Chapter 15
Love can breed resentment. Hatred can masquerade as indifference. But all I felt was overwhelming panic at the thought of being dragged back into his toxic orbit. I flagged down a passing taxi and escaped, my heart pounding as if I’d narrowly avoided disaster. The driver, sensing my distress, pulled away quickly, leaving Ethan standing on the sidewalk, his suitcase beside him like a loyal pet. Through the back window, I watched him shrink in the distance, his tall figure still visible as he stared after the cab, not moving, not trying to follow.
“You okay, miss?” the driver asked, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. “No,” I said honestly. “But I will be.”
Back at my apartment, I locked the door and pushed my small IKEA bookshelf in front of it–not that it would stop Ethan if he really wanted to get in, but the act
made me feel more secure.
Ethan called repeatedly, but I switched off my phone. I sat on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest, trying to make sense of everything he’d said.
No baby. No relationship with Kate. Feelings for me? After years of making it clear how much he resented me?
What I never told him was that during our divorce proceedings, Kate had reached
out to me directly.
After several declined friend requests on Instagram, I’d finally accepted, curious about what she wanted. I’d expected gloating, maybe, or some weird form of female bonding over Ethan’s flaws.
She’d immediately video–called me, her face tear–streaked and desperate, not at all. the confident homewrecker I’d imagined.
If you’re really done with him, just stay away,” she’d pleaded, her voice breaking.
“He and I… we need to figure out.” She twisted a tissue between her fingers. “I know what we did at your birthday was wrong. The fake pregnancy… it was his idea, but I went along with it. He said it would force your hand.” “Please. Let us have a chance.”
She wasn’t just some fantasy from his past–she genuinely loved Ethan. Had loved
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him since they were teenagers. She came from a middle–class family in Queens, and when my father had offered
to finance her education in Chicago, she couldn’t refuse such an opportunity. “But I never forgot him standing outside my house the night before I left,” she’d said, twisting a tissue between her fingers. “I’ve dated other men, but none of
them were him.”
She’d leaned closer to the camera, her eyes wide and pleading: “Liv, you can’t
separate us twice, can you?”
Then came the familiar knife twist: “His father saved your life.”
Everyone had reminded me of this debt for years. Now she was using it too. I’d calmly promised to stay away, assuring her I would have done so regardless. “I’m done with him, for good,” I’d said, meaning every word. “Go ahead and have
him.”
Those words had been completely sincere. And now he claimed to have feelings
for me?
After everything, I no longer needed or wanted his affection. I’d spent too many years begging for scraps of his approval, planning my days around his moods, wearing clothes he liked, cooking food he preferred, all while he looked through me like I was invisible.
The memory of our wedding night flashed in my mind–the tension in the hotel room as he barely looked at me, the mechanical way he’d approached sex like a chore to be completed, then immediately rolled away to check his fantasy football scores while I lay there feeling empty and used. I’d spent hours getting ready, carefully choosing lingerie I thought might spark some passion in him, only to realize nothing I did would ever be enough. I’d cried in the bathroom, then climbed into bed beside him, telling myself it would get better. It never did. No, whatever game Ethan was playing now, I wasn’t interested in the rules. I’d finally found peace without him, and I intended to keep it.
