Chapter 8
How could he think that?
42%
I’d counted down the days to this meeting with more anticipation than I’d ever felt for one of his rare kind gestures.
I tried to pull my arm free, but his grip only tightened, fingers digging into my skin. hard enough to leave marks.
In the past, I would have endured the pain silently. Not anymore.
“You’re hurting me. Let go.”
He stopped abruptly, his hand loosening as if surprised by my objection.
I rubbed my wrist as I walked ahead. “Don’t worry. I’m not backing out of the
divorce.”
When we reached his car, he hurried ahead to open the passenger door.
I paused, then deliberately opened the back door and slid in.
He stood frozen for several seconds before slamming the door shut and returning
to the driver’s seat.
Once inside, he maintained his icy demeanor, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.
“Is the drama really necessary, Liv? If you have something to say, just say it.” Unable to understand his sudden hostility, I considered my words carefully. “Some women don’t like others sitting in the front seat. I’m trying not to cause problems between you and Kate.”
His questioning persisted, relentless and accusatory.
“Why did you block my number? I called you at least fifty fucking times. Why would you do that?”
I realized we’d both developed habits during our years together.
His habit of interrogating me, my habit of apologizing for existing.
But during my month away, something fundamental had shifted inside me.
Under his interrogation, I felt not panic or guilt, but pure irritation.
“I didn’t want to talk to you. Your constant calls were annoying me. Is that clear
enough?”
1/2
12:57 PM Mon 10 Mar
08
His sudden braking nearly threw me against the front seat. The car behind us. honked angrily as he swerved to the shoulder.
I watched in shock as he whipped around, his face contorted with rage. “Annoying? Olivia, my father died because of you, and you find me annoying?” All those exhausting moments from our marriage came flooding back–his accusations, his cold shoulders, his constant reminders of my debt to him. But now, for the first time, they didn’t touch me. It was like watching a movie I’d seen too many times; I knew all the lines, all the dramatic moments, but they no longer held any emotional power.
I was completely calm, almost detached, as if he no longer deserved any
emotional response from me.
“Just drive. Let’s get this done so we can move on with our lives.”
20
