Chapter Forty
Chloe
I turn the key in the lock of my door, the familiar weight of it pressing into my palm like a relic from another life. I hesitate for a moment, then swing the door open, the familiar sound making me sad. This is going to be one of the last times I do this, one of the last nights I walk inside this house that’s been my home for eight years.
I set down my purse, then walk into the living room and find Paul sitting in the corner with his phone in his hand. I’m shocked he isn’t in his office. Maybe this is supposed to be the night we finally talk. He looks up, his face unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he knows what’s coming.
Something else is as well, maybe a bit of guilt. We’re both carrying heavy burdens neither of us have been able to express. Why have we done this to each other? Will I ever know the answer to this question? I doubt it.
I’m standing in the room as he gazes at me. “Hello.”
“Hi,” he quietly says, his voice sounding resigned. He shifts in his seat.
I move farther into the room and take a deep breath. “We need to talk.” These are the hardest words I’ve ever said. The air is heavy between us.
Paul lets out a breath before rubbing his face. “I know.”
I nod my head, not sure how to begin this. We’ve been together for ten years, an entire decade. It hasn’t all been bad. The thought of dismantling this feels impossible. It’s why we’ve been living stagnant for a couple of years now. It’s like trying to undo a woven tapestry without unraveling each thread. But, we’ve already been unraveling this for years. We just haven’t acknowledged it.
I move to the couch and sit, keeping distance between us. I want to look at the floor, but refuse to give myself an easy out. I glance up and our gazes connect. He looks as sad as I feel in this moment.
“It’s been over for a long time, Paul. We need to admit it.”
He glances away for a moment as he shakes his head. But he meets my eyes again as his shoulders sag. “Yes, we do.” His voice is the most subdued I’ve ever heard.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I press my hands between my knees to keep them from shaking. I feel like more needs to be said. This is as difficult as I thought it would be.
“We used to be each other’s everything. We used to laugh together, cry together, and live our lives together. Can you remember the last time we shared a good belly laugh?” I don’t expect an answer, but I can’t stand the silence between us right now, even though it’s been this way for a very long time. “I don’t know when that was. I don’t remember the last time we truly shared with each other.”
“I know,” he says, looking down at the ground. It’s just as hard for him to look at me as it is for me to look at him. “I’ve avoided this conversation too, not even wanting to admit it to myself. I think it’s the friendship I’m more afraid of losing than the relationship.”
“I agree. It’s hard to let go of a decade. I don’t know if it’s our history, or the comfort of knowing the person you’re with. But we haven’t been happy together for a long time, and that’s not fair to either one of us. Maybe we’ve both been hoping this could somehow be magically fixed without ever discussing it,” I say. It sounds so stupid as the words are spoken aloud.
Paul leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “It’s all of this. We’re very good at ignoring issues. I even thought if we didn’t say anything, the problems weren’t real,” he says.
“But we both know that it’s very real,” I whisper, my throat so dang tight. “We both deserve a partner who wants to hear us, who wants to be with us. We live in the same house, but we’re strangers now.”
“I agree,” he says. “I lost my way to you a long time ago, and haven’t been able to find my way back.”
“This is probably because there isn’t an us to find our way back to anymore,” I tell him, realizing this for the first time. It hurts to say it, but it needed to be said. “We’ve changed, we’ve grown apart, and that doesn’t make us evil; it means we’ve grown apart and gone on to live separate lives.”
Paul lets out a humorless chuckle that makes me flinch. “I despise the phrase grown apart , like it was accidental. We’re the ones who allowed it to happen. We’re the ones who stopped trying... both of us.” There’s the smallest hint of anger in his tone, but he quickly squashes this. We don’t need to make accusations and point fingers. The passion left us a long time ago, and we don’t need to burn ten years down in flames.
Tears fill my eyes and spill over. “I’m going to move out. Audrey said I can stay with her,” I tell him.
“I can be the one to move. I’m never here,” he counters.
I shake my head. “I can’t stay in this house, Paul. It would hurt too much.” I pause for a moment as I look around the room. “It all feels empty to me now, anyway.”
“I’ll sell it then,” he tells me.
These words close my throat for a moment. This place will become someone else’s home as if we were never anything at all, as if the past ten years never even happened. It’s heartbreaking. It’s why it’s taken me this long to do what I knew needed to be done a long time ago.
“I have to admit, it’s difficult for me to think of another couple living in this house,” I admit.
