Chapter 18
VICTOR
Enzo gave me a ride home from the station. I felt like a guilty teenager as he grilled me about how much I was drinking—and what the fuck had possessed me to drive with a whiskey bottle in hand.
I mean, he’s not wrong, is he?
Heartbreak makes you do stupid fucking things.
What’s worse, his sister was coming to visit with her fiancé and their new baby, so I was moving in with my mother.
Of all people.
Enzo was nice enough to drop me off there, but what I wasn’t prepared for when I walked in was all three women in my life sitting around the kitchen table, glaring at me.
But all I could see was Lila.
My beautiful wife. I drank in every inch of her, trying not to be offended when her lip curled with disgust.
Her eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of me too, and my shoulders sank. I knew I looked as bad as I felt.
“Sit, Victor, my stupid manchild.” Mom pointed at a chair, and I sank into it, knowing this was going to be a fucking nightmare.
“Are you sober?” Vanessa asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. If pissed off had body language, it would be her with her crossed arms and furious glare, her chin lifted.
“Yes,” I replied, wanting to add ‘unfortunately’ but knew better. I’d be sober the entire time I stayed here; my mother wouldn’t let me drink myself into an oblivion. I’d be out on my ass, and this was my last hope of somewhere to live before I had to pay again.
I chanced another look at Lila, my heart skipping a beat as I found her studying me. Maybe this was an intervention; maybe she’d come to take me home.
Fuck, I would die for that right now.
Except…
“I’ve come to ask you to sign the divorce papers, and to tell you I’m putting the house on the market.”
Well, fuck.
My stomach sank. It was really happening—she was selling the house. There wasn’t anything I could do about it—Lila was done with me. I dropped my head into my hands.
What could I say?
Nothing.
I literally had no defence at all.
“We’ll leave you both to have a private conversation,” Mom said, and I heard the scraping of their chairs as they rose to their feet. The door closed, and I finally looked up.
Lila was the only one left in the room with me, and for the first time in forever, I could at least try and talk to her.
“I know you hate me,” I began, and she nodded.
Great.
“But I want you to know, I love you more than anything. I know I haven’t shown it, but I do. Always have, always will.” The lump in my throat made my words sound thick, but I couldn’t disguise that.
Lila looked away, but not before I saw the tears in her eyes. That meant she still felt something, didn’t it? Hope rose in my chest, but the way she scrubbed at her eyes and glared at me extinguished it.
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Victor. Love won’t save this marriage.”
It was like a knife being driven into my heart. I couldn’t breathe. Even though I knew I’d lost her, hearing it from her in real time made me want to vomit.
This couldn’t be my reality.
I don’t want it.
“Everything is going to shit,” I admitted as I spied the divorce papers glaring at me from beside her.
Fucking brilliant.
“You only have yourself to thank for that.” Lila’s normally soft voice was cold and guarded. “We’re not here to talk about ‘what ifs’ and ‘what could have beens,’ nor the emotions you feel from your shitty actions. I want to move on, Victor, and you need to let me.”
Our eyes met, and fury, love, obsession, and regret soared through me.
“Please, Lila. Give me another chance. For us.”
Her eyes flashed. “For us?” She scoffed. “There is no us, Victor. I loved you more than life itself! So what if we didn’t fuck for a while, huh? Did you have to go and get it somewhere else? Is that what I meant to you?”
“Baby, no…” My voice cracked and my hands trembled.
“I’m not here to listen to your bullshit excuses. Just do the right thing for me now and sign the damn papers.”
She shoved them toward me, and the pen hit my knuckles.
“If you love me at all, Victor, you’ll give me my life back.”
Her words slammed into me. Her life. Her entire fucking life was ruined by my affair.
Her home, money—everything was linked to me. We’d built a life together.
And I’d ruined it.
My fingers shook as I picked up the pen, feeling like a condemned man. Sticky notes highlighted where I had to sign, and I took a deep breath.
“Are you sure—”
“I’m sure.” She cut me off before I could even finish.
We locked eyes, and I saw her determined nod.
For Lila.
I signed it with tears streaming down my face.
For Lila.
Every line I signed was smudged with tears, but I was doing it for her.
“And the listing agreement,” Lila said from beside me, holding out more fucking paperwork. I could smell her jasmine perfume, the scent of the soap we always used at home still lingering on her skin.
She took the divorce papers from me, and I stared at the listing agreement, our address printed at the top in bold letters.
The house we’d lived in and loved for so many years.
“Please,” I whispered, reaching out for her hand and pulling it to my lips. “Please, I’m so sorry.”
Lila didn’t jerk her hand back or say anything; she let me hold it like a child would, clutching it like it would solve anything.
I clung to her, to my wife, my eyes shut as she allowed me this brief moment of comfort.
“I can’t, Victor,” she murmured, her voice cracking. “Please don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
Then she peeled her hand away from mine as she stepped back, avoiding my gaze.
I drank in the sight of her, my wife, the only woman I’ve ever loved, and shook my head.
“I’ll hate myself forever for what I did to you.” Then I turned to the paperwork and signed it, the pen denting the paper with the weight of my hand.
Lila inhaled a deep breath and took the listing paperwork from me, her hands trembling.
“If it helps, I’ll hate you too. But thank you for at least doing this.”
Then she moved past me, and I heard the front door close behind her.
And I just let her go.
I let her leave with the divorce papers, signed and ready to go. I’d signed my house away. I’d given my life away for hers. Of course, I did.
I broke into a million pieces at my mother’s kitchen table, a shadow of who I used to be, my head in my hands as my heart slowly deflated.
Warm arms encircled me, and I didn’t look up to see who it was. I didn’t need to—you knew the smell of your mother.
“Stupid, stupid man,” she whispered, her throat clogged with emotion. “But you did the right thing there. I’m proud of you for that.”
And I cried.