16. Nate
Chapter sixteen
Nate
I stand in her doorway, my eyes fixed on Liz as she folds another shirt and places it carefully into her suitcase. Her movements are deliberate, her face a mask of determination, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the slight tremble in her hands.
This is it. She’s really leaving.
The words sit heavy on my tongue, desperate to escape, but I don’t say them. I’ve already tried. Tried to make her see reason, to convince her to stay. But nothing worked. She’s made up her mind, and the stubborn set of her jaw tells me there’s no changing it now.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, and my voice is quieter than I intended.
She doesn’t look at me, just zips up her suitcase and stands. “Yes.”
“I can drop you off,” I offer, hoping for even the smallest excuse to keep her here a little longer.
“No need,” she says firmly, brushing past me to grab her purse. “I’ve already called a taxi.”
The finality in her tone feels like a punch to the gut.
We walk to the front door in silence, the air between us is heavy with words left unsaid. Max is at school, and the house feels emptier than usual, as if it’s already preparing for her absence.
She turns to me, her hand resting lightly on the doorframe. “Thank you for everything, Nate. For letting me stay here. For everything you’ve done. Please tell Max how much I love him and that … I don’t know. I just don’t know how to believe that I will never see that beautiful little boy again. I love him so dearly.”
“Liz…” Her name comes out as a plea, though I’m not sure what I’m asking for.
She shakes her head, cutting me off. “Don’t. This is what’s best. For everyone.”
My chest tightens, the words I should have said earlier clawing at my throat. But instead, I nod, forcing myself to step back as she opens the door.
“Take care of yourself,” she says softly before walking out, her suitcases rolling behind her.
I watch her go, the taxi waiting at the curb, the driver stepping out to help her with her bag. She doesn’t look back, and I tell myself that’s a good thing.
It’s for the best.
The house feels unbearably quiet without her.
I sit in the living room, staring at the empty couch where she used to sit, her laughter still echoing in my mind. Boomer lies at my feet, his head resting on his paws, looking just as dejected as I feel. Becky walks back and forth to the bedroom obviously pretending not to notice that Liz is not here.
I pick up my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I find her name. My thumb hovers over the call button, but I hesitate. What would I even say?
Still, I hit the button, holding my breath as the phone rings.
And rings.
And rings.
When it finally goes to voicemail, I hang up without leaving a message.
The night drags on, each hour heavier than the last. I try to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see her - her smile, her laugh, the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
By the time morning comes, I feel like a shell of myself, my chest aching with regret and something I can’t quite name.
***
I arrive at the office earlier than usual, hoping - no, expecting - to see her there. She might have left the house, but work is different. Work is constant. Work is… predictable.
But when I walk into her office, it’s empty. The desk is clear, her personal touches gone, like she was never there.
A sinking feeling settles in my stomach as I check my phone, scrolling through my emails until I find it.
Her resignation.
My eyes skim over the words, but they barely register. She’s gone. Really gone.
I sink into the chair behind my desk, my head in my hands. How did it come to this? How did I let it come to this?
I throw myself into work, burying myself in contracts and schedules and everything else that demands my attention. If I can just keep busy, maybe I can stop thinking about her.
But it doesn’t work.
Every time I glance at the clock, I wonder what she’s doing. Every time my phone buzzes, I hope it’s her.
It never is.
By the afternoon, my frustration reaches a boiling point. I slam my pen down on the desk, the sharp sound echoing in the empty room.
“This isn’t working,” I mutter, standing abruptly and pacing the length of the office.
I grab my phone, dialing her number again. This time, it goes straight to voicemail.
“Liz, it’s me,” I say, my voice tight. “I… I just wanted to check in. To see if you’re okay.”
I pause, the words catching in my throat. “Please call me back.”
I hang up, the silence of the office pressing down on me like a weight.
By the end of the day, I feel like I’m unraveling. Liz is gone, and no matter how much I pretend it’s for the best, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve made a terrible mistake.
I glance at the stack of papers on my desk, my frustration bubbling to the surface. It’s all Becky’s fault. If she hadn’t come back, if she hadn’t thrown everything into chaos…
But even as I think it, something feels off.
I replay the past few days in my mind, every interaction, every conversation. Becky’s smiles, her tears, her carefully chosen words.
It’s like she’s playing a role, her actions too calculated, too perfect.
I grab my phone, scrolling through my call history until I find the hospital’s number.
“Hello, this is Nate Kingston. I’d like to speak to Dr. Michaels about Becky Kingston’s condition.”
The receptionist puts me on hold, and I pace the office, my mind racing.
When the doctor finally picks up, his tone is polite but professional. “Mr. Kingston, what can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to clarify something,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “About Becky’s memory loss. Are you absolutely sure it’s amnesia?”
There’s a pause, and then the doctor speaks carefully. “Amnesia can be complex, Mr. Kingston. It’s not uncommon for patients to experience selective memory loss after a traumatic event.”
“But is there any way to know for sure?” I press.
“Well, there are tests we can run,” he says. “But it’s also possible that some of her behavior is… psychological.”
I clench my jaw, my suspicions growing. Becky’s been manipulating me for years. Why would now be any different?
I hang up, my mind made up.
Liz might be gone, but I’m not letting Becky destroy what’s left of my life. It’s time to take control, to figure out the truth once and for all.
But even as I make the decision, my thoughts drift back to Liz—her smile, her laugh, the way she makes everything feel lighter.
She’s gone, but she’s still everywhere.
And I don’t know how to let her go.
***
The house feels too quiet when I step through the door. Not the peaceful kind of quiet that settles in after a long day, but the kind that presses down on you, making every creak of the floorboards sound like a warning.
