Chapter Forty-Eight
ALLEY
PRESENT DAY
The front door slams, jolting me awake. A second later, there’s clattering.
My body bolts upright, heart racing.
What the hell?
I look over at Jensen’s side of the bed. It’s empty.
I press my palm flat to my chest. Oh, thank God. It’s just him. He’s home. I take a few deep breaths, trying to slow my pulse. It’s just Jensen.
There’s a loud bang, followed by a “Shit.”
Of course he’s messed up. Great.
“No. You be quiet!” Jensen whisper-shouts.
My body stills—frozen in place.
Did he… bring someone here?
Goosebumps crawl up my arms, and the hair on the back of my neck stands straight.
“Just go away!”
Why would he bring someone to our home at—
I grab my phone. It’s 1:26 a.m. Something about this feels very… creepy.
I get out of bed and move slowly toward the door. I make my way down the hallway, each step deliberate and quiet, ears straining to hear who he’s talking to.
“You saw her?” he says.
I stop again—cold.
Saw her? Who?
“Fucking liar.”
I round the corner, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. My gaze lands on Jensen, then scans the rest of the kitchen and living room.
No one else is here.
A barstool lies on its side a few feet from the counter. That must’ve been the noise. Jensen’s leaning over the counter, staring down at his phone.
I let myself relax a little. He must’ve been on a call. But still, it’s 1:30 in the morning.
“Hey,” I say.
He jumps, setting his phone face down on the counter, like he doesn’t want me to see it.
My brows knit together. “Who were you talking to?” I take a step closer.
“Nobody,” he mutters.
It’s dark, but I can tell just by the way he’s standing that he’s high.
“You were talking to someone.” I snatch his phone off the counter. “Open it,” I say firmly. There is no room to argue.
He swipes up, unlocking it with Face ID. Gripping it tight, I pull up his call history. The last call he made was hours ago, when he was still at work.
“Jensen.” My voice rises. “Who were you talking to?” I don’t mean to be confrontational, but—my God, he owes me an explanation.
He lets out a short laugh—like it just dawned on him. “Oh, that… it was Amber’s sister. She was right over there.” He points toward the living room.
“What?” I ask, softly. “What are you talking about?”
“Amber’s sister,” he repeats. “She was here. She was talking to me.” His voice shifts—uncertain now—like he’s afraid. His brow furrows, like he’s just now realizing that what he’s saying doesn’t make any sense.
You know that feeling when you watch your first scary movie—when chills race up your spine and creep across your skin?
That’s what’s happening to me now.
“Jensen,” I whisper, my voice barely there. “There’s no one there. Amber’s sister died years ago. She couldn’t have been here.”
“No.” He shakes his head hard. “No, you’re wrong. She was right there! Right there!” he shouts, pointing wildly. The sudden outburst sends a fresh surge of fear through me.
I stare at the dark, empty living room, squinting—like if I look long enough, I’ll see the ghost he swears he saw.
It’s chilling.
“Okay,” I say gently. “She was there.”
He nods, relief breaking across his face. “Okay. You saw her, too. That’s good.”
“Let’s just get to bed, okay?” I loop my arm through his. His skin is clammy, sticking to mine. “Come on, babe. Let’s go. This way.”
My chest swells with heartache, and a tear slips down my cheek as I hear my own voice. It’s the same voice I used back when I was a CNA in the old folks’ home—the one I used with Alzheimer’s patients when they were lost or confused.
And it cuts like a dagger to my core.
“I just wanna lie down,” he murmurs.
“Okay, babe. Let’s go lie down.”
I help him into bed and slide in beside him, my thoughts racing.
What is he on?
This is different.
What did he do? Where was he?
Minutes later, he’s out of bed, stumbling into the bathroom. I hear drawers and cupboards slamming shut and more crashing sounds.
“Fuck!”
I sit up fast. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “I’m just… I need a Q-tip. I can’t find them.”
I grab my phone and step into the bathroom, lighting the floor with the flashlight. The Q-tips are everywhere.
“God, I can’t find the Q-tips.”
“They’re right there,” I say, pointing.
He starts yanking drawers open again, slamming them shut.
“No. I need them. Fuck! I just need them, okay?”
“Jensen…” My voice shakes, and my pulse picks up. “You’re scaring me.”
He doesn’t hear me.
“Will you please just go back to bed?” I whisper. “Please.” I close my eyes. “Please?”
He freezes. Then turns like nothing happened. “Fine.” He walks back to the bed and lies down.
