Chapter 40
I end up sitting on a random bench outside some random brick-front building I don’t recognize.
I don’t even know where I am or how far I ran. But I’m covered in sweat and panting and need to sit down for a second.
And go to the bathroom.
I realize now that in this morning’s chaos, I haven’t even peed. So I stand up and scurry into the pub nearby. I catch my reflection in the glass front. My hair is a rat’s nest. I’m wearing silk pajamas, a trench coat, and knock-off UGG boots. I look like I’m sleepwalking.
Thankfully the half dozen patrons are more interested in the soccer game on the TV than in the disheveled woman walking past them.
When I finish and walk back out the door, I hear my name.
“Riley.”
I spin around at the sound of Milo’s voice and see him standing down the block.
I don’t move as he walks over to me. Part of me wants to run off, but the other part of me is too exhausted.
“Riley,” he says through a breath. His chest heaves. I register the worry in his stare as he looks at me.
He jerks his arm slightly, like he wants to reach for me but thinks better of it.
“Are you okay?” he asks after a minute of us standing on the sidewalk, staring at each other while people walk around us.
I almost laugh. “No, Milo. I’m not okay. I found out that my husband has been having an affair with his ex-girlfriend. I found out that he got her pregnant. And then I find out that not only do you have feelings for me, but that Tristan’s ex cheated with you. What the hell is this, some weird kink of yours? Do you only go for women your relatives have dated?”
I ignore the stares of the people passing by. I don’t blame them, really. I’m sure this looks like a scene straight out of a soap opera.
He sighs, his shoulders sagging. “I know how bad this looks. I know I’m coming off like a sleazy piece of shit.”
I hold up a hand, cutting him off. I feel the beginnings of a tension headache gripping the base of my skull.
“I can’t stand here anymore.” I walk back to the bench.
Milo stays standing for several seconds before walking over to me. “Can I sit?”
I sigh and shrug. “It’s a public bench. I can’t stop you.”
I have to bite my tongue to hold back the rest of what I want to say. I think back to the conversation I overheard between Milo and his cousin Rafa at their family pool party in Portugal. This is why Rafa was so critical of seeing me and Milo together—because Milo pulled a similar move with Tristan’s uni girlfriend.
I think back to asking him who Elena was after the pool party, how he admitted that the start of their relationship was essentially an affair since she was still with someone else ... how he left out the fact that the other relationship was with Tristan ...
In his timeline I already knew; our fight already happened.
I think back to how I reassured Milo, how I told him it was all okay, how I wasn’t mad anymore.
The urge to let out a feral, bitter laugh hits, but I swallow it back. If only I had the full story then. I would have left Milo in Portugal and taken the first flight out.
As angry as I am, I can’t bring any of that up to him now. It wouldn’t make any sense—he hasn’t lived the same timeline I have. He hasn’t yet taken me to Portugal to meet his family. We haven’t yet started a relationship.
The ache in my head intensifies with how confusing this all is. I press a fist to the base of my skull, closing my eyes as the tension slowly starts to dissipate.
“You have every right to be angry with me, Riley,” Milo says.
I open my eyes and look at him. He’s resting his elbows on his knees and gazing down at the ground.
He twists his head to me. “Tristan is right. I had a thing for you pretty much the moment I met you. But I ignored it. I was enough of a sleazebag, being the guy who dated my cousin’s girlfriend years ago. I didn’t want to be the piece of garbage who went after his wife too.” A hard swallow moves along the length of this throat. “It was easier if I was a jerk to you both. I know that’s fucked up. Beyond fucked up.”
He scrubs a hand over his face, then tugs at his hair. He turns to me. “But what Tristan said about me trying to break you two up so I can have a shot at you isn’t true at all. I told you about his affair because you deserve to know what he’s been doing behind your back.”
The weight of his words hangs in the air between us.
“Did he cheat on Elena too?” I ask.
Milo is quiet before nodding. “Yeah. A lot. Look, I know what I did was wrong, but this is the full story. We all went to the same university in London. I knew Elena because Tristan brought her to a lot of family events. I liked her; she was sweet and nice. We’d see each other at family stuff from time to time and became friends.” He huffs out a breath. “When Elena found out that Tristan was cheating on her, she was so upset. She came to me and told me everything. I was so angry for her. And I was pissed at Tristan. I tried to comfort her ...” He blinks, and his gaze turns shy, like he’s embarrassed. “In the heat of the moment, we kissed.”
