Chapter Nineteen Sloane
Chapter Nineteen
Sloane
Isat at the dining table, quietly watching Cameron and Harper on the carpet, surrounded by scattered pieces of her beloved Lego Juniors.
She was showing him how to build it, and he played along, pretending not to know what to do.
Her little hands guided his, her voice full of excitement, and he listened with all the patience in the world.
Watching them, the noise in my head faded.
I felt a sense of peace.
I didn’t know how long it would last, but at that moment, I let it in. I let it warm me from the inside.
And I tried not to brace myself for the moment it would end, for the part where I’d be left behind all over again.
Lately, I’ve been learning to hold on to moments like this, to appreciate the small blessings that arrive quietly.
My past didn’t have to seep into every part of my life.
It didn’t have to define my present or shape my future.
I wasn’t there yet, but I’ve come to realize that this is what I need to do if I want to find happiness.
Even though regret still comes uninvited sometimes—regret for never asking for help, for convincing myself I could handle everything alone, for how hard it was to admit I was wrong, to face that I hurt the people who cared for me before they could hurt me first, for believing so fiercely that everyone would leave, for struggling to say those words even to Harper, the one person I loved more than anyone in this world—I hoped, God, I really hoped, that she knew.
Even if I didn’t say it enough, I hoped she could feel how deeply I loved her.
My eyes settled on Cameron. I remembered every moment I’d hurt him while he was only trying to be there for me. It amazed me how long he kept insisting on staying.
But his betrayal still stung. I was not fully healed, and honestly, I didn’t know where to go from here.
We’re officially divorced.
The text hit me hard, and with it came the old, crippling fear of abandonment. Cameron must have gotten the same message from his lawyer.
I was scared it might make him walk away forever.
But he hadn’t left since—not even for work.
He would need to go back soon, though, because at the end of the day, bills had to be paid, loans settled, and the mortgage covered.
It had been two months since Cameron and I took leave.
We had only planned for one, but I wasn’t ready—physically or emotionally—and Cameron decided he wasn’t either.
I knew it was because he wanted to stay close, to be here for me.
But even I knew it couldn’t last forever. Eventually, we’d have to return to work.
The therapy had gone better than I expected.
I thought I’d be pushed to talk about everything right away, but that didn’t happen.
My therapist never rushed me. He focused instead on helping me feel safe, teaching me how to ground myself, how to manage the waves when they came, and how to recognize a trigger before it consumed me.
In some sessions, I barely spoke. Others left me completely drained.
But slowly, I began to feel less like a prisoner to my own mind.
I wasn’t healed, not even close. But I had tools now.
And I no longer felt so powerless. And I had hopes, hopes that didn’t even occur to me before.
Hopes that someday, happiness would be finally within reach.
Harper laughed at something Cameron said—a full belly laugh that made her tilt her head back while clutching her stomach. Then she climbed into his lap, held his face in her hands, and shook it with playful delight. Cameron laughed too, and just watching them made me smile.
I laughed softly without meaning to.
Then my eyes began to sting. I blinked, but the tears came anyway, warm and quiet. And I let them fall.
I was learning that it was okay to cry, even if someone were to see me, even if every instinct in me still wanted to turn away, to hide it.
When Cameron and Harper looked over and saw me, Cameron stood up immediately. His voice was tight with worry as he said, “Sloane? Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” He looked panicked, already moving toward me.
But Harper got to me first.
She climbed into my lap, wrapped her little arms around me, and said, “Are those happy tears, Mommy? ‘Cause Mr. Boone said sometimes people cry when they’re happy too, not just when they’re sad.”
God, I cried even harder. I pulled my daughter into my arms and held her like I never wanted to let go. If I could have stayed in that moment forever, I would have. Just the three of us, still and safe.
Cameron reached out, brushing his knuckles gently along my cheek.
I looked up and found his gaze softening.
I was grateful he didn’t say a word; he just let me have this moment.
He always seemed to know what to do, yet he continued to learn how to be present with me, how to give me what I needed, and how not to break himself apart in the process.
He told me he started going to counseling too, not just for me but also for himself. Because he had kept so much buried, made choices that nearly broke everything. Choices that broke me.
One night, I asked him if he’d talked to his therapist about why he stayed with me. I wanted to hear the truth, the kind of truth people only admit in quiet, safe spaces like that.
He didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “I gave a lot of reasons to him. But the one I kept coming back to was this—I love her.”
He looked straight at me.
“I love you. I’ve realized that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
I used to feel trapped by this overwhelming love for you, powerless against it.
