Page 80 of Her Ex's Father
The silence that follows is worse than words.
“You don’t trust me,” I whisper. The truth tastes bitter. “Not enough to ask, not enough to listen. You’d rather sneak into my things and assume the worst. Even though this whole time, from the moment you said, ‘I do,’ you’ve been keeping secrets from me.”
“I have reasons to be cautious.” His voice is tight, his jaw set.
My chest cracks open. “What, did you think I would divorce you if I found out everyone thinks you killed your wife?”
The question hangs between us like a guillotine. His eyes flicker, pain searing through, but I don’t stop.
“I’m not going to hide a diagnosis from you. I’m not going to walk out into the night and never come back. I’m right here, Ben. Alive. Carrying your child. And if you can’t trust that—if you can’t trustme—then what the hell are we even doing?”
His face hardens, but his eyes are raw, wounded. “I’ve lost before, Maddie. Forgive me if I don’t want to lose again.”
“That’s not an excuse to treat me like a suspect.” My voice breaks. “I can’t live like this. With you watching me like I’m a ticking bomb, whenyou’rethe one pulling away, keeping things from me. With you twisting innocent words into proof that I might regret you.”
He takes a step forward. “Maddie?—”
“No.” I hold up a hand, shaking. “I can’t. I need space.”
The words rip out of me before I can stop them. But once they’re said, I know they’re true.
Ben flinches, as though struck. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” Have we gone days in uncomfortable silence before, especially following the pregnancy? Yes. Have I outright told him I can’t be around him?
No. Not yet.
I didn’t think I’d ever have to.
For a moment we just stand there, breathing hard, staring at each other across the gulf that suddenly feels unbridgeable. Then I turn, the phone still clutched in my hand, and walk out before I crumble.
The hallway stretches long and lit up, dawn just starting to break through the windows. My footsteps echo against stone, my pulse hammering in my ears. I make it to the suite I stayed in those first weeks—slam the door shut, and lean against it, gasping like I’ve run miles.
The silence presses in.
My suitcase sits on the top shelf of the closet, waiting. My hands move on their own, dragging it down, unzipping it with a rasp that sounds like thunder in the stillness.
I start to pack hours later, when I’m sure Ben understands that Imeant it,and doesn’t come knocking. I don’t want him to see me shoving things into the suitcase, trying not to try.
Not because I know where I’ll go. Not because I’m ready to leave. But because the act itself is a kind of control, a way to remind myself that I can still choose. At least… that’s how I feel until I realize just how badly I want to be anywhere but Aspen.
Montana?
No; that doesn’t feel right either. But I pause to pick up my phone and text Stella anyway.
He went through my phone and found my texts with Jack.
She could be out riding, out with the girl she met, she could be arguing with our parents or just listening to music. But miraculously, she answers almost immediately.
Mads—shit. Okay. How did he react?
Not great,I type back, the words blurring from tears in my eyes.This is a mess Stell. We talked about Georgiana and the rumors. But now this. It’s like there’s a new hurdle every time we get past one.
Ok… so who exactly does he think Jack is?
An old friend.
My stomach turns, queasy, and only gets worse at her response:Hard to demand the truth when you aren’t willing to give it sis.
