Chapter 7
Blake stood outside the front door, taking deep breaths to pull himself together.
The second he walked in, his eyes shot to the key hook on the wall. My key was missing,
I’d locked up on my way out–even if I was done with this place, I wasn’t gonna let some random burglar mess with it
Three pairs of slippers sat by the door.
Mine, Blake’s, and Lila’s.
My cheap fifteen–dollar knockoffs next to Lila’s fancy Balenciaga slides that Blake had splurged on for her.
Seeing them side by side made Blake feel like crap as he switched shoes.
He was trying to figure out how to fix things with me when he spotted the divorce papers sitting on the table.
I didn’t want the company.
I didn’t want Blake either.
I’d never been materialistic anyway. Every dollar I’d made with Blake made me sick to
The only thing I was proud of? The drugs I’d developed had actually saved lives.
my
stomach.
Blake stared at the part where I’d signed away everything, his emotions all over the place.
I’d left him a letter.
It was my insurance policy in case Blake refused to sign:
[Never thought we’d end up here, but I don’t want to drag this out, so I’m walking away with nothing.
You can choose not to sign–just know you’ll be getting served court papers instead.
I’ve got HD photos of you and Lila in bed together. Adultery during marriage means YOU’D be the one losing everything in
court.
Lila was sweet enough to send them to me herself.
Sign the papers and email them back. I’ll swing by sometime to pick up the divorce certificate.]
Blake read that letter over and over again.
His lips kept trembling from the emotional rollercoaste
All the crap he thought I was clueless about–I knew every damn detail.
Blake had never felt fear like this in his entire life.
The despair rising from his chest made it impossible to breathe normally.
I’d been in such a hurry to get out that I hadn’t bothered cleaning up the mess on the table.
read in My Ow
Blake dug through the trash and found a package I’d received.
The return address was still there I hadn’t gotten around to scratching it off.
[National Pharmaceutical Research Institute, Atlantal
Right then, his assistant shot him a text:
(Boss, got her. Mrs. Sterling caught a morning flight to Atlanta. Her new job’s already listed on the pharmaceutical institu site.)
Blake didn’t hesitate–he got up, booked the earliest flight, and headed straight to Atlanta.
The second I saw Blake, I felt sick to my stomach.
I’d finally gotten a chance to explore the city and here was this asshole ruining it.
I tried to pretend I didn’t see him, but he blocked my path.
He looked like complete shit after just a few days–wrinkled clothes, total mess.
I glared at him with zero patience: “What?”
My cold–as–ice attitude clearly stung.
His hands balled up into fists.
“I’m not signing those papers.”
I clicked my tongue, totally fed up.
“Not signing? Then get ready for court.”
“Why are you being so heartless?! It was just one mistake! Even if I did cheat, I still only love you, right? Everyone screws up–you’re gonna divorce me over something so tiny?”
I sighed, my voice flat. “It’s not tiny. And it’s not just one thing.”
Blake looked genuinely confused.
“What do you mean?”
What did I mean? I was divorcing him because I’d finally had enough disappointment to last a lifetime.
My dad was an artist, and like most artists, he was a total player. When Mom was young, she fell head–over–heels crazy in
love with him.
They got married, had me.
But Dad kept screwing around, and it gave Mom severe depression.
Lila’s mom was always scheming to become the official wife, constantly pulling stunts to mess with my mother’s head.
Mom put up with it all for my sake. She kept thinking if she was just good enough to Dad, he’d come back to us.
“Sweetie, your father still loves us, right? Sure, he cheats, but he hasn’t divorced me or brought those other women home,
Stand In Luna’s Rise Round in My Twin’s Name, Freed in My Own
You’re still his only childs
Ta look at Mom’s exhausted face and lie through my teeth, nodding along
Then one night, Dad came home with a birthday cake, a woman, and her kid in tow.
That kid was Lila.
Dad acted like it was totally normal, casually waving his hand toward me and Mom.
“We’re all gonna be one big happy family now–the five of us. This is Lila, and this is my new girlfriend. She’s cool with me having a wife, so I hope you two can play nice with them.”
“You’re all my family.”
Bringing his side chick and her brat into our house, telling Mom to treat them like family.
What a fucking joke.
But Lila didn’t just hand my mom that rose–she leaned in and whispered pure poison:
“Hey old hag, don’t you have depression?
Aren’t you nutjobs always crying about wanting to kill yourselves? Just do it already and make room for me and my mom!
Dad’s sick of looking at your face anyway! He’d have dumped you ages ago if he wasn’t worried you’d go psycho. Stop being such a fucking burden!”
Those words destroyed my sweet, broken mother.
She made it through her 39th birthday, then opened her wrists that night.
I hate that little bitch who gave Mom that rose.
Since I couldn’t kill her, roses became my trigger instead.
Every time I see one, all I can picture is Mom bleeding out in the bathtub.
