Chapter 15 #3
The words hung between them, too accurate, too painful. Lydia felt something in her chest crack open, felt all the fear and inadequacy and guilt come pouring out.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to trust again. How to let someone in. How to believe that someone could actually want me. In this situation. Not just feel sorry for me, not just be kind out of obligation, but actually want me. Chaos and crazy ex and all.”
Ethan’s expression softened. He took another step closer, reaching for her. “Lydia?—”
“Don’t.” She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself. “Please don’t be nice to me right now. It just makes it worse. Makes me feel like I’m being ungrateful and stupid and?—”
“You’re not stupid,” Ethan said, but there was something different in his voice now.
Something hurt and frustrated. “But you’re right about one thing.
I can’t keep doing this. Can’t reassure you that you’re worth caring about if you won’t believe it.
Can’t prove I’m not Tom if you keep expecting me to become him. ”
Lydia’s breath caught. “I’m not … I don’t …”
“You are doing that,” Ethan said, and now his voice was quiet in a way that scared her more than anger would have.
“You are looking for reasons to push me away. We are getting close, and you are finding evidence that it won’t work.
And maybe you’re right. Maybe it won’t. But not because you’re too much trouble or I don’t want you. Because you won’t let it work.”
He turned away, running a hand through his hair. “I need some space. I’m going to go … I’m due back on duty. We can talk later when we’ve both calmed down.”
“Ethan—” Lydia started, but he was already walking away, grabbing his keys from the hook, heading for the door.
It closed behind him with a quiet click that felt louder than any slam would have.
Lydia stood in the kitchen surrounded by unpacked groceries, tears streaming down her face, feeling like she’d just destroyed something precious with her own hands.
From the living room, she could hear the kids’ voices. They had put the TV on, and she’d thought they were too absorbed to notice the fight. But now Eli appeared in the doorway, his face worried.
“Mom? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, baby,” Lydia lied, wiping at her tears before she turned to face him. “Ethan and I just … we had a disagreement. It’s not a big deal.”
But even as she said it, she could see Eli didn’t believe her. Could see the fear in his eyes. The same fear that had been there in Ohio when Tom would come home drunk and angry.
“Are we going to have to leave?” he asked quietly.
The question hit her like a punch to the gut. “What? No, of course not?—”
“Because you were yelling. And then Ethan left. And that’s what happened with Dad. You’d fight and then he’d leave and then you’d say we had to go stay at Grandma’s.”
Lydia’s heart shattered. She knelt down, pulling Eli into a hug.
“Oh, honey. No. This is different. Ethan’s not …
he’s not like Dad. He’s not going to—” She stopped, realizing she didn’t know how to finish that sentence.
Didn’t know what Ethan was going to do, where they stood, if she’d pushed him away for good.
Realizing that Ethan wasn’t Tom, but she may be ruining things between them.
Rosie appeared behind Eli, clutching her gray bunny, her eyes huge. “Do we have to leave?” she whispered.
“No,” Lydia said firmly, even though she had no idea if that was true. “We’re not leaving. Ethan and I just … we both said some things we need to think about. But it’s going to be okay.”
She held her children close, feeling them tremble against her, and realized with horrifying clarity what she’d done.
She’d been so focused on protecting them from potential hurt, from potential disappointment, that she’d created the very thing she feared.
She’d started a fight that made them think they’d have to run again, that made them feel unsafe in the one place they’d finally started to feel at home.
All because she was too scared to trust. Too scared to believe something good could last. Too scared to let herself be vulnerable with someone who’d done nothing but prove he was trustworthy.
Later that night, after she’d put the kids to bed and assured them repeatedly that everything would be okay, Rosie’s small voice stopped her at the door.
“Mommy? Are you mad at Ethan because of us?”
Lydia’s throat closed. “What? No, baby. Why would you think that?”
“Because Daddy used to get mad when we made noise. Or when we cost money.” Rosie’s voice was so small, so sorrowful. “Is Ethan mad we’re here?”
Lydia’s eyes filled with tears. She went back to the bed, sat down, and pulled Rosie into her arms. “No. God, no. Ethan’s not mad at you. He loves having you here. This was … this was my fault. I was scared and stupid, and I pushed him away because I was afraid of getting hurt.”
“But Ethan wouldn’t hurt you,” Rosie said with the absolute certainty of childhood. “He’s good.”
“I know he is,” Lydia whispered. “I know.”
It fractured her heart that Rosie had reached that conclusion. What conclusion had she reached about Tom? Did Rosie know Tom was … not a good person? Not anymore.
After Rosie finally fell asleep, Lydia sat alone in the dark guest room and let herself acknowledge the truth.
It was difficult to learn how to trust someone after such deep disappointment.
After watching Tom deteriorate from the man she’d married into someone she didn’t recognize.
After learning that love could turn toxic, that promises could be broken, that the person you thought would protect you could become the person you needed protection from.
But that wasn’t fair to Ethan. He wasn’t Tom. Had never been Tom. Wouldn’t become Tom no matter how much her traumatized brain tried to prepare for that inevitability.
And the thought that Tom could hate her so much, hate her enough to try to kill all of them, to burn them alive in their beds, was more than a little alarming. It was terrifying in a way that made her want to run, to hide, to protect her heart by not giving it to anyone who could break it.
But maybe Michael was right. Maybe the bravest thing she could do was stop running. Stop pushing away the good things because she was afraid they’d turn bad. Stop destroying things before they could hurt her.
Maybe it was time to be brave enough to trust again.
If Ethan would still have her after the way she’d acted.
Lydia curled up in bed, pulled the covers over her head, and finally let herself cry. For everything she’d lost. For everything she might’ve thrown away tonight. For the terrifying, beautiful possibility that maybe something good could still happen if she could find the courage to let it.
Then she fell into an exhausted sleep, knowing that Ethan still had not returned. Knowing she had driven him from his own home.