Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“I feel like I betrayed my best friend.” I see the tears in his eyes when I said those horrible things, and I cry harder.
“Oh God, I’m done with this stress. Why is nothing damn easy with me?” I sob. “Why does everything have to be so fucking hard?”
I want to live in this house with my boys . . . and Tristan.
That’s it. Nothing fancy, nothing different.
Why does he want things to change? It doesn’t have to be like this.
The boys aren’t talking to me. They’re all in their bedrooms, the house is quiet and sad, and I know Tristan is alone and heartbroken in his apartment.
I slide down the wall and sit on the hard, cold tiles. I roll into a ball to try to protect myself from the pain.
But there is no antidote for this situation . . . I’m going to lose him.
Maybe I did already.
Sadness is heavy. Sadness is still.
I lie in the darkness and watch the time tick by: 11:53 p.m.
My mind goes to my beautiful man. What’s he doing?
I can’t do this. I can’t lie here and do nothing.
I have to try to fix this. I can’t go to sleep without speaking to him. I lean over and grab my phone from the side table and dial his number. My heart beats nervously as I wait for him to pick up.
It stops ringing . . . he declined the call.
My stomach sinks.
He’s never rejected a call from me . . . ever.
I think for a moment, and I text.
I’m sorry about today,
I don’t know what happened.
It spiraled out of control.
I’ll call you tomorrow.
Goodnight,
I love you.
xoxo
I watch and see the read symbol come up. I smile . . . he saw it.
I wait as I hold my breath.
“Reply,” I whisper. I hold my breath as I wait.
Nothing.
I watch and watch . . . and wait.
My eyes fill with tears. “Reply, baby.”
But he doesn’t, and I know he’s not going to.
My heart drops to a new low, and the tears come hard and fast.
I’ve ruined everything.
I sit and stare at the figures on my computer, trying to miraculously find an extra $200,000.
I’ve sold our holiday home, I’ve sold all of our shares. Everything that Wade and I accumulated in our time together is gone.
And now to keep the man I love, I’m expected to hand his children over as well.
That’s an unfair request. Surely Tristan must know that. How can he not see my point?
I feel like there’s this big black cloud hanging over me and that I’ll never truly be happy.
I must have been bad in my last life, because I feel like I’m being punished for something. I’ve loved two men in my life. One I lost to death.
The other . . .
I rest my hand under my chin and stare into space, wondering if I could have handled yesterday better.
There’s no question I could have.
But . . . I stand by what I said. I don’t want anyone to adopt my boys. I won’t give over that power to someone else.
Even if that someone is the love of my life. It’s not just Tristan—this isn’t personal. This is sensible.
They are Wade’s sons. They will always be Wade’s sons.
My every instinct is telling me this is something that I should never do.
Always trust your gut.
A message comes through on my phone. It’s from Tristan.
Can we talk?
Relief fills me. I write back.
Please.
He replies.
Our hotel,
1pm.
I smile, hopeful.
See you then.
I love you.
xoxox
At one o’clock I hold my breath as I walk into the foyer of our hotel. We’ve been here many times before. Always in excitement.
Today it’s in dread.
Tristan stands over near the elevator, and my stomach flutters when I see him wearing his power suit and standing the way he does, straight and proud.
I know that if he really wants something, it’s nonnegotiable.
“Hi.” I smile.
“Hello.” He dips his head, and in that moment fear runs through me.
He’s not going to let this go.
I’m going to lose him.
We get into the elevator and ride up to our floor in silence.
Oh my God . . . no. Don’t let this happen.
I stand behind him silently as he opens the door, and I walk in and take a seat on the bed.
He closes the door and walks straight to the bar and pours himself a scotch. “Do you want a drink?”
“No, thanks.”
In slow motion he sips his scotch. His eyes hold mine.
“Tristan . . . what I said yesterday—”
“Yes,” he cuts me off. “Let’s talk about that.”
Nerves begin to thump in my chest. “You need to understand where I am coming from. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” I pause.
“But?”
“But I made promises to my first husband. These children are his, and I need to honor his wishes.”
He clenches his jaw; his eyes hold mine.