I settle in next to him—sort of. My body’s tense, and my heart is pounding.
Two minutes later he’s up again. “I need a damn Q-tip!”
He’s back in the bathroom. Drawers open. Cupboards slam. Again and again.
“They’re right there!” I call out.
“Where?” he snaps.
“On the floor. You spilled them.”
“No. That’s not what I need.”
More cupboards. More frantic searching.
He’s not looking for Q-tips anymore?
I don’t know what he’s doing. But I do know that in all our years together—even when he’s been high—I’ve never been scared of Jensen.
Until now.
And I’m fucking terrified.
My brain spins with headlines—stories of wives killed by their husbands, only to find out later they were high. A psychotic break. A relapse gone from bad to worse.
I know these are crazy thoughts. Jensen loves me. He’d never hurt me. But this stranger pacing through our bathroom, whispering and slamming drawers, and talking to ghosts?
That’s not Jensen.
This man could literally kill me, and not remember a second of it.
A fear so deep wraps around my throat, cutting off air. I’m on my feet before I even register moving. I flick the light switch on.
“Jensen, stop!”
He turns to face me. His eyes are sunken, the skin around them dark and hollow. And that shadow—the one that scared the hell out of me once before—it’s back. It’s here.
An evil presence you can actually see.
My lips tremble, and fear claws at my throat. “You’re scaring me,” I whisper. “I’m going to sleep at Matt’s tonight, alright?”
“No!” he cries out. “Don’t leave. Don’t leave me, babe.” His face crumples—grief, terror, all of it—and then he’s sobbing. Not crying.
Sobbing.
“Please don’t leave me with them.”
Them?
I look around, my heart feeling like it’s going to beat right out of my chest. “Who?” I ask, barely able to get the word out.
“Them! They’re everywhere.” He grabs my hands, pleading. “Please don’t leave me with them. I’m scared. Please, babe. Please. I’m so scared.”
I know he’s hallucinating, but whatever he’s seeing feels real. Like his demons are now mine—thick as fog, settling over everything, suffocating, and all-consuming.
The fear in his eyes tugs at my heart. I can’t leave him like this. I search his face, desperate for a flicker of Jensen. Even a shred of him. He has to be in there. But I can’t find him.
He’s gone.
And it breaks my fucking heart.
Because I feel it—deep in my bones—in my goddamn soul. This is it. This is the last time.
This is the end.
I want so badly for him to come out of it. To fight for me. To say something—anything. But he doesn’t even know where he is. He doesn’t know his wife is standing here, scared out of her mind. That today was our anniversary. That he missed it.
That he left me sitting alone at dinner.
He quit.
He gave up.
On me.
On himself.
On us.
And now he’s losing me. Because I can’t do this anymore.
I inhale deeply, trying to steady my trembling body. “I’ll stay if you lay down and go to sleep,” I say. My voice is low and stern. “I’m serious, Jensen. Not another word. If you get up or speak, I’ll leave.”
He nods, collapsing against me. His arms wrap tight around my body, his cries muffling into my shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you. I love you so much.”
I rub my palm up and down his back, tightening my hold around him as a quiet sob shakes through me—one I try to hold in but fail. “I love you too,” I whisper.
I hold him for as long as I can, for as long as my heart can take it. Knowing deep down that this might be the last time he holds me like this—even if he’s just clinging to me out of fear, holding on for dear life.
I don’t want to remember it this way, so I force my mind to the memories that matter. All the tender ways Jensen’s touched me over the years. The way his hands made me feel loved. The way they always made me feel safe. Protected.
They never made me feel like this.
I pull back, cupping his cheek, and kiss his forehead. “Go lay down, alright?”
I flip off the light, and climb back into bed, hoping it’s for the last time tonight. Jensen slides in next to me.
He doesn’t get up again. He doesn’t speak. And eventually, he falls asleep.
But I don’t. My mind won’t shut off. And one thought keeps playing, over and over: no one should ever have to witness what I just did. No one should have to go through this.
What happened tonight—in our home—is not normal.
Tossing and turning, I finally give up.
I slip out of bed, walk into our closet, and turn the light on. My hands move quickly, pulling open a drawer with keepsakes.
After digging through a few items, I find what I’m looking for—an envelope—the letter I wrote to myself at Leo and Vivian’s four months ago.
My breath catches as I stare down at it. I know what’s inside. I know what it says.
And I promised myself I’d only open it if I ever found myself here again.
