Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
OLIVIA
Sunlight cuts across the hardwood like it’s got something to prove. And I don’t need that today. My head’s a mess. A full-blown, screaming, buzzing mess. My body aches, like heartbreak somehow decided to go physical this time. There’s a heaviness in my chest that won’t let me take a full breath.
It feels like I’m losing him all over again. The same hollow ache, the same quiet finality, except now we both understand exactly what we’re giving up.
We need to be just friends, business partners, nothing more.
We said all the right things adults are supposed to say when they’re trying to be responsible.
But it doesn’t matter what we said. It doesn’t matter what we feel.
It doesn’t matter because for a few days, we slipped and remembered what it was like to be us.
And it hurts. God, it hurts.
It hurts that I had to come back here— to see him, to help, to play the part of the calm, capable version of myself, and instead, everything I was afraid of just happened. All the years I spent stitching myself together, undone in one look, one laugh, one night.
I press my palms to my eyes until I see stars, like maybe if I push hard enough, I can reset my brain, erase the ache.
I can’t. I’m fucking miserable, and I need to go home.
My phone pings as I’m debating whether to get out of bed or not.
David: Haven’t really heard from you lately. How did the business thing end?
Me: It was good, I made a good deal out of it. Josh and Audrey are really good at business.
David: Sounds like you’ll kill it.
Me: I’ll know more after the weekend. But yeah… it feels good. Like maybe being here isn’t a total disaster.
David: I’m proud of you, O. Always.
Me: How were the kids?
David: Wild. Matthew wore a blanket like a cape all afternoon. Declared himself King of the Backyard. Jer has been running behind him all morning.
Me: Ugh. I miss them so much.
David: We miss you too. Love you.
Me: Love you too.
I set the phone down. The guilt kicks in. He trusts me completely. And I’m breaking that trust in ways he hasn’t even begun to imagine.
I get up and drag myself to the bathroom. The mirror’s waiting for me —harsh lighting, no mercy. I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face until my skin stings, until the shock of it forces me to breathe.
When I finally look up, the woman in the mirror doesn’t look like me.
Not the version my husband knows. Not the version I’ve been trying to be for years.
This one looks tired. Hollow. A little ashamed if I’m being honest. I stare at her for a long time, waiting for the reflection to blink first. This is the version I don’t want to admit exists, the one who still answers Ethan’s calls, who still wonders what might’ve been, who’s losing pieces of herself one compromise at a time.
I grip the edge of the sink, water dripping down my wrists, “What the hell are you doing?”
I head downstairs and stop cold on the last step. My stomach drops as I look through the window.“What the hell are you doing here?” I say as I open the door. He looks up, caught. “Hey.”
“Hey?” I echo, my voice rough, caught between sleep and panic. He straightens but doesn’t move closer. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I didn’t expect to be here either,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Couldn’t sleep any longer, so I ran, and ended up here.” I let out a shaky breath. “Ethan, look, I get it. But we can’t—” He cuts me off, and I swear I wish he hadn’t, because I wasn’t ready for what came next.
“I’m a mess, Liv.” He looks at me like I’m a decision he already regrets making. “So am I, Ethan.” He nods, eyes dropping to the floor. “I told myself I wouldn’t come back unless I had the strength to stay.”
“Ethan, you can’t stay,” I whisper. “Because I can’t stay either.
This—” I gesture weakly between us “—is bigger than just you and me. We have people we are responsible for, and we made vows to them long ago. And that doesn’t vanish just because we are feeling all of this.
” He steps closer, just one step, ignoring what I’m saying.
“Let me kiss you again, please,” he says quietly. “Just once more, the last time.”
His hands come up to my face, palms warm, trembling. He holds me like I’m something fragile. His eyes search mine for permission, but I can’t bring myself to give out loud. So, I stand there as he kisses me.
It’s soft and careful. And it hurts, not in the way that bruises do, but in the way endings do. It’s the kind of kiss that feels like goodbye before it’s even over. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. Neither of us says a word.
We don’t have to.
We both know this is the end.