Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Casey
Boston's late-night wind cut deeper than usual. I walked from the Four Seasons all the way back to my rental, frozen almost numb.
I fished out my keys. My hands shook. Took two tries to get the key in the lock.
I stepped inside. Didn't turn on the lights. Street lamps cast everything in vague outlines.
I saw the jacket draped over the chair—Paul had left it here last week when he came over, said he'd grab it next time, then never showed.
I walked over and picked it up. Stood there for a few seconds. Then hung it in the closet. Only after I'd done it did I realize what I was doing. Why hang it up? He wasn't coming back.
Then my phone buzzed.
Megan. I'm downstairs, let me in.
Megan Parker. My best friend. We saw each other almost every week.
This woman had supernatural timing—always showed up exactly when I needed her, and also knew how to completely ignore every hint when I wanted to be alone and just plant herself right there.
But tonight, honestly, I was grateful for that quality.
I buzzed her in.
She pushed through my door holding two hot chocolates and a bag of Oreos, pajamas under a down jacket. "Hey, Casey, I seriously have to vent about my boss."
She kicked off her shoes and turned to look at me. I was staring at Paul's jacket.
"Casey," she said softly. "What happened?"
I opened my mouth. Wanted to say "I'm fine."
But tears came flooding out instead. Megan dropped the shopping bag, crossed the room in two steps, and pulled me into her arms.
She didn't say anything. Just held me. When I finally ran out of breath from crying, she let go and sat me down on the bed.
"Talk," she said, pressing a hot chocolate into my hands. "From the beginning. Don't skip a single word. I need the full evidence chain."
Everything poured out—all the compromises and concessions of the past few years, every move Paul made at tonight's banquet, how he took Diana's hand onstage, that diamond ring blazing under the lights.
Megan held me, sipping her hot chocolate, saying nothing, letting me empty it all out.
When I got to what Paul said to me on the street corner, I broke down completely. Megan waited, then spoke softly.
"Casey, I'm going to ask you something. You don't have to answer now. Think about it."
"What?"
"These three years—was there ever a moment when you knew, deep down, that you'd end up here?"
I froze.
"Yes," I said. "There were moments. But I convinced myself I was overthinking it every time."
"Right," Megan said. "Every time you sensed something was wrong, you were right. You just wanted so badly for him to be the right person."
I didn't speak.
"You know what breaks my heart?" she continued. "It's not what he did tonight. It's that you worked so hard to make this relationship work, and in the end, you realized he never saw you as his equal. Not once."
"I thought he meant it," I said, voice thick. "All that talk about Hawaii, about being together—when he said those things, I thought he meant them."
"I know you meant it, Casey," Megan said. "There's no shame in that. Loving someone seriously isn't your fault. He just didn't deserve how serious you were."
"But," I said, "did I do something wrong? If I—"
"Casey," Megan put her hand on my shoulder, cutting me off.
"Stop. I need you to hear this one sentence.
Really hear it. You not being good enough was never why you ended up here.
His world has its own rules. He never planned to let you in.
Not because you weren't good enough, but because from the start he kept things in two separate drawers—you in one, his family and social circle in the other.
He just never opened both drawers at the same time to show you. "
I leaned against her. Silent for a moment. "So when he talked about Hawaii, he was—"
"Living a dream which he maybe believed in that exact moment," Megan said. "But he never seriously thought about how to make it real. Casey, some people are really good at saying beautiful things in certain moments. That doesn't mean they're ready to be accountable for those words."
Something tangled in my head suddenly loosened.
"Eat a cookie," Megan pushed the Oreos toward me. "We need sugar. Sad brains need sugar. It's science."
I took one with a bitter smile. Just bit down when the doorbell rang.
Megan glanced at me, shuffled to the peephole in her fuzzy slippers, froze, then turned back. "He's here," she whispered. "I'll handle him. You don't move."
She blocked the doorway, opened it a crack, and used her whole body to fill the gap, looking up at whoever stood in the hall.
"Oh, Paul. What are you doing here this late?"
"Megan," his voice came calm. "I need to talk to Casey."
"Casey's not here."