Milo’s cheeks go fire-engine red, like he’s mortified to admit all this to me.
“We slept together. And then one more time after that, while she was still with Tristan. I knew it was wrong, but I didn’t care. I was sick of seeing my cousin treat his girlfriends like shit. I was sick of seeing his parents and most of our family treat him like a golden boy when he was doing so many dishonest things in his personal life. Elena wanted to keep hooking up in secret, but I told her that she needed to break up with Tristan first. So she did. She told him about our hookup to make him mad and jealous. Tristan and I fought over it.” Milo exhales and looks down, like he’s ashamed. “When Elena ended it with Tristan, we tried to make it work. We lasted almost a year before we finally broke up. We weren’t compatible long term. And we both had major trust issues, given the fact that our relationship started out as an affair.”
For a few seconds he’s quiet. He frowns slightly, like he’s in pain. “My relationship with Tristan was never great. But that was what broke us for good. Yeah, I’m a piece of shit for sleeping with his girlfriend behind his back, and so is he for cheating on her in the first place.”
Milo is quiet again. For a few minutes all we do is watch as cars and buses whizz by on the street in front of us.
He turns to me, the look in his eyes tender and sorrowful. “I’m sorry for everything, Riley. Look, I don’t know what you’ll decide to do when it comes to Tristan, but I just hope you know that you deserve better than any of this.”
He stands up and walks in the direction he came from, down Dorset Street. I stay sitting on the bench, processing everything he’s just told me.
I wait for the surge of anger and frustration and hurt to surface once more. But it doesn’t. For a few minutes I sit there, confused. But then it hits me: Milo was honest with me. He admitted what he did wrong, apologized for it, and seemed genuinely regretful for the pain he caused.
And that’s when I realize how wrong I am to lump him and Tristan together. Yes, they both lied. But Milo took responsibility for what he did wrong. He admitted it right away. He came after me to make sure I was okay and so he could explain himself to me, without any expectation from me whatsoever.
Tristan didn’t do any of that. He lied to me again and again. And then he made up lies about Milo to avoid admitting fault.
That’s the difference between these two men. And my feelings for both of them are crystal clear now.
I jolt up from the bench and run down Dorset Street. I weave around slow-moving pedestrians and strollers and kids and dogs until that familiar tall, lean form with thick brown-black hair comes into view.
I shout Milo’s name so loud that everyone around me jolts.
I mutter “sorry” as I speed ahead, hoping I can catch him.
“Milo!”
He stops in front of a crosswalk, his eyes wide as he spins around and looks at me.
“Riley, what—”
“I was wrong,” I huff out between gasps. “You and Tristan aren’t the same. Not even close.”
His brow furrows, like he’s confused. “Okay ...”
I take a few seconds to steady my breathing. “You were honest. You admitted all the things you did wrong, no matter how bad they made you look. You’re no saint, that’s for sure. But no one is. We all fuck up. What matters is that we can admit it when we do. And apologize. And make things right and try to be better. That’s what you did.”
He takes a second before speaking, like he needs a moment to process what I’ve said. “Yeah, I mean, I’m trying to do all that.”
“I’m leaving Tristan. I’m going to divorce him.”
He looks stunned. “You are?”
“Yeah. I can’t be with him anymore, not after what he did.”
Milo nods, the look on his face dazed. “I have a lawyer friend I can refer you to,” he says after a moment. “She’s brutal. She’ll make sure you’re protected, no matter what you decide to do.”
“Thank you, Milo.”
For a second we just stand there and look at each other. He opens his mouth to speak, but then a truck turns the corner while blaring the horn. We both jump at the noise.
When he looks at me again, his eyes are shy. Whatever he was building up the nerve to say, the moment’s clearly gone.
“I’ll get you her number,” he says. “Do you need me to come back with you to the flat?”
I shake my head. “Tristan and I need to talk alone.”
Milo nods. His gaze on me turns focused and intense. “I’ll see you around, Riley.”
He starts to walk off. My stomach churns as I watch him make his way down the block.
“Milo, wait!” I jog after him for the second time this morning.
He stops under a nearby street sign. When I catch up to him, I notice it’s the Dorset Street sign. And then without another word, I hug him. It takes him a second before he slides his arms around me and holds tight. That twist in my stomach disappears. Now there’s nothing but warmth.
I lean back and look up at him. “Can we be friends?” I blurt.
