It Starts with Us (It Ends with Us #2)(30)

Those words hit him hard. I see it when he has to take a moment to swallow whatever unkind response he knows he shouldn’t give me right now. He stops talking, stops looking at me, stops hovering.

He huffs, frustrated, and then backs away and makes his way toward the stairs, hopefully to his own apartment. He slams the door shut behind him.

I don’t immediately follow, for obvious reasons. I need space. I need to process.

This isn’t the first time he’s asked me what we’re doing—like our divorce is some long game I’m playing. Sometimes he’ll say it in passing, sometimes in a text. Sometimes he makes it a joke. But every time he suggests how senseless our divorce is, I recognize it for what it is. A manipulation tactic. He thinks if he treats our divorce like we’re being silly, I’ll eventually agree with him and take him back.

His life would be easier if I took him back. Allysa’s and Marshall’s lives might even be made easier by it, because they wouldn’t have to dance around our divorce and their relationship with him.

But my life wouldn’t be easier. There’s nothing easy about fearing for your safety any time you make a misstep.

Emerson’s life wouldn’t be easier. I’ve lived her life. There’s nothing easy about living in that kind of household.

I wait for my anger to dissipate before heading back downstairs, but it doesn’t. It just builds and builds with every step I descend. I feel like the reaction I’m having is too big for what just happened, or maybe that’s just how I’ve conditioned myself to feel when I’m around Ryle. Maybe it’s a combination of that and my lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the date with Atlas that I almost ruined. Whatever it is that’s making me react so intensely catches up with me right outside of Allysa’s apartment door.

I need a moment to collect my emotions before being near my daughter, so I sit on the floor of the hallway to cry it out. I like to shed tears in private. Happens quite regularly, unfortunately, but I’ve been finding myself getting overwhelmed a lot. Divorce is overwhelming; being a single mother is overwhelming; running a business is overwhelming; dealing with an ex-husband who still scares you is overwhelming.

And then there’s that splinter of fear that creeps into my conscience when Ryle says something to suggest our divorce was a mistake. Because sometimes I do wonder if my life wouldn’t be so overwhelming if I still had a husband who shared some of the burdens of raising his child. And sometimes I wonder if I’m overreacting by not allowing my daughter to have overnights with her own father. Relationships and custody agreements don’t come with a blueprint, unfortunately.

I don’t know if every move I make is the right one, but I’m doing my best. I don’t need his manipulation and gaslighting on top of that.

I wish I were at home; I would walk straight to my jewelry box and pull out the list of reminders. I should take a picture of it so I always have it on my phone in the future. I definitely underestimate how difficult and confusing interactions with Ryle can be.

How do people leave these cycles when they don’t have the resources I had or the support from their friends and family? How do they possibly stay strong enough every second of the day? I feel like all it takes is one weak, insecure moment in the presence of your ex to convince yourself you made the wrong decision.

Anyone who has ever left a manipulative, abusive spouse and somehow stayed that course deserves a medal. A statue. A freaking superhero movie.

Society has obviously been worshipping the wrong heroes this whole time because I’m convinced it takes less strength to pick up a building than it does to permanently leave an abusive situation.

I’m still crying a few minutes later when I hear Allysa’s door open. I look up to find Marshall exiting the apartment carrying two bags of trash. He pauses when he sees me sitting on the floor.

“Oh.” His eyes dart around, as if he’s hoping someone else will help me. Not that I need help. I just needed a moment of respite.

Marshall sets the bags on the floor and walks over. He takes a seat across from me and stretches out his legs. He scratches uncomfortably at his knee. “I’m not sure what to say. I’m not good at this.”

His discomfort makes me laugh through my tears. I toss up a frustrated hand. “I’m fine. I just need to cry sometimes when Ryle and I fight.”

Marshall pulls up a leg like he’s about to stand up and go after Ryle. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. No, he was fairly calm.”

Marshall relaxes back to the floor, and I don’t know why, maybe it’s because he’s the unlucky one in front of me right now, but I unload all my thoughts on him.

“I think that’s the problem—that he actually had a right to be mad at me this time, and he was relatively calm about it. Sometimes we can argue, and it doesn’t lead to anything more than a disagreement. And when that happens, I start to question whether I overreacted by asking for a divorce. I mean, I know I didn’t overreact. I know I didn’t. But he has this way of planting seeds of doubt in me, like maybe things could have gotten better if I just gave him more time to work on himself.” I feel bad that I’m laying all this on Marshall. It’s not fair to him because Ryle is his best friend. “I’m sorry. This isn’t your issue.”

“Allysa cheated on me.”

Marshall’s words stun me silent for a good five seconds. “Wh-what?”