Page 2 of Always Right

“Derek is back.”

A flash of guilt covered her features, but her lips quickly formed a gentle smile, one of sadness. One of relief. We had been through so much the past months--months in which Derek was off drinking. Months in which Derek had thrown away everything we had built together.

I had spent months alone, left to pick up the pieces he’d discarded so easily.

He had taken it all--our dreams, our hopes, my love, set it on fire and watched it burn to ashes. Seeing him again would send me on a spiral. I couldn’t do it again.

I had too much to lose.

My hands balled into fists, my gaze falling on the fading scars that remained on my wrist as my chest tightened. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. He couldn’t be back. I’d made progress, I was better off as far away from him as possible because seeing him stung.

I couldn’t imagine what hearing his voice would cause.

Evie sat down next to her son, stirring the homemade apple puree he loved before speaking again. “Did he say anything to you?”

My heart dropped. There was no surprise in her tone, no shock.

“Did you know?”

She nodded, biting down on her lip briefly before continuing. “Yeah. He, uh...he dropped by last night. Says he’s been sober a couple of months. Went to rehab and well...now he’s back.”

I raged.

I fumed.

I’d played out the moment I would see him again in my head several times and every time it was different. Some full of anger and resentment and the others full of heartbreak, just like he’d left me. Never did I think those eyes would reclaim what I was sure he’d lost. Because his eyes, the way he looked at me for those brief seconds told me exactly what he thought.

You’re still mine.

Perhaps that was my fear—that those words were true.

“You should have told me,” I said, running my hands through my hair. Evie continued feeding Noah, her innocent baby oblivious to the chaos brewing around him. “Evie, why didn’t you tell me?”

“He asked me not to.”

Scoffing, I shook my head, wishing the day away. Wishing it was all nothing but a cruel nightmare. “You should have told me. I wasn’t prepared, he showed up at the gallery, didn’t say a damn word and walked away, Evie. Again.” I swallowed, hoping I could utter the words though I knew they weren’t true. “I can’t have him around. I refuse to be around him.”

A hint of anger appeared in her eyes. It was brief, but I didn’t miss it. Evie was never good at hiding her emotions, she wore them on her sleeve, for better or worse. “If you’re asking me to turn him away, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

I allowed resentment to take the driver’s seat. Anything was better than the pain. Than the heartbreak. “Are you crazy? After all the shit he put me through? After the way he treated you while he was drunk out of his mind? We can't have him around, Evie. Not like this."

She pursed her lips together, the heaviness in the air suffocating me because I knew what she would say. I knew where her loyalty lay.

"I didn't turn my back on you, Hannah. I'm not going to do it to him either."

She took the knife, shoved it in my heart and twisted it.

"Besides...if he's back, that means you need to tell him the truth.” She gave me a pointed look, a cruel reminder of the life I had started without Derek, on my own...with my own family.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means, Hannah. It’s inevitable. We’re not children—none of us are. We are grown adults that have to make adult decisions no matter how much they hurt.”

Sure I did. I knew that. Didn’t mean I liked it. I couldn’t fathom telling him the truth. I couldn’t bear the idea of seeing him every day, of hearing his voice, of him being close to me.

“What are you going to do if I don’t? Huh? Are you going to run off and tell him? Would you really do that to me?”

She knew me. She could see me building up my walls, protecting my heart from the pain and bandaging the scars that would forever remain. I wanted to shield myself away, guard my soul from any more hurt but as Evie looked at me with understanding, my armor had no option but to falter.

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