He gives me a humorless smile. “Yeah, that’s a hard one for me too.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You don’t need to rush on getting things out. I have a work trip I’m leaving for tomorrow, but I’m going to leave tonight. It’s just too hard,” he says, his voice growing more and more quiet.
I have to fight panic at these words. This is the last conversation we’re ever going to have. This is final. How do people do this time and again? How do they continuously end relationships? It’s so damn hard, even if you know it’s the right thing to do.
“I don’t know what to say,” I tell him.
“Me neither,” he says. “Take whatever you want, Chloe. I don’t want any of it.”
This crushes me a little even though I’ve said the same thing. When I leave this house, it will be like it never happened. Will we both move on easily? Will we be happier? Will we forget everything we were? It’s heartbreaking to realize that we will move on and both of us will be happier.
“I don’t want much. You can do what you want with it,” I say, a bit of snark in my tone.
“I’ll just hire someone to sell everything. I’ll send you a check,” he says, no emotion in his voice now.
“I don’t want money,” I tell him.
“Then I’ll donate it. I don’t know what to tell you,” he snaps.
I shake my head. “Let’s not do this, Paul, let’s not get mean,” I beg.
He looks up and our eyes meet. He nods. “You’re right. I’m sorry. This is hard, even if it’s what I want.” I try not to let these words sting. It’s what I want too, but it’s still hard to hear.
“Are you at all sad?” I ask, hating that I do.
“I’m sad... but also relieved. We both know this should’ve happened a long time ago, even if it’s terrible.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m sad and relieved too.”
For a moment we both sit facing each other, neither looking at the other. The weight of what we’re doing is sinking in. We’ve been together for ten years. That’s ten years of inside jokes, of vacations, of fighting and making up, of shared meals and long walks. It’s ten years where I grew from a child to a woman. It’s been ten years of being with the same person. And now, it’s over with a few words spoken.
Paul stands and I look at him, fighting panic. Is he going to walk away now without a goodbye? Is this really our last moment together? I look up and see tears in his eyes, which makes more tears fall down my cheeks. He moves across the room, then holds out his hand. I place mine in his, and he pulls me up. I don’t fight him as he pulls me to him and wraps his arms around me.
I sob as I snuggle against his chest. He holds me for the last time. He sniffles and I think he’s crying too, but I don’t look at his face. It’s too painful. I’m not sure how long we stand like this, holding each other. Eventually, he lets me go and takes a step back. He touches my chin as he gazes at me for a moment. Then he takes in a deep breath and his eyes clear. He gives me the barest hint of a smile.
“I hope the world hands you everything you’ve ever wanted,” he whispers. “It’s time for me to go now.”
“I hope the same for you,” I say, my chin shaking, my body barely able to keep me on my feet.
He moves over to the corner and picks up his jacket, slipping it on. He walks out of the living room and comes back a minute later with his bag. It must’ve already been packed for his trip. He gazes at me for one more moment.
“I’m sorry, Chloe.” There’s so much more to these words than an apology. I don’t want to know what he’s sorry about.
“I’m sorry too, Paul,” I tell him, meaning it. I don’t want him to know I betrayed him before we ended, I want him to think of me as the innocent young woman he met ten years ago, the girl he fell in love with, not the woman I’ve become. Just as I want to think of him as the man in love with me, not the man who most likely has fallen for another. We’ve each betrayed the other. That will have to be something we suffer about internally.
He nods, turns, and walks from the house. The final click of the door starts my tears all over again. The silence of the house is overwhelming. It suddenly feels too big, too empty. I fall onto the couch and pull my knees up, hugging them. I look around at the pictures on the wall, at all of the things we collected together, all of the things that made this our home. I don’t want any of it. I can’t even begin to think about packing right now. I meant what I said, I don’t want any of it... except for my clothes and art. I don’t want reminders of the life I’m walking away from.
I let more tears fall as I say goodbye to this home, to this life I wanted so badly at one time. I don’t know how much time passes, but eventually the tears stop. This was the hardest night, but it was necessary, and it was right. I won’t continue crying over the breakup. I’m already starting to heal.
As sad as this is, I feel... free. I’m free. I can move forward with my life now. This was the right decision. It took too long to happen, but it was right, right for both of us. Yes, there’s grief at losing my friend, but there’s also hope for a bright future where I don’t feel unseen, where I don’t feel as if I’m stuck in quicksand.
I finally go to our room and lie down. It will be my last night in this bedroom I shared with Paul for years. Tomorrow, new adventures begin. We’ll see what the future holds.