Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
ALLEY
THEN—FOUR MONTHS AGO
APRIL
I pound my fists on the office door. “Jensen!”
I’m met with silence.
I’ve been standing in the hallway for five minutes, and I’m losing my patience. It’s been a day, and I’m not in the mood for this bullshit. I don’t even know if he’s home. For all I know, he’s passed out in his car somewhere.
It’s six p.m. on a Thursday, and I just got home from one of the worst shifts I’ve ever had.
Normally, I love my job. But not today. A patient coded coming out of anesthesia, and it scared the absolute shit out of me.
It was the first time I’ve ever dealt with something that intense.
He ended up being okay, but still had to be transferred to the ICU.
My hands shook for an entire hour, and the charting, the debriefing—it was mentally and emotionally exhausting.
The last thing I’m capable of right now is playing the patient, loving wife to my addict husband who’s been MIA for weeks. I feel extra defeated.
“Jensen!” I slap the door again, harder this time. A sharp sting spreads through my hand. “Dammit!” I drag my palm down the frame, teeth clenched.
He hasn’t responded to a single one of my texts today—which tells me one thing: he’s higher than usual.
What blows my mind is how he still manages to keep his job.
He’s a fully functioning addict at work, and a complete mess at home.
Like a child who holds it together all day at school, only to fall apart the second they walk through the door.
Except in this scenario, he’s a grown-ass man with a successful career…
who either shuts me out of his office or avoids me completely by not coming home at all.
I’ve had it. Rage boils up like a volcano—pressure building, seconds from eruption. I’m so damn tired. Tired of the not knowing. Tired of the lies. Tired of this life.
And I’m sick of this door being locked. My eyes land on the hinges. Bingo.
I pull up YouTube and search for the easiest way to remove a door. I watch a two-minute how-to video, dig Jensen’s tools out of the utility closet, and get to work.
It takes longer than I expect. One of the pins is jammed, and I wrestle with it, cursing under my breath. But with effort, and the last shred of patience I have, I finally get the damn thing off.
Jensen isn’t in his office, and his location is turned off, per usual.
I haul the door to our storage closet, rearrange a few things to make space, and lean it inside before shutting the closet door. Then, I return to the hallway to gather the pins and hinges.
I take the elevator down to the lobby and step outside. The cool, spring air hits my face as I drop the hardware into the nearest trash can. I walk away with a slight, satisfied smile, like this one small win somehow made up for the nightmare of a day I’ve had.
I don’t feel like cooking or making a mess just to eat alone, so I wander a few blocks to my favorite Mediterranean restaurant. If I’m going to eat by myself, I might as well enjoy it.
At dinner, I pull out my phone and glance at the last text I sent to Jensen.
Can you just let me know that you’re okay?
That was over an hour ago. My vision blurs as I stare blankly at the screen.
It’s almost been a year. A whole year since I realized what was happening—since Jensen first tried to detox. A year of living in hell, watching the love of my life slowly destroy himself… and our marriage.
My timeline is almost up, and I start to seriously wonder what I’m going to do. Am I really going to leave? Where would I even go?
The thought of trying to find a place to live in this economy makes me physically ill.
I had great rent at my old place, but that was before prices exploded.
Now, even looking for something decent feels impossible, especially without Jensen’s income.
And the thought of being single? That feels scarier than not having a place to live right now.
God, I don’t want to be divorced.
I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep, steadying breath, trying to quiet my mind.
I hate when it gets like this, when I fixate on everything that could go wrong.
But sometimes the weight of it all gets so heavy, my thoughts go to the darkest places.
There’s even a part of me that wishes I’d just get a call—right now—telling me he overdosed.
Then I wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore.
I wouldn’t be the wife who left her husband when he needed her most.
Holy shit. Guilt sweeps through me, gripping my subconscious in a way that makes it hard to breathe.
What the hell is wrong with me? When did I become such a monster?
My phone buzzes on the table beside me.
Jensen
Sorry, babe. I was at an AA meeting.
I stare blankly at the message, then swipe out without responding.
That’s his new go-to: Tell her I’m at an AA meeting so she can’t get mad—can’t question it.
Except I am mad. I do question it. And I don’t believe him.
I take a sip of my Guinness, because it’s been a day, and text Leo.
Hey, I know this is random, but I was wondering if I could come stay with you and Vivian sometime in the next month for a few days. I’m needing a visit home and Michael’s got a full house…
Michael and Stella have three kids now, one more than the last time I stayed with them. They’d still welcome me in. The kids are little, they’d happily crash on the floor, and they’d love to have me. But I want my own space. And if I’m being honest, I want to pick Leo’s brain.
He replies a few minutes later while I’m signing for the check.
Leo
Of course. When you thinking?
I don’t know. Maybe in 3–4 weeks? I need to check my work schedule. I’ll let you know in a few days. You sure? You checked with Vivian?
Leo
I’m sure. And I don’t need to check with Vivian to know she’s more than okay with it.
Okay… Well, I’ll keep you posted. Thanks, Leo!
Leo
Sure thing, love.
I can hear Leo’s British accent in my head as I read it, and a grin spreads across my face, full and involuntary, lifting my mood just enough to break through the fog.
This will be good. A few days away to clear my head. To talk to someone rational. Someone who knows me but isn’t too close. Leo might be a little biased, but not like my family or Jensen’s.
I don’t get home until close to eight. Jensen must be here because the kitchen lights are on, and I remember turning them off earlier. I fill up a water bottle to take to my room, then turn to head down the hall, and stop dead in my tracks.
A dozen emotions slam into me at once—anger, frustration, sadness. But mostly? Defeat.
My breaths go short and shallow. A drum pounds in my chest as I stare down the hallway at the door that’s been removed from our bedroom…
And reattached to the office.
I’m moving on instinct, without thought. My hands connect with the door before I know what I’m doing. The banging. The screaming. It doesn’t even feel like me.
But I’ve lost myself in this—just like Jensen has. I’m not proud of who I’ve become. But it’s been necessary. Guard up. Shield on. Ready for battle. Ready to fight. Every day.
Every. Damn. Day
Because I have to survive.
But so does he.