As a gift.
As a reminder.
As a message that says don’t forget about me.
Muted strokes of gold. Heavy shadows. Her face half turned, crown nearly invisible unless you know it’s there.
Alex notices the way my hand falls from the edge of the box. “What is it?”
My voice is a whisper, brittle. “Tyson sent this.”
“Explain it to me,” he says, each word deliberate. “How do you know without a card?”
“This is a painting by one of my favorite artists. I told him how much I loved this piece, and he purchased it. It was supposed to hang in the lobby of his hotel in Charleston.”
Alex straightens, jaw tightening. “And now it’s here… in… our… home.”
I stare at it, hollow inside. Something I once found to be so beautiful now feels like a tether to a man I only want to forget.
“This isn’t a gift. It’s his way of worming himself back into my life.”
Alex paces once across the entryway, then turns back sharply. “I’ll burn the fucking thing.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I couldn’t bear that.”
Alex stares at it, hands on hips. “Then what do you want to do with it? Because it’s not staying here.”
“I want it gone but not destroyed.” I pause, letting the words settle as I search for the right way forward. “We’ll donate it to a worthy cause. That charity you mentioned—the one for kids with dyslexia.”
Alex nods, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Fine, but it leaves this house today. Now. I’ll call Elias and ask him to come get it.”
“All right.”
Silence stretches between us. And in that silence is a truth neither of us says out loud: he’s here now––Tyson. He’s polluted the air. He’s in the corner of every room of our happy place.
Alex says nothing at first. He just stands in the center of our living room, staring down at the painting, hands flexing at his sides as though he’s holding back from punching a hole through the canvas.
“I’m sorry.”
His head whips toward me. “Why are you apologizing?”
“This isn’t what you signed up for––another man constantly after your fiancée.”
He stalks toward me, crouching in front of where I’m sitting. “What I signed up for is you. All of you. This isn’t your fault. But I can’t pretend this doesn’t piss me off, Magnolia. I can’t pretend this is normal.”
“I get it,” I whisper. “Nothing about this is acceptable or normal.”
Alex sits back on his heels, running his hands through the top of his hair. “When is this shit going to stop? When we’re married? When we have a child? Is he going to show up at the hospital with flowers and balloons?”
I wince. “Please stop.”
“I can’t promise I’ll stay calm forever. You understand that, right?” His voice is quiet now. “I’m trying to be the bigger person—I am—but he’s playing a dangerous game with me.”
I nod, my throat tight. “This scares me, Alex.”
His eyes flick up. “Of him?”
“No. I know you’ll keep me safe from him. What scares me is what you’ll do if he keeps pushing—if you snap. I don’t think you have a limit when it comes to protecting me.”
