40. Sloane
Sloane
M y head is pounding. I barely slept last night. My mind was too busy running through our conversation— no, our fight —on repeat and working through what I could have done differently. Should I have agreed to turn down the appointment? Maybe.
Sully’s work is so important. I’ve always believed that, and I’ve always been incredibly proud of him. Representing domestic violence victims, especially in divorce cases, is extremely taxing. It’s noble work.
But why can’t he see that what I do matters as well? Why does it always have to be one or the other? And why, when it is, am I always the other? The one who has to bend, who has to let go of goals and dreams.
But do you even want this?
The words are a mere whisper in the back of my head, coaxing me from my anger.
God, that’s the hard part. I’m right to be angry, but do I even want the thing I’m fighting for?
What I want is for my husband to realize that my career matters too.
What I want is for him to treat me like an equal.
For years I gave up everything to support him and to raise T.J.
I’m just asking for a little recognition.
A little compromise. And partnership. In our marriage, and maybe at work too.
Maybe that’s delusional after the way I stepped back for so long.
But that doesn’t stop his words from hurting, and it doesn’t excuse the way he always fails to see my worth.
He used to ask for my opinion. He’d ask for my help.
Now I’m no one. Just another obligation.
A person to take care of. I suppose it’s better than not seeing me at all, but only marginally.
I don’t want to be another thing on his agenda. I want to be his equal.
I rub at my head, and the white squiggles behind my eyelids only get worse. I really need to lie down. This feels more like a migraine than a simple headache.
But I promised Lo I would meet with this Yoga Jess girl, and I refuse to let my best friend down. I can rest afterward.
The office is abuzz with activity when I walk in, which is no surprise.
It’s just a typical Wednesday in New York.
No one else’s lives have gone up in flames.
Hell, is my life even in flames? That’d be exciting and new.
Nothing about how I feel is new. The sensations rushing through me are far too familiar for my liking, since they’ve plagued me since T.
J. was a baby. Now, though, they feel more jarring.
Probably because I had convinced myself that Sully had changed.
That he was different. That I was different. That we were different.
“Morning, Sloane.” The greeting is echoed by person after person as I stride to my office. I nod to each one, though with every step I take, their voices grow more muffled. I need to get out of my head and focus on this meeting. I promised Lo.
“Baby mama!” Julius croons the moment I step into the entryway of our suite.
Like every other day, his blond hair is slicked to the side, his jacket is perfectly pressed, and his navy pants stop at his ankle, leaving him looking like he should be heading out for a night on the town rather than stuck in this office.
“Good morning.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounds despondent.
His smile falls. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Is the new client here?”
He eyes me for another second, like he wants to pry. Instead, he nods and picks up a folder from his desk. “She’s in the conference room. Want me to take your bag and bring you in a cup of tea?”
Coffee would be better, but tea will have to do.
“Yes, thank you.” I slip the bag down my arm, but as I hold it out, another wave of exhaustion hits me, making me stumble.
This time the squiggles in front of me move rapidly, and I sway.
As I reach for the desk to steady myself, Julius lunges for my arm.
“I don’t—” The rest of my words get stuck in my throat.
“Sloane,” he says, his tone panicked. He grips both of my arms, holding me up, and shouts, “Someone call 911!”
Then it all goes dark.