as it seems from the outside.
On more than one occasion while writing this, I wanted to change the plotline. I didn’t want Ryle to be who he was going to be because I had fallen in love with him in those first several chapters, just as Lily had fallen in love with him. Just as my mother fell in love with my father.
The first incident between Ryle and Lily in the kitchen is what happened the first time my father ever hit my mother. She was cooking a casserole and he had been drinking. He pulled the casserole out of the oven without using a pot holder. She thought it was funny and she laughed. The next thing she knew, he had hit her so hard she flew across the kitchen floor.
She chose to forgive him for that one incident, because his apology and regret were believable. Or at least believable enough that giving him a second chance hurt less than leaving with a broken heart would have.
Over time, the incidents that followed were similar to the first. My father would repeatedly show remorse and promise to never do it again. It finally got to a point where she knew his promises were empty, but she was a mother of two daughters by then and had no money to leave. And unlike Lily, my mother didn’t have a lot of support. There were no local women’s shelters. There was very little government support back then. To leave meant risking not having a roof over our heads, but to her it was better than the alternative.
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My father passed away several years ago, when I was twenty-five years old. He wasn’t the best father. He certainly wasn’t the best husband. But thanks to my mother, I was able to have a very close relationship with him because she took the necessary steps to break the pattern before it broke us. And it wasn’t easy. She left him right before I turned three and my older sister turned five. We lived off beans and macaroni and cheese for two solid years. She was a single mother without a college education, raising two daughters on her own with virtually no help. But her love for us gave her the strength she needed to take that terrifying step.
By no means do I intend for Ryle and Lily’s situation to define domestic abuse. Nor do I intend for Ryle’s character to define the characteristics of most abusers. Every situation is different. Every outcome is different. I chose to fashion Lily and Ryle’s story after my mother and father’s. I fashioned Ryle after my father in many ways.
They are handsome, compassionate, funny, and smart—but with moments of unforgivable behavior.
I fashioned Lily after my mother in many ways. They are both caring, intelligent, strong women who simply fell in love with men who didn’t deserve to fall in love at all.
Two years after divorcing my father, my mother met my stepfather.
He was the epitome of a good husband. The memories I have of them growing up set the bar for the type of marriage I wanted for myself.
When I finally did reach the point of marriage, the hardest thing I ever had to do was tell my biological father that he wouldn’t be walking me down the aisle—that I was going to ask my stepfather.
I felt I had to do this for many reasons. My stepfather stepped up as a husband in ways my father never did. My stepfather stepped up financially in ways my father never did. And my stepfather raised us as if we were his own, while never once denying us a relationship with my biological father.
I remember sitting down in my father’s living room a month before my wedding. I told him I loved him, but that I was going to be asking my stepfather to walk me down the aisle. I was prepared for his response with every rebuttal I could think of. But the response he gave me was nothing I expected.
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He nodded his head and said, “Colleen, he raised you. He deserves to give you away at your wedding. And you shouldn’t feel guilty about it, because it’s the right thing to do.”
I knew my decision absolutely gutted my father. But he was selfless enough as a father to not only respect my decision, but he wanted me to respect it, too.
My father sat in the audience at my wedding and watched another man walk me down the aisle. I knew people were wondering why I didn’t just have both of them walk me down the aisle, but looking back on it, I realize I made the choice out of respect for my mother.
Who I chose to walk me down the aisle wasn’t really about my father and it wasn’t even really about my stepfather. It was about her. I wanted the man who treated her how she deserved to be treated to be given the honor of giving away her daughter.
In the past, I’ve always said I write for entertainment purposes only.
I don’t write to educate, persuade, or inform.
This book is different. This was not entertainment for me. It was the most grueling thing I have ever written. At times, I wanted to hit the Delete button and take back the way Ryle had treated Lily. I wanted to rewrite the scenes where she forgave him and I wanted to replace those scenes with a more resilient woman—a character who made all the right decisions at all the right times. But those weren’t the characters I was writing.
That wasn’t the story I was telling.
I wanted to write something realistic to the situation my mother was in—a situation a lot of women find themselves in. I wanted to explore the love between Lily and Ryle so that I would feel what my mother felt when she had to make the decision to leave my father—a man she loved with all her heart.
I sometimes wonder how different my life would have been if my mother had not made the choice she did. She left someone she loved so that her daughters would never think that kind of relationship was okay. She wasn’t rescued by another man—a knight in shining armor.
She took the initiative to leave my father on her own, knowing she was about to embark on a completely different kind of struggle with added stress as a single mother. It was important to me that Lily’s https://books.yossr.com/en
character embody this same empowerment. Lily made the ultimate decision to leave Ryle for the sake of their daughter. Even though there was a slight possibility that Ryle could have eventually changed for the better, some risks are never worth taking. Especially when those risks have failed you in the past.
Before I wrote this book, I had a lot of respect for my mother. Now that I’ve finished it and was able to explore a tiny fraction of the pain and struggle she went through to get to where she is today, I only have one thing to say to her.
I want to be you when I grow up.
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If you are a victim of domestic violence or know someone who could use assistance in leaving a dangerous situation, please visit:
For a list of resources for homeless individuals, please visit:
www.homelessresourcenetwork.org.
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There may only be one name listed as the author of this book, but I couldn’t have written it without the following people: My sisters. I would love you both just as much if you weren’t my sisters. Sharing a parent with you is just an added bonus.
My children. You are my biggest accomplishment in life. Please never make me regret saying that.
To Weblich, CoHorts, TL Discussion Group, Book Swap, and all the other groups I can turn to online when I need some positive energy.
You guys are a huge part of the reason I can do this for a living, so thank you.
The entire team at Dystel & Goderich Literary Management.
Thank you for your continued support and encouragement.
Everyone at Atria Books. Thank you for making my release days memorable and some of the best days of my life.
Johanna Castillo, my editor. Thank you for supporting this book.
Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for being the biggest supporter of my dream job.
To Ellen DeGeneres, one of only four people I hope I never meet.
You are light where there is darkness. Lily and Atlas are grateful for your shine.
My beta-readers and early supporters of each and every book. Your feedback, support, and constant friendship are more than I deserve. I love you all.
To my niece. I will get to meet you any day now, and I’ve never been so excited. I’m going to be your favorite aunt.
To Lindy. Thank you for the life lessons and the examples of what it is to be a selfless human. And thank you for one of the most profound quotes that will stick with me forever. “There is no such thing https://books.yossr.com/en
as bad people. We are all just people who do bad things.” I’m grateful my baby sister has you for a mother.
To Vance. Thank you for being the husband my mother deserved and the father you didn’t have to be.
My husband, Heath. You are good, all the way to your soul. I couldn’t have chosen a better person to father my children and spend the rest of my life with. We are all so lucky to have you.
To my mother. You are everything to everyone. That can sometimes be a burden, but you somehow see burdens as blessings. Our entire family thanks you.
And last but not least, to my damned ol’ daddy, Eddie. You aren’t here to see this book come to life, but I know you would have been its biggest supporter. You taught me many things in life—the greatest being that we don’t have to end up the same person we once were. I promise not to remember you based on your worst days. I will remember you based on the best, and there were many. I will remember you as a person who was able to overcome what many cannot. Thank you for becoming one of my closest friends. And thank you for supporting me on my wedding day in a way that many fathers would not have. I love you. I miss you.
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Read more from #1 New York Times bestselling author Colleen Hoover
An undeniable mutual attraction ultimately leads to broken promises—and broken hearts—as rules get shattered and love gets ugly.