But now, I’m done fighting it. I’m choosing it.
And I’ll fight for it. I want to be a better man for you, Sloane.
To be everything you need. I know it won’t erase what I did, but I hope you can see how fiercely I’m fighting for you. ”
I knew I needed to start appreciating just how lucky I was—to be loved like this, and to be in love.
But I wasn’t sure if I deserved it. I was still trying to untangle the mess in my head.
We were divorced. He had no obligation to be here, to care for me the way he did, with this much patience, this much dedication.
He once said all he wanted was to be happy. And I still wasn’t sure if I could give that to him.
Sometimes I felt selfish for keeping him here with me when he could be out there chasing happiness instead of being tethered to someone as broken as me.
I kept thinking about Evie, wondering why he was here with me and not there with her.
He once believed she could give him happiness, yet here he was, standing by my side through all of this.
It was probably still a long road ahead for him to find that happiness.
That’s why I didn’t understand, and why I was still trying to make sense of it all.
Even though his words kept circling in my mind—that he would fight for me—another part of me was still fighting back, unable to fully understand or accept why he would do that for me.
My therapist said to me, when I asked if it was wrong to rely on Cameron so much, “It’s clear he’s been a strong support for you, and that’s meaningful. But let’s also help you build your own tools so you don’t feel helpless if he’s not around.”
I understood that. I did.
But still... it was always about me. My healing.
What about him?
Was it fair to ask him to keep carrying this with me? To keep staying, even when it was this hard?
I finally convinced him to return to work after he had been away for almost three months.
He didn’t want to, refused at first, said he didn’t want to leave me alone.
But I told him we needed this. My therapy was covered by insurance, yes, but there were still bills, groceries, mortgage, and everything else that wouldn’t wait.
Sooner or later, we couldn’t afford to fall behind.
So in the mornings, he would drive Harper and me to Anita’s house, and I’d stay there until he picked us up again after work.
One night, I was in Anita’s living room with Harper, waiting for Cameron. I heard his car pulling in, but unlike usual, he didn’t come right away. So I went to the door and checked. I listened to his voice from the other side of the door, where he was talking to someone on the phone.
He said, “Please, Evie. Stop this. I don’t know how to stop you anymore.
I blocked your number, and now you’re calling me from another.
” There was a pause. “I know I hurt you. I’m sorry.
But being with you was wrong. I hurt Sloane, and all I ever wanted was her.
” Another pause. “No, I don’t owe you an explanation for why I haven’t been working for months. That’s none of your business.”
She was still chasing him, relentless in her pursuit. She must have loved him that much to never give up on him.
I knew I shouldn’t feel this way—guilty, even—for thinking it.
But I couldn’t help it. Being with her meant he didn’t have to keep struggling, didn’t have to tiptoe around me every day as if he were walking on eggshells.
He stayed by my side when I needed him more than he needed me, sacrificing so much of himself to keep us both standing.
With her, things would be easier. She seemed to love him so fully, without the weight of pain and fear hanging over every interaction. Maybe with her, he could finally breathe. Perhaps she gave him happiness that I couldn’t, just to be with her without the constant battle that defined us.
Even if it wasn’t with Evie, he still deserved better. Someone easier to love than me.
That thought both stung and settled inside me, because I wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me.
“Evie, please stop calling the hospital looking for me.” His voice was heavy with exhaustion. After a pause, he added, “Even if it’s anonymous, just let it go. Let me go. I’m where I want to be. I hope you can find your peace, too.”
Then I heard the sound of keys turning in the lock, and I quickly moved back to sit beside Harper. When he saw us, a smile spread across his face.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“Yes!” Harper shouted, her hands shooting up in the air.
“Come here, give me a hug,” Cameron said, lowering himself and opening his arms wide. Harper leapt up instantly, squealing as she ran to him. He lifted her up, then turned to me.
“Sloane?”
I met his gaze and forced a smile. “Yes. Let’s go.”
For the entire drive, the thought wouldn’t leave me. It lingered as I lay in bed that night, still turning over in my mind while he lay beside me, letting me hold his wrist again because he knew I needed to feel him there.
How long would I keep dragging him down like this? How long would I stay selfish, chaining him to me?
Would he be better off with Evie? Or somebody else?
I looked at his face, tired from a full day of work, still carrying the weight of caring for our family and for me. Not once did he complain. Not once did that soft smile leave his face.
At my next session, I would ask my therapist again how to start standing on my own, healing on my own, without leaning too much on him.