Page 122 of Never the Bride
“Do. We. Understand. Each. Other?” His hold on his shirt tightens with each slow, deliberate, and lethal word.
Glen swallows. “Yes.”
Hess releases him, sending him stumbling back. He looks between us, yanks his shirt straight, and stalks off across the lot.
Before I can process what just happened, Hess turns, arms wrapping around me. I sink into him, my forehead pressing into his chest. Crying isn’t my first choice of emotion, but tears fall in this moment.
“Hey,” he murmurs against my hair. “You’re okay. He’s nothing. He’s nobody.You’re mine. And I’ve got you.”
I shake in his arms, physically and mentally destroyed by that man and the truth he spoke.
Hess
Camila wasquiet last night after the court hearing.
I gave her space to work out speaking to her father for the first time, not because I’m unfeeling, but because I know my wife.
Independence is a core part of who Camila is. She defines herself by being capable and self-sufficient. Giving her space allows her to process things in a way that still feelshers, not dictated or influenced by me.
Knowing all this about her didn’t make hearing her discreetly cry in the bathroom any easier. I wanted to break down the door and hold her in my arms, but I had to be patient.
It may take a few days, but eventually, she’ll let me in.
That’s why I’m not surprised this morning when she drops her suitcase by the front door and looks at me with guilt in her eyes.
She steps forward, placing a stack of papers on the kitchen table in front of me.
I continue sipping my coffee, not even bothering to glance at the packet. “You slept late. I can make you breakfast or lunch, depending on what you want.”
“Hess”—her eyes flicker to the table—“those are divorce papers.”
“For who?”
“For us.”
I’ll admit, my first reaction is hurt, but then I quickly remind myself that this has nothing to do with us or how Camila feels about me, and everything to do with the encounter with her father. So I keep my expression even and stare back at her.
“So you want a divorce?”
Turmoil glazes her eyes with tears. “Something happened inside me yesterday. I don’t know if it was seeing Glen for the first time after so many years or the way he dismissed me, but it triggered something.”
“That’s understandable. You have every right to be triggered by him. He triggered me. I wanted to punch him in the face.”
“Me too.” Her lips lift a little, a good sign. “But it’s not just Glen. I mean, it started with him. Seeing him conjured up all my old fears and trust issues, but there’s more.”
“Okay.” I leave enough space for her to safely open up on her own terms.
“Through Glen’s eyes, I saw myself for what I really am. Someone who manipulates people and uses them for personal gain.” Her voice cracks as fresh moisture clouds her eyes. “And it kills me to know that no matter how much I care for you, I can’t be trusted not to hurt you.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“But you can’t.” She shakes her head. “Nobody can. No one, not even me. I can’t guarantee I won’t eventually run.”
“I love you. I don’t need a guarantee.”
“You shouldn’t love me. If you take your blinders off, you’ll see I’m not wife material. I’m not what you want. I’m not like your mom. I don’t fit the mold, and honestly, I don’t even believe in the traditional mold where the woman handles childcare, the cooking, and the house while the men are the providers. It’s just how I’m built.”
“Have I ever made you shrink into a ‘wife’ role?”
