Chapter Thirteen Sloane #2
Maria looked at him carefully. “I see you don’t have a lawyer representing you?”
“No,” he said quietly, his voice low and resigned. “I’m just saying yes to everything Sloane asks.”
Maria frowned slightly. “But she hasn’t even told you what she’s asking for yet.”
He shook his head. “The house, the savings—all hers. I’ll pay child support, alimony, mortgage, whatever she needs. I will take the car, and that’s only because Sloane doesn’t drive.”
Maria raised an eyebrow but kept her tone even. “Alright. It sounds like you’re willing to make significant concessions. But it’s important to be sure you fully understand what’s being agreed to.”
“But I have one request,” Cameron said quietly. “Time with my daughter. That’s it.”
Maria’s expression softened. “That’s completely reasonable.
Maintaining a relationship with your child is important.
” She paused, choosing her words carefully.
“We’ll make sure your request is included in the custody discussions.
But remember, the court’s priority is what’s best for your daughter, and sometimes that means adjustments to what either parent wants. ”
Cameron nodded slowly, relief evident in his voice when he said, “I just want to be there for her.”
Maria gave a reassuring smile. “And that’s exactly what we’ll work toward.
But, Cameron, I strongly suggest you get your own lawyer.
The court process and paperwork can be overwhelming, and it’s important to have someone guiding you through it.
I can’t represent both of you, as it would be a conflict of interest and against legal ethics. ”
Cameron gave a resigned sigh. “Okay.”
Her eyes shifted to me, and whatever she saw made her hesitate. I stayed silent through the entire conversation, unable to find my voice. I wasn’t even sure if I was breathing.
Then she said, “I’ll give you both time to talk. The room is yours.” She stood, gathering her laptop, but when she spoke again, it was directly to me. “Take your time.”
Maria left, and I was alone with Cameron in the room.
We sat in silence for a long moment before he finally turned to me.
“Sloane,” he said.
I made myself lift my head, made myself meet his eyes.
“This is it, isn’t it?” he said softly. “It’s really come to this.”
I still couldn’t speak. My throat was tight, and emotion surged in my chest, swelling so suddenly it felt like it might spill over. The pressure pressed inward, sharp and heavy, making it hard to breathe.
Tears started brimming in my eyes, and I couldn’t stop them. This time, I couldn’t stop them.
But I couldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of everyone. No one could see me fall apart. Not like that. I wouldn’t let it.
Cameron’s eyes searched mine, and he saw it. He saw I was about to break. His eyes were red too, and he was fighting just as hard not to cry.
The tears came anyway, slipping down my cheeks. And in that moment, I remembered what he once said to me: “You care about me. You love me. But you’re not in love with me.”
He always believed I wasn’t in love with him. And he stayed anyway.
I knew the small moments I gave him were what held him together, what kept him with me year after year. They meant everything to him. I saw in his eyes how he clung to them like they were all he had. And somehow, they were once enough.
But my love was bigger than that.
I loved him with everything I had. Every part of me loved every part of him.
And I know how many times I said it. The words I love you. I remember every single one.
After we came back from the weekend at the lake cabin.
When we stood there and said our vows.
When our daughter came into the world and I saw him holding her.
And not for one minute—not one—since the first time those words left my mouth had I stopped feeling them.
I said them silently, every damn day, like a prayer.
To him.
For him.
And I knew it was not enough. I knew I was a fucking mess, broken in ways I couldn’t even explain.
But the feeling was still here. It’s never left.
It’s in my chest like a scream I couldn’t let out.
It’s in my blood, clawing under my skin, aching for him to feel it.
I didn’t know how to be perfect. I barely knew how to be good to him. I kept pushing him away, breaking him down, and I knew it wasn’t easy for him. It was killing him.
But I love him—God, I love him.
Why couldn’t I say the words? Why couldn’t I make him believe they were true?
Why did I say those words instead: “But now it’s all buried beneath how deeply I’ve come to despise you. Whatever I had left to give is gone. There’s nothing in me for you anymore. No love. Not even hope.”
I wanted him to ask me again right now if I was in love with him. I wanted to tell him that I am. That I didn’t just love him. I’m in love with him.
But it was too late now, wasn’t it? It was too late because he had chosen to leave me. He decided to betray me. He’d already given up on me.
And this was it. The end of our story.
I wouldn’t hurt him again. He wouldn’t hurt me again.
We’re better off apart.
He whispered, voice shaking, “I love you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I hurt you.
But I love you, Sloane. I always have. I’m sorry I pulled away.
I’m sorry I betrayed you. I’m sorry I let you down.
But I need you to know, no matter what, even if we separate, I’ll still be there whenever you need me.
You can fall apart. You can push me away. But you’ll still be held. I promise.”
Then he touched his wedding ring, still on his finger, and slowly slid it off. Taking my hand, he placed it in my palm.
“I have yours. Now you have mine. Let it hold the memories we share, Sloane. We had good ones too. We smiled. We laughed. We made love. We were happy once. And we brought a beautiful child into this world.”
In that moment, looking into his eyes, I realized painfully that I was going to love him forever. Whether I wanted to or not.
But I needed to let him go.
We hurt each other too much.
“Cam...” I whispered.
He paused, looking at me, and through my tears I forced myself to meet his gaze.
“I know I’ve hurt you too many times over the years. I know I’m hard to understand, and I know you tried. And I want to thank you for that. For trying, for holding on through our marriage.”
I swallowed, anxiety tightening in my chest.
“But you hurt me, too. Deeply. And I don’t think I’ll ever get past that.”
The words were hard.
Even now, especially now.
But I had to say them.
For the fourth and final time.
“You once said, ‘I love you, but I’m not in love with you.’”
I swallowed hard again as that ache flared, pressing into my ribs.
“I am. I’ve been in love with you, and perhaps I always will be. But this is where our story ends.”
Then I stood, his ring clenched tightly in my hand.
And I walked away.
Leaving him behind.