Chapter 34 #2
His English is good, but there’s a new stiffness in it, like he’s trying not to say too much. They talk about his upbringing, living with a new family. All normal, interesting to listen to, but then it all starts with one seemingly innocent question:
“So, let’s get to the fun stuff,” Isla says. “The rumor mill says you’ve got a new flame, but you’ve being super cagey about it.”
Colton’s voice drops. “I do not talk about my private life, usually.”
“Oh, come on. Just tell us—are the rumors true? Are you in love with your lawyer?”
There’s a noise, a kind of broken laugh. “Love is not so simple. Maybe you believe in it, maybe not. I don’t know if I have this thing. Not in the way people talk about.”
My stomach drops and I look at Isla, she winces. Again.
“That’s a dodge. Are you, or aren’t you?” Isla asks.
Another pause. “I care for her. But I do not think we ever said those words. Maybe there’s a reason for that.”
“Or maybe you’re just waiting for the right time.”
“Maybe,” he starts,” “Or maybe there is no such time.”
“So, you’re saying this is just a media hype right now?”
“Yes. People shouldn’t believe what they see or hear on the internet.”
That’s it. I stop the recording. My hand is shaking.
The silence that follows is so dense I can hear my own pulse.
Then I hear myself laughing—a tight, raw, ugly sound.
It’s not a laugh. It’s realization. I stare at my own reflection in the window across from us: hair frizzed, suit jacket off, a smear of mascara under one eye.
I look exactly like someone who’s just heard her husband deny her existence on a very popular podcast.
Not even husband. It was all fake. I just pretended it was real. He was never really mine. So, what did I expect?
A wave of nausea washes through me. I clench the armrest and will my stomach to behave, but the rest of me is already drowning.
All the little pieces that held me together this whole case—the faith, the stubborn hope, the belief that I could be the exception—start to float up and away.
Now that we won, there is no reason for Colton to stay married to me.
He got what he wanted. But then again… he’s not that kind of man…
but also, men always disappointed me. Always.
“Jenna?”
Isla is repeating my name over and over, gentle at first, then louder, the way you try to rouse someone after a concussion. I’m sitting on her couch with a glass of wine I don’t remember pouring and I can’t tell if I’m physically present or being haunted by a less-competent version of myself.
“Jenna, are you okay? Say something, please.”
I want to tell her that no, in fact, I am not okay.
I am the farthest possible thing from okay, and the inside of my chest feels like someone poured a lava lamp into my ribcage and forgot to screw the cap back on.
But my mouth can only manage a small sound, like when you tap an empty glass: “I’m fine. ” I drink. My tongue is numb.
“You want to talk about what he said?” Isla says, voice soft.
“No. I want to murder someone and then eat pancakes.”
Isla looks so genuinely relieved I almost laugh. “Good. Great. We can do both. Let’s carb-load and then you can smash a pillow or something. My neighbor has a Peloton if you need to shank something more substantial.”
I know she wants me to laugh but I can’t move. My limbs are marshmallows, or maybe the air is syrup, or maybe I just can’t process the idea of standing up and having gravity still apply to me.
Instead, I say, “I need to talk to him.” And the words are ice chips melting on my tongue.
Isla’s face falls. “Like now? Do you want me to come with you? I can stand outside with, like, a bat or a boom box.”
“No.” I take a shaky breath, and the act of oxygen entering my lungs almost convinces me I might live through this. “It’s better if I go alone. You’d just roast him until he cried and then I’d have to represent you in court.”
She hugs me, but her eyes stay worried. “I do love you, Jenna.”
“I love you too… and I thought I loved him too…” There. Tears. Great.
Isla swipes away one tear that falls down my cheek. “Honey, maybe things seem different but… yeah I guess you need to talk.”
I leave Isla’s with my suit jacket slung over one arm and my heels in my hand, walking the three blocks to my car barefoot.
The city is a different animal at night: everyone either moving too fast or standing very, very still.
By the time I reach his building, my feet are black with city grime and I’m buzzing with adrenaline.
I enter the lobby, wave at the security guy who probably thinks I’m Colton’s side piece too and take the elevator up.
The ride is long enough to rehearse every possible scenario: I storm in, yell, throw something, we make up, I storm out, we never speak again. Or maybe we talk. Maybe he listens. Maybe there’s a way to make it all make sense, if I could just find the right legal precedent.
“You want pasta?” he asks the minute I walk in. “I made a lot, like for the whole team or something.”
“No,” I say. “I want the truth.”
Colton blinks and immediately walks up to me from the couch. “Are you okay? Is something up?”
I close the door behind me and let the silence do the work for a minute.
“Why did you say that?” I ask and stop at an arm’s length away from him.
“What?”
“Well… I listened to the podcast, and you said you might never love me. There’s no such thing for you. Is that true?”
Colton runs his hand through his hair, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looks ashamed. “It is…complicated. I don’t talk well about these things. I wanted to protect you from—” He stops, realizes he’s said too much, or maybe just enough.
I almost laugh. “From what? People knowing you’re married to the help?”
“No.” He steps closer. “From getting hurt. I… I’m not good at this, at saying it out loud.”
“So, you thought telling the whole world you don’t love your wife is better?” I can hear myself getting shrill, but I can’t turn the volume down. “You thought that would hurt less?”
He doesn’t answer, but his hands are fists at his sides, and I realize I have never, ever, seen him look this lost.
I want to punch him or kiss him or maybe both, but what comes out instead is: “You know what the sick part is? I didn’t even expect you to love me.
I just wanted it to be real. I wanted to believe I mattered to you.
I didn’t need a fairy tale; I just wanted a family.
Someone that wants me just the way I am, and you pretended to be what I needed. ”
Colton exhales. “So, what is your problem then? That you think I am not in love with you?” His accent is stronger now, all the hard edges coming out. And suddenly I don’t see the Colton I got to know over the past few months. I see my bully.
“You said so, on record. In front of everyone.” My eyes burn, but I don’t look away. “You said you don’t have that thing. I’m not a thing, Colton.”
He steps forward until there’s barely a foot of space between us. “When I was kid, in Russia, my father said men do not voice feelings. If you say you love, it is weakness. Only actions matter.”
“Well, I’m not your father,” I shoot back.
He nods, like he’s been expecting this. “I know. You are smarter. Stronger.” He almost smiles, but then looks at the floor. “But if you need the words, I… I…”
I wait, but he doesn’t say anything. Of course he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t love me.
I move past him, into the kitchen, and lean against the counter.
“It’s not about the words, Colton. I don’t care if you tattoo it on your forehead or spell it in garlic bread.
I just want you to be honest with me. About who you are, what you feel.
Even if it’s messy. Especially if it’s messy.
I want you to tell me it’s real. That you won’t leave me now that we won. ”
“You know it’s a bit fast to go from strangers to husband and wife in just two months.”
Another blow. “I know. But…”
But what?
I thought it would work out. I thought that two months would be enough time to nurture those feelings because, damn it, it was enough time for me.
I love Colton. I fucking love him. But he doesn’t love me back, because if he did, he would have said it by now.
Sometimes people reveal exactly who they are, and we need to pay attention. I’ve ignored too many red flags before.
“So that’s it then. You don’t love me and probably never will.” I see him blurry now. Those freaking tears sting at my eyes.
He just stands there and opens his mouth and then he… closes it again.
And I think my heart just explodes in a thousand little pieces. And that’s when I watch him give up on me. That shit doesn’t change me, no—it utterly breaks me.
“I can’t believe I let you in.” I turn on my heels and leave.