Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Ellie
I type the name of my father’s daughter into the search bar. Dakota Lily Wilder. My heart pounds in my chest as a list of social media profiles pop up. The only one that mentions that name exactly is at
the top. I lean in, squint, then click on her name. Does she look like me? I can’t tell. Her hair is an unnaturally bleached
shade of platinum blonde. Her cheekbones are high, and her piercing ice blue eyes are lined with a thick ring of kohl liner.
I don’t recognize anything in her features, but then, that probably doesn’t mean much. She looks to be within a few years
of my own age, though the dark circles under her eyes indicate an overall sense of exhaustion.
Her profile is set to private, so the only thing I have to go off of is the few profile pictures that are available to me.
“You still up?” Jack’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. I close my browser window and then shut my laptop before turning just
as he opens the door to the bedroom. “Saw the light on from the sidewalk when I walked up.”
“Can’t sleep—you know how it goes,” I murmur.
“Hey—” he steps further into the room, “I wanted to touch base with you about the other day.”
I suppress a groan. I hate that he always addresses me like one of his clients—careful, detached. I don’t have the mental
capacity to navigate this on top of everything else going on today.
When I don’t respond, he continues, “Well, I was thinking about how much we’ve been through and that it’s probably not fair
for me to hold you to such a high standard when it comes to mental health stuff—”
“What?” I say, shocked.
“Yeah—you know what I mean. I was talking to your dad about some stuff with your mom, and it made me realize—”
“You were talking to my dad about our fight?” I interrupt.
“Yeah, I mean, it came up—”
“So . . . that's it? I don’t even get a proper sorry then?”
“No . . . Is that what you expected?” His brows crinkle with confusion, as if the concept of saying sorry isn’t even in his
wheelhouse. Actually, the more I think about it . . . Jack never says sorry. Not once that I can recall in the five years since we met.
“I mean—yes. I did expect a sorry at some point.” I get up off the bed, cross my arms and face him fully.
“I don’t really think an apology is warranted—Jesus Ellie. You keep me up day and night worrying about if you’re taking care
of yourself or . . . hell, if you’re even safe to be left alone.” He grasps my wrist, pulls out my arm and gestures to the
faded bruises marring my skin.
I yank my arm back, clenching and unclenching my fists. “I can’t believe you came home to tell me this bullshit.”
“It’s a good fucking thing I did because here you are with an empty bottle of wine and pulling another all-nighter. What are
you doing anyway? Having another emotional affair with some loser on the internet? Finding more ways to piss me off? I know we’re both busy with work but you could put in a little more effort to support me since I’m the one who carries the financial burden in this marriage.”
I grit my teeth, working my jaw back and forth. I choke back tears because I do not want this man to know that he’s getting
under my skin. Not when he’ll only use it for emotional blackmail later.
“You know, I’ve even been wondering if you’ve been experiencing the early signs of a psychotic break.” His eyes bore into
mine. I blink, swallow the anger down, then try to catch one of the raging thoughts moving through my head.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I seethe. Blood-red rage tunnels my vision. I can’t catch a single thought or form a word to
express how I’m feeling at this moment.
“You should go,” I finally murmur, sliding back into bed and tucking myself into the sheets. I turn over, facing away from
the man I vowed to share the rest of my life with.
“Go? Are you fucking kidding? I pay the rent on this fucking apartment you just had to have.”
I don’t answer him. I may never answer him again. Expressing thoughts and feelings to Jack Taylor is a waste of time.
“Fine. Just wanted to let you know I won’t be home tomorrow. I have to go to the Jersey office for a few days.” He pauses,
waiting for my reply. It doesn’t come. “I’ll sleep in the guest bedroom tonight.”
I still don’t reply as I fight the stray tears leaking from my eyes. The only thought running through my mind: how did we get here?