Page 235 of My Rules

“You don’t understand what it’s like to have nowhere to live,” I cry. “You cannot judge me for wanting to keep my house. You have no idea what it’s like!”

“It’s a fucking house,” he growls as he punches the steering wheel. I jump in fright. “Do not insult my intelligence by telling me you won’t divorce him to keep a pile of bricks and mortar.”

“You honestly don’t get this?”

“What . . . the lie?”

“I’m not lying, Blake.”

“You don’t even know that you’re lying. That’s the joke of it all.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m telling the truth.”

“You want the truth, Rebecca? I’ll give you the truth. You are stuck back in time with your ex-husband. You still have the wounds that he gave you; you wear them like a badge of fucking honor. You are still comparing everybody to him, and as long as you are living in the past ... we will never have a future.” He bends and picks up a bunch of papers that fell out of my bag off the floor and passes them over to me. “Just go.” He sighs as he bends to pick up another piece of paper. He holds it in his hands for a minute. I glance over to what he’s reading ...

Oh my fucking god.

I try to snatch it from him, and he holds it out of my reach and begins to read it out loud.

Fifteen years ago today, we went on our first date.

Every happy memory I ever had is with you.

Of you.

“Stop reading,” I cry. “This is stupid ... this ... I don’t ... this is old, it’s ... I don’t know why it’s in my bag, it’s just ...”

It’s the card that came with the roses John sent me all those months ago. I didn’t even realize it was still in my bag.

Fuck. Fuck.

He keeps reading.

You were my first love.

My only love, my last love.

Forever your husband,

John

His gaze rises out the window, and he gives a smug smile and passes the card back to me. “Go home to your husband, Rebecca.”

“It’s not what you think. This is months old. I didn’t even keep the flowers,” I stammer in a panic.

“But you didn’t tell me about them either.”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“There’s only one deceitful person in this car, and we both know that it’s not me.”

“Blake, please, we have to work through this because I cannot live without you.”

“I cannot live with you,” he whispers.

My eyes well with tears. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying goodbye.”

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