Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
That’s the problem with Clay. He never is.
“So, what did you need help with here?” he asks, following me into the kitchen. “No pressure, Jose, but I’m really hoping it’s to help you finally move all your stuff into our place. I miss you so much it’s bordering on unhealthy.”
God. I knew this would be terrible, but it’s so much worse than I imagined. It’s debilitating.
Maybe if I were a stronger person, I’d have told Clay the truth from the start. I’d have told him about the baby and that I lost it. I’d have told him I was in pain from the miscarriage and that I was worried it wasn’t normal, and he wouldn’t have let me wait four days before going to my follow-up appointment. Maybe I wouldn’t have been in such bad shape, and maybe, just maybe, Dr. Norrows wouldn’t have had to take my ovary.
Maybe I wouldn’t have a next-to-zero chance of having the kids Clay so desperately wants, and maybe we’d find a way to move on together.
But none of that is what happened. And now, I have to face it.
I’m not strong enough to be the wife he deserves. And I’m definitely not strong enough to walk down the aisle in the town square with everyone close to us watching on and tell him “I do” again when I know what I’ve done.
I stand at the kitchen table, staring down at the sealed envelope. I hesitate to pick it up. But when I hear Clay’s footsteps stop right behind me, I know it’s now or never.
“I need to give you this,” I say and lift the envelope into my hands. The paper feels hot against my fingers, like it has the ability to burn my skin, so I shove it into his hands before it can.
Before I can change my mind—before I convince myself to stay.
He looks at me curiously, his eyes flitting between my face and the envelope, and I silently fight the shredding pain of my heart being torn apart.
“Jose, what’s going on?” he asks. I blink hard against tears, steeling myself to do what I know is right.
It has to be right.
“Just open it.”
He searches my face for a long moment, but eventually, he slides his finger under the seal and opens the envelope. And when he slips his hand inside to pull the papers out, my engagement ring falls into his hand.
His face goes from confused to devastating discomfort in an instant. And it’s like I can literally feel his heart sink into his shoes as he stares down at the ring in his hand.
“Why…w-what is this?” he asks, his eyes moving to mine again.
Emotion clogs my throat like a dam. I can barely get the words out, but somehow, I manage. “Just read the papers.”
He scans the papers I printed in the library this afternoon, and I lick my lips with anticipation. It’s the lowest I’ve ever felt, and I cling to the freedom I’m desperate for him to have on the other side. It’s the only thing holding me together.
“Josie, are these divorce papers?”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice jagged and raw, and Clay’s eyes jerk up to mine. It’s like…until he heard me speak, he still thought it was some kind of joke.
“You want a divorce?”
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat.
“What the fuck is going on?” he questions, his voice escalating with a mixture of anger and sadness and a million other painful emotions. He’s caught off guard, and that’s my fault too. I’ve willfully fed into his delusions about how we were doing for a long time now. “I don’t… I don’t…I don’t understand. Why?”
“I can’t do it, Clay,” I tell him, and my voice is so pathetically weak. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”
“You can’t be married to me?” he asks, his posture deflated and agitated all at once. All I can do is nod. “You want to divorce me? Is this a fucking nightmare?” Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and my nose burns with the suppression of my own like a raging fire.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah.” A humorless laugh jumps from his lungs. “You’ve said that a lot. That you’re sorry. But what you haven’t said is why you want a divorce. This isn’t pretend, Josie. This is real fucking life. This isn’t a fight we get over and come crawling back from the next day. This is the end of us as we know it. That’s what you want?”
“I know better than anyone that life isn’t some made-up fairy tale,” I spit back. It’s unfair in the worst of ways, but I know more than anyone in this world what’s at stake here. I know the unbearable, fucked-up pain of knowing I’ll never have it. “But you’re ready to move on, and I’m not. You want the future, and I think it’s high time you looked toward it without me in it.”