Page 131 of A Love That Broke Us
I shake my head, the fight in me gone. “You said enough when you lied.” I reach for the handle. “You’re just as bad as he is, only you have no excuse.” I turn, facing her for only a moment. “And I won’t forgive you.”
Pulling the door open, I walk to the car to wait for Matt—and Jensen.
Matt helps Jensen inside,and I head straight to our bedroom, barely looking back as I say, “I’ll get his pillow.”
Grabbing it off the bed, I walk to the hallway and toss it out the door before shutting it behind me and locking it. He can sleep on thecouch tonight, because he sure as hell isn’t sleeping with me. It won’t matter anyway. He’s not going to be comfortable anywhere.
Guilt tugs at my chest.Am I being too cruel? Too hard on him?
No. He’s earned every bit of the pain he’s in.
I do feel bad about Matt, though. It’s not his job to carry this. To help Jensen or be there for me. To pick up the broken pieces of our marriage.
Matt’s voice echoes down the hall through the door—not quite yelling, but raised and heated. “Goddammit! Man the fuck up! I swear to God, if I ever have to watch her break like that again, I’ll beat the shit out of you.” There’s a beat of silence. Then his voice softens. “What do you need?”
I press my ear to the door. I don’t hear Jensen’s response, his voice is too muffled between his emotions and the closed door. Maybe it’s for the best. I’m not sure I can even handle hearing his voice right now. I’m too fragile. Too broken.
I’m so angry, but… the sadness? It’s so much stronger. It overshadows everything else that’s stirring inside me.
I go through my nighttime routine on autopilot and fall into bed a few minutes later. Leaning back against the pillows, phone in hand, I stare at the screen. I need someone to talk to. Someone who gets it.
I need help, too.
I swipe up and scroll through my messages until I find Leo’s name, and click into our thread. The last text was six months ago—a photo of him and Vivian at their wedding in Turks and Caicos. I sent a quick congratulations. That was it.
Leo’s an extremely successful businessman, but first and foremost, he’s a psychologist. He’s been a professor and therapist for years, and he’s always been a sounding board when I’ve needed one.
I type out a text.
Hey… can you talk?
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the send arrow. I haven’t told anyone in Chicago about Jensen. They’remypeople. I need them… but I know they don’t have to love Jensen. They choose to. Jensen’s family and Matt? They love him no matter what. The only other person who knows is Zach. He loves Jensen too, but he told me to get the hell out.
I know Leo would never say anything if I asked him not to, not even to Michael. But if I text him—if I talk to him right now—I risk changing the way he sees Jensen forever. And if Jensen gets clean, I’ll have made it harder for Leo to respect him. To evenlikehim.
I swipe out of the message thread. Not because I don’t trust Leo. But because I still want Jensen to be worth trusting.
The front door shuts a few seconds later, and a text from Matt pops up.
Matt
He’s on the couch. I made him as comfortable as I could. Lmk if you need anything. I’ll stop by in the morning to check on him… And you.
Thanks, Matt… for everything. I really appreciate you.
Matt
Anytime.
I look up, my gaze landing on the bedroom door. It’s locked. Like that alone could keep out the pain. I wish I could do the same with my heart. Slam a door over it. Keep it guarded. Keep it safe.
Wanting to be numb always scares me. The thought of just turning something off inside me—not feeling anything at all—it’s dangerous. But it’s easier that way. It’s what I did with my dad. I buried every feeling, good and bad, and just walked away. I chose numbness. I chose avoidance. I didn’t want it to control me anymore. I didn’t want to be codependent.
And yet here I am. Letting someone else’s choices steal my happiness again. I won’t let it happen forever. I can’t.
I told myself the first time I discovered Jensen’s addiction, the day I realized he was detoxing, that I’d give him one year. One year to get clean. He deserves that at the very least. He’s agoodperson, and we have too much history to just throw it all away. Everyone deserves asecond—or even a third—chance. Time to prove themselves. Time to fail. Time to win.
But how many chances do I give him? I don’t want two or three to turn into twenty years of trying—like my mom gave my dad.
