Chapter 9 #2
For a moment, pain flashed across her face before she schooled her expression into indifference.
“No, I never pretended that, did I? Unlike you, I’ve never hidden behind the illusion that my accomplishments were solely my own.
Yes, you funded this place, and I appreciated that support when I thought we were building something together.
But this work, these horses, what happens here, that’s mine, Ephraim. I don’t need your money anymore.”
The declaration landed like a blow, more devastating for how calmly it was delivered.
I had been prepared for tears, for emotional manipulation, not this clear-eyed independence that left no room for my usual approaches.
“So that’s it? You think you can just walk away from our life because you’ve found some purpose mucking out stalls? ”
She flinched slightly at my dismissal, but didn’t back down. “I walked away because there wasn’t enough of me left in our life to recognize. And yes, working here has helped me remember who I am apart from being your wife.”
I took a step closer, reducing the distance between us, instinctively trying to reassert physical dominance in a conversation where I was rapidly losing control.
“We had an understanding. You had your interests, I had mine, and they didn’t need to overlap completely.
That’s how successful partnerships work. ”
“They weren’t supposed to overlap at all, apparently.
” Her voice cracked slightly, revealing the emotion she was trying to hide.
“Do you remember the last time we visited this facility together? When I asked you to spend a weekend working with me and the horses? You told me you had more important things to do, that you hadn’t spent your life building a cattle and land empire to spend weekends playing with rescue horses. ”
I did remember, and I had thought she had understood the practical realities of our situation. “I was being honest. We each have our roles to play, our strengths to contribute.”
“Our strengths.” She laughed without humor, running a hand through her already disheveled hair. “My strength is apparently sitting quietly at your side and smiling while you make decisions about our lives without consulting me. Forgive me if I’ve grown tired of that particular strength.”
“That’s not fair.” I hated the edge of desperation that crept into my voice. “You knew who I was when you married me. You knew I would never be the kind of man who spends weekends playing with horses when there’s business to conduct.”
She nodded, a single, sharp motion. “You’re right.
And I knew I was marrying a man who once told me he admired my passion for this work, who promised to support my dreams as I supported his.
But somewhere along the way, his support became funding, and my dreams became hobbies, and my voice became background noise to his ambitions. ”
“That’s not true.” The words sounded weak even to me.
“It is true, Ephraim.” She moved past me toward the window, as if needing the distance.
“When was the last time you asked my opinion on anything substantial? Not just a social matter or household detail, but about Holt Enterprises, about the direction we were heading? When was the last time you really looked at me instead of through me?”
The accusations stung because they contained more truth than I wanted to acknowledge.
I had fallen into patterns, had come to rely on Larkin’s predictable support without recognizing the diminishing returns of that reliance.
But admitting fault now felt like surrender, and surrender was not a concept I was willing to entertain.
“I made accommodations for you,” I insisted.
“I let you have your foundation, your events. I never stood in the way of what was important to you.”
She turned back to face me, her expression shifting from hurt to something more resolute.
“You don’t get it. You never have. It was never about permission, Ephraim.
It was about partnership. And somewhere along the way, we stopped being partners in anything meaningful.
We became performers in roles you wrote for both of us. ”
I felt myself losing the argument but couldn’t find the right words to shift direction.
The Ephraim Holt who always knew what to say, who could negotiate with anyone and come out ahead, seemed utterly inadequate in this conversation.
“So what are you saying?” I asked, my voice harsher than intended.
“That it’s over? You’re just throwing away years of marriage because I don’t spend enough time at your horse rescue? ”
“I’m not throwing anything away,” she replied quietly. “I’m trying to find something I lost. Myself.” Her voice softened slightly. “I still care about you, Ephraim. I always will. But caring and living in a marriage that makes both people smaller, that’s not love. That’s just comfortable habit.”
I recoiled at the dismissal, the clinical assessment of what we had shared reduced to “comfortable habit.” It was insulting, demeaning to the life we had built together, the empire we had expanded.
“I see,” I said, my voice cold. “And does this newfound self include room for your husband, or is he part of the problem you needed to leave behind?”
She looked genuinely sad at that, which somehow made it worse. “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to figure out who I am without the weight of being Mrs. Holt. But what I do know is that I can’t go back to what we had, not as it was.”
“Because I didn’t spend enough weekends at horse shows?” The sarcasm in my voice was unfair, and I knew it even as I said it, but the hurt was making me lash out.
“When was the last time you went riding? Remember when we used to do that together. And I don’t even mean us riding together for this question. Just you, or with anyone else? Do you remember when you last went out on a horse?”
I thought hard about her question. And the truth of it was I hadn’t been on a horse in years. It was easy to get away with, my life now didn’t demand it. “It’s a small sacrifice to make.”
“But you’re making it. And it’s not even a sacrifice.
It’s just you choosing to do other things instead.
But I was sacrificing so many things that made me feel alive to keep us in that lifestyle.
I can’t do that anymore, and you shouldn’t have to give up everything you want either.
But neither one of us can live on a foundation of sacrifice.
” Her expression became distant, as if looking beyond me to some future only she could see.
“You might be happy in a relationship that’s a strategic alliance more than an emotional bond, but I need more than that. ”
The words struck deeper than any insult, challenging not just my behavior but my very understanding of what I wanted from our relationship.
I had always seen our marriage as a partnership of equals contributing different strengths, but hearing her perspective, I could see how my dominance had overshadowed whatever balance we had started with.
The problem was, acknowledging that felt like weakness, and I had spent my entire life building an identity around never appearing weak.
“Well,” I said, my pride preventing me from admitting any of this, “I hope your journey of self-discovery satisfies whatever it is you feel you’ve been missing.
But this is the real world, Larkin. You might not be willing to talk about us anymore, but your absence has real implications for the Holt enterprises and our public standing. ”