Page 113 of Keep Me

“You think I wanted to fall in love withyou?” he replies in frustration. “It’s better this way, Sylvie. Sign the papers, go back to America, let me keep my house, and I don’t have to worry about keeping you locked up in this old place for the rest of your life.”

“That’s what this is about, then. You think you’re sparing me from your sadness. In sickness and in health, remember?”

He ignores me, refusing to look me in the eyes as I watch the pain hit him again.

I wish I could hit him with this rage that’s rolling through my veins. I hate what he’s saying. I hate it all. He’s taking away my choice. Where is the part where I get to decide to stay? To be with him forever? Where can I choose us?

He grabs my bags, and I quickly tear them from his grip. “Killian, stop it! I’m not leaving. We can figure out another way.”

Shaking his head, he still refuses to look into my eyes. “This solves everything, Sylvie. If you truly want me to keep my house, then walk away.”

“Don’t ask me to do that,” I cry.

“You were going to go anyway, weren’t you? So, just go.”

A tear rolls over my cheek. “What happened to being yourrealwife? Is this really so easy for you? To just write it all off like it never happened so that you can have your fucking house?”

Finally, for the first time, he looks into my eyes. And the sadness I see in them makes it hard to breathe. “What do you want me to do, Sylvie? Everyone I love is trying to hurt me. Nothing I do is ever right, and even if I did keep you, I’d only drag you down with me. And I refuse to do that. So, I think it’s best you just go.”

“You don’t mean that,” I reply tearfully.

He leans forward, and my palms itch to reach for him. “It’s the first time in my life I’ve ever been truly sure.”

With that, he turns away and storms out the front door, leaving me to fall apart alone.

***

None of this feels real. I pack the rest of my clothes. I gather my things. I wait for him to walk back through that door, but he never does.

How can I seriously consider this? Just leaving like nothing happened?

But I have to. Because if I don’t, then he will suffer.

So, with shaking hands, I do it all. Even in the library, I gather everything I’ve left up here. But when I spot the novel I typed on the old typewriter still sitting on the table, I leave it. I hope he finds it. I meant what I told my parents—I will never publish that story, and I don’t want to.

It was for him anyway. The main character was never me; it was him.

I set the story where the typewriter used to be, and I walk out of the room.

Peter said we have to leave for the airport in an hour, but I’m all packed, and I can’t stand to keep walking around this quiet house, emptying it of pieces of me. When I reach Killian’s room, I crawl into the bed and hug the pillows, sobbing into them and praying he changes his mind.

When I hear his footsteps on the stairs, I perk my head up and watch for him. He enters the doorway, and I see the red spots on his face and the puffy bags under his eyes. Where does he go to cry when he’s alone? The thought nearly slices me open.

“Please don’t do this,” I beg him one more time.

“I’ve set you up with an account to help take care of you until you can get back on your feet. It’s not ten million, but it should help.”

I squeeze my eyes closed as more tears leak through my lashes. “I don’t want anything from you, Killian. Truly, I don’t.”

“I know,” he mumbles quietly. “But this is the right thing to do, Sylvie.”

“I know,” I whimper.

“You should publish that novel,” he says, stepping closer. “It’s good. And don’t go near your parents. They’re not good for you. Maybe start fresh.”

“I can’t,” I sob. “Killian, I can’t.”

He crosses the room, not daring to get too close to where I’m curled up in his bed. “Yes, you can. You can do anything, Sylvie. You once broke into this house. You moved across the world to marry a complete stranger. You turned my entire world upside down, mo ghràidh. You can do just about anything.”

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