Sue picked Max up at school, planning to give him up a treat. She sees how the presence of Becky is affecting him as well. Bless her!
Boomer is curled up lazily in a corner of the living room, and Becky is nowhere to be seen. My chest tightens as I glance around, the silence amplifying the unease I’ve been carrying all day.
I need to talk to Becky. Now.
The plan is simple—get her to the hospital under the pretense of a checkup and push for more tests. Something doesn’t sit right with me, and I can’t let it slide any longer.
But as I climb the stairs, my steps are slow. A faint voice filters down the hallway, muffled but unmistakably hers. I pause outside the master bedroom, the door ajar just enough for her words to drift through.
“I told you I’d handle it,” Becky’s voice says, sharp and low. “He’s completely buying it. The accident, the memory loss—all of it.”
My stomach drops.
“No, I haven’t told him about you,” she continues, her tone dripping with irritation. “Do you think I’m stupid? If he finds out, the money’s gone. Just give me a little more time.”
The blood in my veins turns to ice as the pieces click into place. This was all a game for her. A scheme.
She pauses, listening to whoever’s on the other end of the line. Then she laughs—a cold, calculated sound that makes my fists clench.
“Of course, I still want you,” she says, her voice softening. “This is just a temporary inconvenience. Once I get what we need, we can leave this miserable town for good.”
Rage bubbles up inside me, sharp and hot. It’s not just the betrayal. It’s the sheer audacity of it. She’s not just playing me; she’s playing with everything I’ve worked so hard to build, planning to again use Max against me.
I step closer, the floor creaking under my weight. Becky whirls around, her phone slipping from her hand and landing on the bed with a soft thud.
Her eyes widen when she sees me standing in the doorway, my face carved in stone. “Nate …”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice low and dangerous. “Don’t even try.”
She stumbles over her words, scrambling to recover. “I was just—”
“Save it,” I snap, stepping into the room. “I heard everything.”
Her face pales, but she quickly tries to mask it with a nervous laugh. “You’re misunderstanding.”
“I’m not misunderstanding anything,” I cut her off, my voice rising. “You lied. You manipulated me. You used Max.”
Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out. For once, she has nothing to say.
“You think you can waltz back into my life, spin some sob story about memory loss, and what? Play house until you bleed me dry?” I take another step closer, my fists clenched at my sides. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”
She finally finds her voice, though it’s shaky. “Nate, please, let me explain.”
“I don’t need your explanations,” I snap. “What I need is for you to pack your things and get out of my house. Tonight! And out of this town.”
Her eyes fill with tears—real or fake, I can’t tell, and I don’t care. “You don’t mean that.”
I take a deliberate step closer, keeping my voice low and calm—the way you speak when you’re dealing with someone dangerous. “Oh, I mean every word. You’re going to pack your things, Becky, and you’re going to leave this house, this town, and my life. Do not test me.”
She freezes, her eyes darting to the suitcase she hasn’t even bothered to unpack. “You’re being unreasonable,” she says, her voice breaking.
“Unreasonable?” I repeat, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “You lied about losing your memory. You manipulated your way back into my life, back into Max’s life. And you think I’m being unreasonable?”
Her tears spill over, but they don’t move me. Not anymore. “I had no choice,” she says, clutching her chest as though she’s the one who’s been hurt. “You don’t understand what I’ve been through.”
“No, Becky, you don’t understand,” I snap, my patience finally gone. “You don’t understand the damage you’ve caused. To me. To Max. To Liz.”
The mention of Liz’s name is like a spark to a powder keg. Becky’s face hardens, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “This is about her, isn’t it? That girl has you wrapped around her finger, doesn’t she?”
I step back, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “This isn’t about Liz. This is about you, and the fact that you’re incapable of telling the truth. You’ve done nothing but take and manipulate and destroy. But it ends here, Becky. Right now.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I cut her off, my voice like steel. “If you’re not out of this house in thirty minutes, I’ll make good on my promise. I’ll make sure I use all the resources at my disposal to destroy you. Do you understand me? And that includes the police, the IRS and anything else I can think of.”
For a moment, she just stares at me, her mask cracking under the weight of my words. Then, with a defeated sigh, she turns away, her shoulders slumping.
I stand in the doorway, watching as she packs her things. The room is silent except for the rustle of fabric and the occasional thud of a suitcase being zipped shut.
When she’s done, she straightens, her hands trembling as she grips the handle of her suitcase. “You’ll regret this,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I step aside, my expression unmoved. “Goodbye, Becky.”
She hesitates, as if expecting me to stop her, but I don’t. I don’t even flinch as she brushes past me, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.
The sound of the front door closing is like a weight lifting off my chest. I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair as I lean against the wall.
She’s gone. Finally. And again, no mention of Max. Typical. Typical and cold.
The house feels eerily quiet in the aftermath, but this time, it’s a different kind of quiet. A peaceful quiet.
Boomer pads into the room, his tail wagging slightly as he looks up at me. I kneel down, scratching behind his ears as he lets out a low, contented huff.
“Guess it’s just us now, huh, buddy?” I say softly. He wags his tail harder, and for the first time in days, a small smile tugs at my lips.
But as the weight of everything settles on my shoulders, my thoughts drift to Liz. She’s gone too, and unlike Becky, I don’t know how to bring her back.
Standing up, I walk to the window, staring out at the empty driveway. I’ve been letting Becky dictate my life for far too long, and it’s cost me more than I care to admit.
It’s time to take back control. To fix the mess she made. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but one thing is certain: I can’t let Liz slip away for good.
With renewed determination, I grab my phone, scrolling to Liz’s name. My thumb hovers over the call button, but I hesitate. Not yet.
First, I need to get my house—my life—in order. And then, I’ll fight for Liz.
This time, I won’t let her go.