"Her light's on."
"That's because I'm afraid of the dark."
"Megan—"
"And," her voice dripped sarcasm, "have you considered the possibility that she really doesn't want to see you tonight?
I know this might be a novel concept for you, since Mr. Vincent's presence is usually welcome, but tonight's an exception.
Thanks for understanding. Take care. Bye. Not walking you out."
"I left a jacket here," he interrupted. "I just came to get my jacket."
Megan didn't move. Looked back at me.
I took a deep breath. Put down the Oreo. Stood up. Walked to the door and pulled it open.
Paul Vincent stood in the hallway. Still in that suit, but his tie was loose, hair messed up. First time I'd ever seen him look this disheveled in front of anyone.
"Your jacket's in the closet," I said. "Get it yourself."
He didn't move.
"It's ten at night, Mr. Vincent," I said, surprisingly calm. "If you're here for the jacket, you have thirty seconds. If you're here for something else—"
"I came to apologize."
I paused. Then laughed. "Apologize? Didn't you already apologize on the street corner? What needs repeating?"
Paul stood there. Silent for a few seconds. Then spoke. "Tonight was my fault. The situation was complicated. I didn't handle it well. You've done so much for me. These past few years, everything you've done—I remember. You mean—"
"Paul," I cut him off. "Skip the preamble. What do you want to say? Say it directly."
He paused. "You were never just some mistress to me."
"Not a mistress?" I laughed bitterly. "Stop lying to yourself."
He stepped forward. "Casey, tonight was a special situation. You know I—"
"You what, Paul?" I looked him straight in the eye. "Have you brought me to a single family event in three years? Zero. Not once. It's not that you didn't have chances. You never planned to. I thought if I waited long enough you'd see me, respect me. And what did I get?"
He said nothing.
"You came here tonight," I said, "not because you actually think you did something wrong. You came because you can't sleep. You need an outlet to feel better about yourself. So tomorrow you can tell yourself 'I went and apologized' and move on with your life."
He stood there silently. Then suddenly pulled me into his arms.
This embrace hit harder than any words. Because something inside me betrayed me in that embrace, stopped obeying orders, wanted to lean in, wanted to pretend tonight never happened.
I froze there. Voice hoarse. "Paul, let me go."
He didn't move.
"Let me go." I pushed against him hard. He still didn't move.
Megan had already stood up.
I bit down hard on his shoulder. He finally let go, stepped back, and looked at me. His lips moved. In the end, he said nothing. Turned and walked out the door.
Megan came over and sat beside me, pushed the hot chocolate back into my hands. "Finish this first. No rush to talk. I'm here."
When the hot chocolate was gone, Megan finally spoke. "Casey, that hug just now, did you think about forgiving him?"
I was silent for a moment. "Yes."
"Right," Megan said. "That's normal, Casey. Years of commitment don't get cut off with a few words. You still love him. Nothing strange about that. But loving someone and whether he's worth building a life with—those are two different things. You know that?"
"I know," my voice came small. "But knowing doesn't help. It still hurts."
"Yes. It hurts. No shortcuts. But Casey, what you said at the door tonight, what you told him—I heard it all. You know what? Those words were your clearest moment in three years. You finally said out loud what you knew but wouldn't admit."
I didn't speak. Suddenly, nausea surged up from my stomach without warning. I covered my mouth, stood up, rushed to the bathroom, knelt by the toilet, and started dry heaving.
My stomach was empty. Just acid. Heaved until tears came. My whole body shook.
When the dry heaving stopped, I sat on the cold floor leaning against the tub. Megan crouched beside me, holding back my hair, patting my back gently.
"How many times tonight?" she asked.
"Can't remember," I said. "Third or fourth time."
"Casey," Megan's voice suddenly turned serious. "When was your last period?"
"Over a week late," my voice got smaller. "I figured it was stress."
Megan was silent for two seconds. Then stood up. "Do you have one?"
"What?" I froze, then realized. "Under the sink. Bought it a few days ago. Haven't used it."
She crouched down, dug it out, put the pregnancy test in my hand, and sat down beside me. "Use it now."