I slide down the wall, envelope in hand, and trace my thumb over the date:
April 14th.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat. I told myself if Jensen got clean, I’d wait. I’d give it time. But if he relapsed—I’d read it.
Otherwise, the plan was to wait until December 31. To give it everything I have. To give him everything I have.
I have.
God, I have.
I’ve given him everything. And then some.
With trembling hands, I slide my thumb under the edge of the envelope, breaking the seal, and pull out the letter.
Dear Alley,
I’m writing this letter the way I’d write it to Scarlett, or Megan, or Amber. Even Mom. The women I’d fight like hell to protect. The ones I’d want to be strong, and more than anything, happy.
I know you love Jensen. I know it. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. And I know he loves you, too.
You two have something special. Something not very many people are lucky enough to find.
But Jensen’s sick.
And it’s not something that can be cured with a pill, or a doctor, or even love. It’s not something that patience or kindness or time can fix.
It’s something only Jensen can do. And he has to do it for himself.
Not for you. Not for Matt. Not for his mom. Not because he’s scared to lose you. He has to do it because he wants to get better.
For him. And him alone.
For so long, I’ve watched as you've stayed by his side, hoping, wishing, even praying for him to get better. To get the help he needs. But you can’t do this forever.
You deserve more. You deserve better. You deserve a life with someone who can show up for you.
To celebrate life with you. To laugh with you. Grow with you. Build a life together.
You know this is a lifelong illness, even if he gets clean. It’s still a battle, a cancer sitting in the corner, waiting patiently for the right time to pounce. To take over again.
You've seen it with Dad.
And even though you know it's possible for Jensen to get clean and stay clean, you also know this fight does not go away.
It’s not yours to fight anymore.
You’ve done enough. You’ve done all you can.
I know you don’t want to. But you have to. It’s time.
You can love Jensen, and still leave him.
Let Jensen fight his own battles.
No more questioning. No more what ifs. No more.
You promised. Do it for your future self. Your future children. Your future happiness…. For Mom.
Because sometimes, we have to lose the things we love the most in order to find ourselves again in the chaos.
It’s time to move on. Time to be happy. Time to remember who you were before all of this, and who you still are.
I gasp for air, the tears coming so hard and fast they blur and soak the words on the page.
“God,” I sob—loud, guttural, wrecked. “I can’t do this.” I drag in a sharp breath, my chest aching, my lungs desperate for air. “I can’t do this.”
I hang my head in my hands.
And I cry…
One last time…
For us.
I wake to darkness, my sleeping mask still in place. I don’t feel rested—not even a little.
Pushing the mask to my forehead, I force my eyes open, letting the brightness blind me.
Jensen’s side of the bed is empty.
Guess he had to get his morning fix.
He probably doesn’t even remember last night.
I wait for the emotion to hit—the sadness, the panic, the guilt. But it doesn’t come.
I grab my phone, open the Delta app, and book a flight to Chicago for this afternoon. It’s now or never. I need to see my dad anyway.
Silently, numbly, I move through the house, packing whatever I can fit into a large suitcase and a carry-on. Clothes, toiletries, just the essentials. Only the things I need for now.
I keep waiting to cry—to feel something. But it’s like the well of tears has gone dry, emptied out by everything that came before.
Zipping my suitcase closed, I roll it to the front door, pausing for a moment to take one last glance around the apartment.
Our apartment.
My eyes land on the couch—the first place we ever made out. The corner of my mouth tugs up, just a little, at the memory of him trying to focus on a work call while he stripped my shirt off.
My gaze shifts to the dining table, where I took a chunk of skin out of my hip bumping into it so hard. Jensen wanted to kiss it better—and then it led to more. The kitchen counter, where he ate me out after a Sunday football day full of drinking and laughing.
My eyes squeeze shut. God. Football.
There it is. The emotion. The sadness. The overwhelming feeling that I might actually die right now from a broken heart.
He’s everywhere.
I fell in love with him here. In this place. In this life we built. This apartment is us. It’s full of our love, our history… our dreams.
But it’s also where he broke us.
A shudder rises in my chest, my throat swells, thick with everything I’m about to lose, everything I’m about to walk away from.
My hopes.
My home.
My love.
Jensen.
I can’t wait for him to come back this time. Because right now, it’s him or me.
I choose me.
Opening the door, I step into the hallway, unsure of what my future holds.
I’m scared as hell. I’m dreading it. But it’s like Leo said: Time is the one thing that always passes. It’s guaranteed. And with time, things will get easier.
Eventually.
I close the door behind me… and pray for strength to keep walking.