Page 96 of When We Are Falling

Blake never needed me to fixanything. She just needed me. And if there’s a chance to get her back, I’ve got to try.

I head over to where the boys are working and throw myself into the cleanup, losing myself in the rhythm of shoveling oily dirt, slowing my thoughts down, stopping myself from spiraling. The pain of losing Blake is still there, but now it’s tempered by a little wedge of hope.

We keep working until dusk, then head home as the sun starts to set. As I drive away from the wetlands, the weight of what I need to do settles over me, but this time, it’s grounding, leading me in what I hope is finally the right direction.

Chapter 45

Blake

Waking up late,bright sunshine filters through my curtains—and all I want to do is pull the covers over my head and block out the world. It’s been a couple of days since I ended things with Ethan, and the ache in my chest hasn’t dulled; if anything, it’s only grown sharper, and I just want to feel better.

I think I hear Mom moving around downstairs, maybe talking on the phone. I asked her about what happened with Mama Charlotte after that awful lunch, but she said she’s not ready to talk about it. So now, we’re both pretending it never happened, though we can’t pretend about everything—especially not about me and Ethan.

When I told her I was the one who ended it, she seemed genuinely sad for me, like she could see how much it hurt to break up with him, even if she didn’t fully understand why I had to do it.

I hate this, hate that I’m so torn up over him, hate that I’m so confused and conflicted. I should feel relief, shouldn’t I? Shouldfeel glad I’m alone again. Relief that I made the right choice, that I’m protecting myself, that I’m staying strong and independent like I’ve always needed to be.

But instead, my heart aches in ways I didn’t even know it could, twisting and contracting, pulling tight beneath my ribs, making it hard to breathe. I press a hand to my chest, trying to ease the pain, but it’s no use. I’ll just have to live with it.

I so badly want to forget everything and just move on, but it’s hard not to think about the things that were great when we were together: the fundraiser he planned at the Tavern, the way he managed to raise enough money to make sure we could pay our next mortgage payment, how he agreed to so many of my ideas, even though they were way out of his comfort zone, like that impromptu road trip we took, the wind whipping through our hair as we drove with the windows down, music blaring, laughing at nothing and everything.

We found our Secret Spot that day, tucked away from the world, the place we later went night swimming under the stars, making love in the shallows. I can still feel the warmth of his body as he pulled me close, kissing me beneath the silver moonlight, the heat of his skin, how gentle he is…was, despite his strength.

Ugh. I can’t do this. I can’t lie here feeling sorry for myself, torturing myself with all the good times. I force myself up and out of bed, walking to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face and drying it on a towel.

A glance at my reflection in the mirror. I look God awful, dark circles under my eyes, hair unwashed. I need to pull myself together. A shuddering breath pushed through the cage of my ribs: maybe tomorrow.

As I head toward the kitchen, the murmur of voices reaches me—two voices, both familiar, both tinged with something heavy. My heart skips, my steps faltering as I round the cornerand see them: Mom and Mama Charlotte, sitting side-by-side at the kitchen table. They’re both here.Together.

I stop in my tracks, my mouth going dry as I take in the sight. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them like this, at this table, their bodies angled toward each other. But it’s nothing like it used to be, and silence sticks in the air in a way that suggests a hard conversation just ended.

I stand there in the kitchen door for a few more seconds just watching them, not sure what to say, until Mom looks up, spotting me in the doorway. She smiles at me, but it’s a sad smile, weighed down and filled with something that looks a lot like grief.

“Blake,” Mom says softly. “I’m glad you’re home. Mama Charlotte dropped by early for breakfast so we could both talk to you.”

Cold settles around my heart. I slowly make my way to the table, the legs of the worn wooden chair creaking as I sit down, my gaze flicking between the two of them, searching for some hint of what’s coming, but their expressions are unreadable.

“What’s going on?” My voice is small and uncertain even to my own ears.

Mama Charlotte reaches across the table, placing her hand over mine. Her touch is warm, comforting, but it only makes the ice in my chest deepen.

“After what happened at lunch the other day, we finally sat down and talked,” says Mama Charlotte. “Really talked. I’m sorry you had to witness what happened, both of us storming out of the restaurant like that. We should have been more adult and spoken about our issues months ago.”

I’ve wanted this for so long—for them to talk, to work things out, to figure out where we stand as a family. But now that it’s happening, I’m terrified of what they might say.

“I’m sorry we have to tell you this, and honestly there’s no easy way to say it, but we’ve decided to get a divorce.” Mom sniffs, but her voice is steady. “We’ve been heading in this direction for a while now, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to face it. Not until now.”

I stare at them, trying to process what Mom just said.Divorce. Our family breaking apart. The words hit me hard, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. My vision blurs, and I blink rapidly. I’m that scared little girl all over again, always wondering when the rug would be pulled out from under her. I know it’s irrational, I know they love me even if they’re not together, but the news is overwhelming. What if this is just the beginning?

“A divorce?” The word sounds foreign and harsh on my tongue.

Mama Charlotte squeezes my hand gently. “Yes, sweetheart. We realized that we can’t be together as a couple, but that doesn’t change everything else. We’ll always be your moms, and the three of us will always be a family.”

My breath hitches, and I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to keep the sob that’s rising in my chest from escaping. But it’s too late. The tears spill over, and I can’t stop them.

I’ve been holding everything in for so long—about Ethan, David, my moms, trying to be strong, trying to keep it together—but now, sitting here with two people I love so much, I can’t pretend anymore.

Leaning forward, burying my face in my hands. “I don’t want to lose our family. I don’t want everything to change.”

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