His mouth curves up in the most beautiful smile. “I’d love that.”
We leave with a promise to text each other. I already know what happens. Texts about marshmallow Peeps and tea and Easter. We meet up at that café by his house. It feels like friendship, but different. Better.
Something new, something wonderful, develops between us. And it all kicks off today.
I walk back to my flat and open the door to see Tristan standing in the kitchen, frowning at his phone. He starts to smile, but it fades as I walk up to him. Probably because I’m not smiling back.
“Tristan, I need you to listen to me. I know you’re cheating on me. I know you got Carly pregnant.”
His mouth falls open. He closes it quickly and swallows. His blue eyes turn focused as they scan my face, like he’s silently scrambling to think of another lie, of someone else to blame.
“Riley, I’m not sure what—”
“We’re done. I want a divorce.”
He looks like I’ve punched him in the gut. His eyebrows crash together as he clutches a hand to his stomach. “Riley, you can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious. I don’t want to be with you anymore.”
He shakes his head, like he doesn’t want to accept what I’ve said.
“Riley, this can’t be the end of us. Please.”
“It is, though. You’ve been fucking your ex behind my back for who knows how long. And you got her pregnant. We’re done. So fucking done.”
His chest heaves with the breath he takes. His gaze flits off to the side. He’s frowning out the window, like he’s confused and upset and mystified all at once.
It’s strange ... the longer I look at him, the more I realize I don’t feel angry or hurt or sad.
I’m more curious than anything.
“What exactly was your plan, Tristan?” I finally ask the question swirling around in my head. “Did you really think you could go on like this? Did you really think you could be married to me and have an affair with your ex forever? Did you think you could have a secret family on the side and still be with me?”
He whips his head to me. His blue eyes are wide, like he’s shocked I could ask him such a thing.
He says nothing. He just looks at me, his mouth a straight line. He blinks quickly, and his gaze turns shy. Like he’s embarrassed.
After a while his gaze falls to the floor. “You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know.” He lets out a weak breath. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I just ... did it.”
I almost laugh. That’s such a nonanswer, such a cop-out.
I let out a soft scoff and shake my head. “I don’t buy that. There’s gotta be a reason. I thought we were happy. I was happy, at least.”
I’m surprised at how detached I sound. There’s not an ounce of pleading or longing in my tone. I just want to know why.
“I was happy too,” he says. He clears his throat. “I ran into Carly at one of my restaurants a while ago. We got to catching up, and um, well. Things escalated ... it was just meant to be one time. But then things got out of hand ...”
A hard swallow moves along his throat. The skin on his neck and cheeks is cherry red. I can tell this conversation is making him want to crawl out of his skin. I don’t care.
He shoves his hands in his pockets. His shoulders slump. His gaze bounces back to the floor. It’s striking just how adolescent he looks right now. His stance, his posture, his eye contact are all reminiscent of a teenager in trouble.
“I just wasn’t thinking, Riley.” He sighs, presses his eyes shut, and pinches the bridge of his nose before looking at me again. “Growing up, I watched my dad run around with other women constantly. I know it’s wrong, but that’s what was modeled to me as a kid. I kind of don’t know any better. I know you probably don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth.” He shrugs.
This time I actually laugh. I should have known this was what he would say. No apology, just blaming someone else for what he did wrong.
And that’s when I decide I don’t care about what Tristan has to say anymore. I just want him gone.
“Leave. Now.”
His brow hits his hairline, clearly shocked at what I’ve said. “What?”
“I want you to leave, Tristan.”
He starts to speak.
“Don’t,” I say, my tone calm but firm. “You need to pack your things and leave.”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off, too angry and frustrated to hear him speak another word.
“You’re pathetic, Tristan.”
He looks stunned at what I’ve said. But I don’t care. If he wants to stay, if he wants to draw this out longer, then it’s happening on my terms. He’s going to listen to everything I have to say.
“You’re selfish. And arrogant. And you never truly cared about me. You never defended me. You were never really on my side. The way you let your family disrespect me all these years shows that. Because you’re weak, Tristan. You refuse to accept responsibility for your actions. You refuse to stand up to your family, even when they’re in the wrong. Everything good about you was a sham, a facade, a way to make you look good. You’re nothing to me anymore. And nothing you could ever do or say will ever change my mind. Now I want you to leave.”
For a long moment he just looks at me, his soft blue gaze wide, like he’s stunned at what I’ve said.
