and he’d paid well over half of the mortgage. He could walk in if he pleased, but I knew he did this to prepare me, prepare us, for the reunion.
I gave myself one more glance in the mirror and then rushed downstairs. I slowed midway down. Calm down. Keep your expectations low, deep-blue-sea low.
I counted my breaths; I was at thirty by the time I arrived at the front door. After keying in the security code, I opened the door.
Darren, back against the brick entryway, rubbed a hand over his scruff. There were patches of hair just below his cheek and along his jawline, a thick ’stache that I wasn’t all too sure I cared for. His normally short hair was long with a light curl. After my long perusal, his coffee black eyes caught mine. I gasped at what I saw.
It wasn’t blank, but active. Alive.
The small light of hope I’d had and pretended that I hadn’t, extinguished. Outside of the gruff and scruff, he seemed to be healing. Without me. Maybe he truly was better by himself. He didn’t need me. I was the crutch, and without me he was flying.
Good. Good for him. A smiled curled on my lips and yet, at the same time, my heart fell somewhere around my toes.
“Are you going to let me in, Kara?” His deep voice pulled me out of my weird headspace.
“Of course,” I flattened my voice, grabbed my dignity and stepped back. Darren walked into the house and somehow invaded my space.
“I’ll be upstairs. Just lock up and activate the code before you leave.” I could feel his eyes, hot on my back. Grabbing the banister, I hopped on the first step and dashed all the way up.
I shut the door to the bedroom. Like an old lady, I lowered my tired body to the bed, closed my eyes, and slumped against my pillow. I made it. I survived the encounter. Was it awkward? Yes. Hell, yes, but I needed to see him. I needed the closure.
I hummed the power ballad from one of my favorite movies by Disney, “Let It Go.”
Fitting. I felt cold and alone, but I needed to find my inner strength. I didn’t have the worst voice in the world, and the lyrics soothed me.
“Hey.”
I startled from my position, my eyes flew open. “W-what . . .” I cleared my throat. “What are you doing here? In my room.” Technically, our room, but, hell, he left. So, I was claiming it.
“I forgot something in here.”
I narrowed my eyes. Everything was clear of Darren—I made sure of that—but I didn’t have the desire to call him on it. “Fine. I’ll go into another room while you look around.” I rolled out of the bed.
“Why do you keep running away from me?”
I paused at the door. “What?”
“You keep leaving.”
I turned around. “I’m giving you space.”
“You’re giving yourself space.”
“What if I am?” I bristled at his accusation. “You asked me for time. I’m giving it.” I sighed, looked at the ceiling. “How are you? You look good.”
“I’m doing well. Much better than before. I’m working through a lot of things.”
“Good.” I licked my lips. “I guess time away from me is a good thing.” I cleared my throat, gearing myself up for the next question. “So do you want a divorce? Is that why you’re here?”
He flinched as if I’d stuck him with a shank. Still, he didn’t answer.
Neither of us had hired an attorney. I’d been playing the waiting game, determined for him to make the first move to end our marriage. “Why haven’t you filed the papers yet?”
“Why haven’t you?” he parroted.
“I asked first.”
He sat on the bed and patted the space beside him. I shook my head. He was right, I needed space from him.
He took a deep breath and nodded, as if conceding to my decision.
“I don’t want to do this anymore.”
My body rocked from the verbal slap, and my stomach curled into itself. I knew it. We weren’t going to make it. “If you can’t do this,” I whispered, my throat suddenly raw, “then file the papers. Let me go so you can continue healing. You can find someone who can support you, someone you love.”
“Allow me to clarify.” He stood. “I can’t do this, be apart from you. I changed counselors. I realized he wasn’t any good, and I received a recommendation from one of my coworkers. They could tell I wasn’t myself, and Dr. Caine, she’s great.”