Chapter 17 #3
I stumble to my feet and go straight to Ethan’s room, praying I didn’t wake him with my scream.
The door is ajar, so I push it open. His bed is empty. The clock on the nightstand reads 6:50 a.m., which can only mean he left to avoid me.
I walk into the kitchen and, with shaking hands, pour myself a glass of water.
There’s nowhere else I want to be.
“Fuck.”
I set the glass down hard on the counter, but the nightmare refuses to release me. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t say that,” I whisper. “That’s in my head. Just my head.”
I force myself to remember the details... to prove it. To prove it didn’t happen the way my mind keeps replaying it. I cling to pieces of truth, lining them up like evidence in a trial battling my own thoughts.
Get a grip. Think.
In the nightmare, I wasn’t using a condom. I always used one with Maya, except for that day in late October.
What else... I try to pull the real memory forward—the hotel room, the sounds, things I brought to the bed, and the things I said. As the images crowd in, I swallow hard, fighting the wave of nausea rising in my throat.
When the scene I’m dreading finally hits, the same one from the nightmare, it nearly brings me to my knees. I brace myself, gripping the counter with both hands to stay upright.
I started entering her slowly, then slammed all the way in with one brutal thrust.
‘Fuck! Maya!’
I looked down. I remember the feeling clearly... the sheer ecstasy of the moment. But the thought was there, too. Looking at where I was, buried inside her, I thought: There’s nowhere else I want to be.
In the present, I gag, the bitter taste of bile rising in my throat.
Disoriented, I make my way to my office. The room is dark, the city sky barely bruised with early morning on the other side of the glass. I don’t turn on the lights. I just stand there for a moment.
There’s nowhere else I want to be.
There’s nowhere else I want to be.
I retrieve the key from where I keep it hidden inside a book and go straight to the drawer, unlocking it with shaking hands. Pulling out the black binder, I set it on my desk. Just like every single time I’ve opened it these past months, that feeling of dread hits me harder.
I lay my left hand on top of it, the same hand that no longer bears even the faintest sign of the wedding band I wore for nearly two decades, and try to hold myself together.
My body shakes like it’s breaking from the inside out. I open it.
More than half the binder is bloated with paper, page after page of maps and timestamps, printed proof of exactly where Maya and I were at the same time. Every time we were together.
I go looking for the dates, as I always do. Like punishment.
July—Alicia’s fake prom. The first week of my undoing.
August—the night Alicia was rushed to the hospital. Two days in Miami.
September—the weekend in Maya’s apartment. Ethan’s birthday.
October—the gala. The Plan B.
November—Maya’s birthday. The last trip to San Jose.
I close my eyes for a second and make myself keep going.
Ceci organized it all. Chronologically. Coffee cups, a designer dress, and shoes. Dozens of condoms, three tubes of lube.
There’s nowhere else I want to be.
There’s nowhere else I want to be.
Flights, hotels and meals. A bouquet and a box of chocolates. All the receipts. Proof, stacked in paper form. Not just of what I did… but of how thoroughly I dismantled my own life, one transaction at a time.
When I reach the last page, I go back to the beginning. I keep repeating the cycle. Time loses its hold on me, everything dissolving into a blur, every memory looping in my head.
There’s nowhere else I want to be.
There’s nowhere else I want to be.
I start again, my movements more frantic now, turning the pages too hard, too fast—my vision swimming, my hands shaking—until the paper begins to tear free from the binder.
And then I’m ripping them out. One by one.
Shreds rain down around me, and I don’t stop. I tear every page that tells the story of my ruin. Every page documenting the choices that cost me my life as I knew it. Pages that record more than my sins.
There’s nowhere else I want to be.
There’s nowhere else I want to be.
When I’m finished, there are torn pages in every corner of the room. I search the floor frantically, hunting for anything left whole, terrified of missing even one intact sheet.
My chest burns, lungs clawing for air. My head feels like it’s splitting open. I press a hand to my heart—it’s too much.
My knees give out.
I collapse onto the shredded remains of what’s left of my life. And then I can’t hold it in anymore. The sound that rips out of my throat comes from somewhere feral. Grief stripped bare of language.
I slam my fist hard into my chest, but nothing eases. It just eats through me, spreading like acid through my bones, leaving me hollow inside.
I fold forward. Crying. Sobbing. Breaking.
Begging for mercy. Begging forgiveness from Ceci, from our children, even though I know they cannot hear me.
Minutes. Maybe hours pass before I pull myself up and lean back on the desk, closing my eyes.
I think of Ceci, building a life that no longer has space for me. I think of Alicia, my little princess, the only one who wants me near. I think of Ethan, who, despite everything we said last night, chose not to be here to face me this morning.
My thoughts wander, and then something changes.
When I open my eyes, I reach back blindly until my fingers find the phone. He answers on the second ring.
“I’ve been awake since seven, Colin. Please don’t tell me you’re calling with another existential crisis,” Oliver says, annoyed but with a hint of concern.
“I’m going to need that number,” I croak, my voice worn down to the bone.
The line goes completely dead for a second before he lets out a long exhale. “Thank God,” he mutters. “It’s about damn time.”
Ethan
I keep staring at the pool. At the same lounge chair where I kissed Dalila for the last time... here, at home.
‘You’re a liar and a cheater… just like your father. It’s over, Ethan. I won’t let you make a fool of me.’
I press my forehead to the cold kitchen window glass, pulling in shallow breaths.
For weeks, her jealousy had been spiraling. I tried to reassure her, to the point of staying home just to video call her while everyone else went out. I wanted her to feel safe. Wanted her to know she was the only one.
I never imagined it would end like this. That she would truly believe I could do that to her. What we have is real. Not just because we were each other’s first.