It takes a few seconds for my heartbeat to slow after the adrenaline rush of saying all that. But when it does, I feel calm. I feel in control despite the chaos of everything that’s happened.
Tristan hesitates for a second before he purses his lips and walks off, disappearing into the bedroom. For the next hour the sounds of suitcases zipping and fabric rustling are all I hear as I sit with Coco on the sofa.
When he wheels his bags to the door, he stops and looks over at me. “Riley, I just ...”
“There’s nothing more to say, Tristan. Get out.”
He clenches his jaw. “This isn’t over, Riley.” He glares around the flat.
“I know that. I still want you to leave.”
He scoffs before stomping out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.
Coco’s ice-blue eyes go wide at the noise before she nuzzles against my arm in a bid for more pets. I’m scratching under her chin, and she’s purring happily when my phone buzzes with a text.
Milo: Hey. Sorry to text so soon, but how are things going right now?
Me: Tristan just left.
Milo: Are you okay?
Me: Yeah.
Milo: You sure?
Me: Positive. Thank you for checking on me.
Milo: Of course.
Warmth surges through me before worry starts to creep in. When I wake up in the morning, it’ll be Valentine’s Day—the day of my wedding anniversary, the day of that disastrous party at Tristan’s restaurant.
I’ll wake up to Tristan surprising me with coffee in bed. He’ll have no memory of what happened between us today. Neither will Milo. No one will. They’re all living a different timeline than me, and I’ll have to start over. I glance down at Coco, who’s yawning. She won’t be here when I wake up.
The thought of continuing this backward, nonsensical timeline makes me want to curl into a ball. How long will this be my life? How long will I have to keep living backward, waking up next to a husband I no longer want to be with? How can I change it so I can start moving forward in time—so I move on for good?
The questions swirl in my head until I’m dizzy. I press my eyes shut and exhale. I have no idea how to do any of that.
So I stay sitting on the couch, Coco cuddled in my lap. It’s the only thing I want to do right now, the only thing that feels calming and right in this backward chaos that is currently my life.
That and one more thing.
I pick up my phone and dial Milo’s number. He answers on the third ring.
“Hey. You okay?”
I’m heartened that he cares enough to ask me that again. “You already asked me that.”
“I wanted to hear you say it this time.”
I smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you busy?”
“Not at all.”
“Just wanted to chat with a friend for a bit.”
“Well, then, I’m your guy.” I can hear the smile in his voice. It makes me feel instantly at ease.
When I wake up in the morning, it won’t be like this—Milo and I won’t be friends. It’ll be like this day and this conversation never happened. We’ll have to start all over again.
A knot forms in my stomach at the thought.
“What do you want to chat about?” he asks.
I think for a second. “I don’t know. Just something to take my mind off things.”
He’s quiet for a second. “Wanna watch TV together?”
“While we’re on the phone?”
“Yeah. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
I smile at the lilt in his tone. “If you say so.”
“You’ve never done that before? Like when you were younger with your friends?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“I used to with my long-distance friends. It was great. We’d pick out a show or a movie and watch it together while on the phone.”
That’s such a cute thing to do. And it’s exactly what I need right now. “Okay. What should we watch?”
“You’re putting me on the spot. Let me think for a sec.”
When he doesn’t say anything for a bit, I say the first show that comes to my mind. “ Daria .”
“The MTV cartoon?”
“Yeah. Didn’t you watch it? It’s an American classic.”
He laughs. “Damn, that’s a blast from the past. Of course I watched it.”
“It was my favorite as a kid. I was a sucker for an angsty, no-BS female protagonist.”
Milo’s low chuckle rumbles against my ear. “Me too. Daria it is.”
I pull it up on the TV and wait for Milo to do the same.
“Wait, we gotta get snacks. And drinks,” he says.
I hop up, grab a bag of chips from the pantry and a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’m ready.”
“What are you eating?”
“Chips and water. You?”
“A sandwich and soda.”
“What episode should we start with?”
“I say we kick it off with the original. Season one, episode one.”
Emotion bubbles in my chest at the simple joy of this.
I’ll keep living this backward timeline. I don’t know when it will stop ... if it will ever stop. That’s why this time with Milo is so special. In the chaos and instability of all that, I’ll think of sitting on my couch, watching TV with him on the phone, the peace of it, how fun it was, how right it felt.
And the happy memory of this moment will help power me through everything else that will happen.
I select the episode on the TV. “Let’s do it.”