41. Whitney
41
WHITNEY
W hen I wake up, my migraine is mercifully gone. I’m still groggy, my eyes adjusting to the light of my room as I pull my sleep mask off. I have no idea how long I’ve slept. Sometimes, migraines can knock me out for hours. My first thought is of Liam, remembering how he took care of me last time. Remembering the expression on his face when he told me he loved me.
Rubbing my eyes, I drag myself to the kitchen, finding my mom sitting at the counter, a grim expression on her face. “How long was I out?” I ask her.
She meets my eyes with a fierce expression, a mixture of pity and sadness on her face. “Long enough,” she says, sliding a stack of papers towards me.
“What is it?” I ask.
She shakes her head, gesturing towards the papers again. I glance down and when I see the words shining up at me, I rub my forehead, my anger and confusion growing.
“What is this? I told you already that I don’t want you sticking your nose into my relationship.”
“They’re not from me,” she says with a frown. “They’re from him.” Reaching across the counter, she flips to the last page, where my eyes are drawn to the bottom.
To the two dotted lines, side-by-side.
To Liam’s signature staring up at me.
Blinking, I swallow the lump growing in my throat, only to glance to my right and see a bronze ring next to the stack of papers.
Liam’s ring. The ring I gave him.
No.
No, no, no, no.
“What?” I croak out. “When?”
“Just now.”
“You talked to him?” I manage. “What did he say?”
She purses her lips. “Just that this was for the best, and that he was sorry. He thought it was better this way, easier to make it a clean break.”
A clean break? Is that what this sharp pain inside me is?
He’s gone.
Is it because I didn’t say it back? My hands shake, tremors working their way up my arms and rocking through my whole body. I manage to blink back tears, pressing my hand to my chest in an effort to stay calm. To think this through.
He left you.
No, that can’t be right. Because he said he loved me. Loves me. He wouldn’t… he wouldn’t just leave. Not without talking to me. Not without fighting for me. For us.
But he did. He left.
I shake my head, not believing her. “He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.”
Hands shaking, I grab my phone and find his contact frantically, anxiety churning in my gut. If I can just hear his voice, if I can just talk to him, everything will be okay.
I press call.
It rings.
And rings and rings and rings.
I try again, but this time it rings only once before I get sent to voicemail. I stare down at my phone in disbelief. The tears that I’ve been holding back suddenly break through, rolling down my face in steady, painful streams. I stare down at my phone, shaking my head, still not quite comprehending this new reality. That my husband has left. That my husband has signed divorce papers.
He doesn’t want you.
I stumble towards the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I drop to my knees and hurl up the contents of my stomach. I press my forehead to the cool ceramic of the toilet bowl, tears streaming down my face.
He left you. He told you he loved you, and then he left. Just like you knew he would.
“Shh, it’s okay.” Vaguely, I register the feeling of Caroline’s hands rubbing soft circles on my back. The gesture should be comforting, but all I can think about is Liam’s hands, holding me, keeping me safe, protecting me.
“It’s all for the best. You’ll see,” my mom says in a low voice.
I don’t know how long I sit slumped over the toilet. Thankfully, I don’t throw up again. Instead, I hug my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth. Emotions pass through me in waves, crashing against me relentlessly. Eventually, I drop my knees and lean against the wall, steadying my breath.
Only one emotion remains.
Anger.
“Get out,” I tell Caroline.
“But, peanut?—”
“I need to be alone. Please,” I reply, almost begging.
“I’ll make you a cup of tea,” she says, and my heart lurches at yet another reminder of Liam.
Once my mom slips out of the bathroom, I reach for my phone and dial Liam’s number. It goes straight to voicemail again, and this time, I inhale a deep breath before I speak, words tumbling out of me.
“Fuck you, Liam. Fuck you. I thought you saw me. I thought this was real. You told me this was real. You told me you loved me?—”
I break off, a sob gathering in my throat. I force myself to be steady, to say what I have to say.
“—and then you leave divorce papers for me without a word? Without even giving me the chance to say it back, you’re done? I was going to say it back. Thank God I didn’t, because if this is your version of love, I don’t want it. You’re a coward, and I never want to see you again.”
I inhale a shaky breath, my heart cleaving in two. Something irreparable is breaking inside of me. Something I can never get back.
Somehow, I manage to hang up the phone and push myself off the bathroom floor. I meet my own gaze in the mirror, noting my pale skin, dead eyes, and tear-stained face.
It’s just you and me now, my reflection says.
Just like it always has been, I call back.
Once I drag myself out of the bathroom, I crawl into bed and gulp down a glass of water. I find a note from my mom on the kitchen counter, right next to the divorce papers.
I’ll give you space, but we need to talk soon.
Exhausted and emotionally drained, I can’t bring myself to think about Caroline and her money problems. I feel steady enough to call Abbi, who I’m hoping will make me feel better, even though the thought of our last phone call, of her hopeful, encouraging attitude, sends a stab of pain through me.
She picks up after one ring. “Babe! How did it go? Did you talk to him? Did you tell him?”
My mouth dries up. I open my mouth to reply but nothing comes out.
“Whitney?”
I take a deep breath, blinking rapidly. “He’s gone. It’s over.”
“What do you mean?”
“He left divorce papers for me. With his signature on them.”
Silence greets me on the other line. It’s rare for Abbi to be shocked into silence, but I think this qualifies as a jaw-dropping moment.
“No,” she says. “No way.”
“Yep,” I reply.
“Do you want me to come home? I’ll book a flight right now.”
“No.” I shake my head, wiping at my eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
“Whit,” she says, sympathy in her voice. “It’s going to be okay.”
Another swell of pain rises in my chest, my heart aching with despair and longing. “He ignored my calls. I left him a horrible voicemail. I was so angry.”
“Just keep trying. Keep calling him. He cares about you so much. I know he does,” Abbi replies.
“Obviously not, since he wants a divorce,” I snap, anger seeping into my voice.
Abbi hums. “Something isn’t adding up. A man doesn’t tell you he loves you and then ask for a divorce the same day. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know. I worry that it was codependent. He’s gone, and I feel like I’m dying. Nobody should have that type of power over me. He was going through so much with Luke, and it felt like he was so focused on me, on us, and not on his own path. I want what’s best for him, and now I’m worried that I was holding him back. That he’s better off without me.”
“First of all, nobody is better off without you, so get that out of your head,” Abbi interrupts. “Secondly, you are the most independent, driven person I know. There’s nothing wrong with letting yourself rely on somebody.”
“Yeah, well, look at where it got me.” I let out a humorless laugh, hating the coldness of it.
“Why don’t you come here? Fly out to meet me,” Abbi suggests. “We can drown your sorrows in cheap liquor and hot basketball players. I’ll hook you up with one of Shane’s teammates.”
“I’ll be okay,” I reply, unsure if I’m trying to convince her or myself. “I’ll let you go. I should shower or something.”
“Okay,” Abbi says, hesitation clear in her tone. She probably knows I won’t listen to her advice. “Call me whenever. Seriously. I’ll come back to the city if you need me to.”
“It’s really okay. I’ll call you.”
“Love you,” she says, and the words cause a swell in my chest. Will it ever not hurt to hear those words?
“I love you, too,” I reply despite the lump growing in my throat.
After I hang up, I sit in silence, trying to adjust to this feeling of emptiness. I almost laugh, remembering how badly I wanted Liam out of the apartment when he first arrived. Now that he’s gone, I hate that I ever wished it into existence. Glancing around at the empty room, I close my eyes, trying to ward off the reality of this moment and how it crystallizes inside of me, but it’s no use. One truth remains.
I have never been more alone.