It happened before I moved to Ithaca. Before everything went downhill. It was just the two of us at her place. I hesitated, not only because it was my first time too, but because I didn’t want her to regret it afterward. I wanted it to be good for her.
Dalila looked straight into my eyes and said, ‘There’s no one else I’d want my first time to be with. Only you, Ethan. Only you.’
It was awkward at first, but it didn’t take long before we learned what felt good for each other.
I flew in last week to see her and Alicia. Dalila came home with me that last night, and it was by the pool that we said I love you for the first time.
Grabbing my phone, I see it’s 8:20 a.m. She’s probably still asleep. I’ll wait a bit before heading to her place.
This can’t be how it ends. My father’s sins aren’t mine to pay for.
Dad.
Saying what I said yesterday was painful, and hearing him was even worse. But nothing hurt more than the way he took care of me at my weakest, treating me like I mattered to him. Like he loved me.
I have no idea how to process everything that happened. But after we talked, it feels like this huge weight just dropped off my shoulders.
Even so, I couldn’t stay and face him sober. One honest conversation doesn’t fix everything. We can’t just go back to playing happy family.
I think I might forgive him someday. But forgetting? That’s something else entirely.
The phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down hoping for Dalila. It’s Mom. My stomach drops, but I force a smile and answer the video call “You’re off schedule today, Mom,” I say lightly.
She studies my face before speaking. “Did something happen, honey?”
I don’t answer at first, so she continues. “I’ve been wanting to call you since I woke up. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom. You don’t need to worry.”
Her expression changes, shifting into protective mode.
“Ethan... something in your voice is telling me you’re not.”
I’m trying to find an answer when she frowns. “Wait. Are you in our kitchen? Did something happen with Alicia?”
“Mom,” I cut in. “I swear, everything’s okay.”
Exhaling, I tell her what happened—but not all the details, just enough to put her mind at ease. When she talks about coming back, worried there’s something I’m not telling her, I reassure her, giving my word that if something urgent happens, I will be the first to let her know.
I want her to keep enjoying her time there. Every day when she calls, her smile looks brighter. Especially since she got to Italy.
Alicia told me about the day she ran into her and Alexander on the street after a dance class. When I asked if anything had been going on before her trip, she said there wasn’t. She also promised that if she ever started seeing someone, she wouldn’t hide it from me and Alicia.
I think about the guy from the Hamptons. He seemed okay. Respectful. And I trust Mom to know what’s best for her. But I’ll always keep an eye out. I just don’t want to see her hurt like that again.
We keep talking, and I ask about the places she visited yesterday. Before we hang up, I make her promise she won’t cut her trip short.
As the screen goes black, I drag my free hand down my face, a dull ache throbbing behind my eyes.
I’m never drinking again. Last night was the first, and the last, time.
I go upstairs and take a shower, trying to wash away the night before. My phone rings just as I’m finishing getting dressed. Dalila’s ringtone.
I grab it from the bed before the second ring. The moment I answer, her voice reaches me, fearful and small. “Ethan.”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you were never going to talk to me again.”
“You’re the one who broke up with me,” I say, my throat tight. “And you didn’t answer my calls last night.”
I hear her sniffle on the other end, and something in my chest twists. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I was so jealous and stupid. I regret everything I said. I don’t want to break up. I want us back. I swear I’ll never do that again. I’ll trust you. I know you’re not like him and—”
“Dalila, breathe. Just... take a breath for me.”
She starts to cry. I press the phone between my shoulder and ear as I slip on my shoes. “Are you at home?”
“Y-yes.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“You will?” she whispers, stunned. “You’re going to catch a flight just for me?”
She probably never saw the texts I sent. The calls she didn’t answer. “I flew in yesterday to see you. You weren’t home. Britt and Mary didn’t know where you were.”
She completely breaks down over the phone, louder now. “Oh God, Ethan... I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t deserve you.”
I run a hand through my hair.
“When I get there, we’ll talk, okay? I won’t be long.”
“I love you, Ethan.”
I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling, my chest tight with something that hurts and heals at the same time. “I love you too, Dalila.”
Dalila is asleep now, her head resting in my lap. She drifted off halfway through the first season of her favorite show.
When I got here earlier, her eyes were swollen and red, dark circles visible beneath them. She met me at the entrance of her building, wrapped herself around me, and cried, breaking down completely. After that, we walked to a park nearby. She didn’t want her roommates to hear us.
We spent a long time talking about where things went wrong and the things we’re both too afraid to lose. We also set rules and boundaries for what trust has to look like from now on. I’ve always heard long-distance is hard, but I want ours to survive.
I believe her when she says this won’t happen again. She even asked me to be her boyfriend, saying it was her turn to make the move. Saying yes was a no-brainer.
Later, I walked her to her place. Even with her roommates in the next room, we managed to have our moment; we just had to be careful not to make a sound. Once we had the apartment to ourselves, we ended up on the couch, ordering food and binging her favorite show.
Tomorrow, I’m picking Alicia up early for breakfast. She didn’t even complain about the time, just seemed happy to see me before I head back to Ithaca.
I grab my phone and finally do what I’ve been fighting myself over for hours.
Me: Thank you for yesterday.
His reply comes in less than a minute.
Colin: No need to thank me, son. What I told you stands. You can talk to me about anything. Call me whenever you need to.
Colin: I love you, Ethan. I will always love you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make things right.
I read his words at least four times with a tight knot in my throat before I type back.
Me: Okay.
I set my phone aside and lean my head back on the sofa. I run my fingers through Dalila’s hair, but I can’t get his texts out of my head.
Maybe someday, when saying ‘Dad’ doesn’t make me flinch... I’ll start letting him back in.