A cold chill runs through me. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” she chokes out. “But when I wake up screaming…. the way he looks at me? It’s like he knows what’s tormenting me, but he won’t say it.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Now… he won’t even look at me. Just turns away. And it’s driving me insane.”
I hold her tightly, wishing I could protect her—from her past, from Jacob, from anyone who dares to hurt her again.
She buries her face in my chest and hangs onto me like I’m the only thing keeping her together. “I thought the separation would help... counseling, space, all of it,” she whispers, her voice shaking. “Thought we’d figure it out, at least for the kids.”
“You’re separated?” I ask, testing the word like it might make what we are less heavy. “And you’re just telling me this now?”
I hold her through the flood of emotions. Part of me wants to be pissed. But mostly, I just want to be here for her.
She nods, pulling back slightly. “I’m sorry. I just wanted one day with you, without all the hard stuff. I’ve been staying with my mom. And Jacob and I have been doing this one-night-a-week thing when the girls are with mom. Trying to make itfeel normal. But I don’t even know what we’re doing anymore. Maybe the counseling’s just a box we’re checking off to make us feel less like failures. Or maybe we’re holding on for our girls. Either way, it sucks.”
The pit in my stomach drops. The cracks in her marriage aren’t wide enough to let me in. She’s stuck. And now that I’m finally ready for more, I don’t know how much longer I can stand waiting.
A familiar ache rises, knowing what it’s like to feel caught in the middle of my parents’ separation. Remembering how it felt when I chose my mom. I hate that her kids are now living it.
“How are the girls handling it all?” I ask softly.
She exhales, rubbing her eyes. “They’re confused. No matter how many times I say it’s not their fault, that Jacob and I love them. They keep asking questions I don’t know how to answer. They keep hoping I’ll come back home. And it kills me.”
My chest feels like it’s caving in. “You can’t stay in this uncertainty. You deserve peace. Clarity. Whatever the hell makes you happy… makes you feel like yourself.”
And we deserve more too. More than hiding. More than having only half of each other.
I look at her, wishing I could tell her everything I’ve been holding back—that I’d burn the whole damn world for her. But I don’t. She’s already walking through hell, and I won’t be the one to drag her further in. As much as I want to stay and fight for her, I know I’m another complication in her life. So I just hug her a little longer, because every second is borrowed. And I don’t know how many more I’ll get with her.
Chapter 39: The Unraveling
Jenna: August
The moonlight dims over Arrington Vineyards, casting a warm glow across endless rows of grapevines. It’s a hidden sanctuary, untouched by the loud Nashville city life. Sitting on the porch of the guest cottage, summer breeze tangling through my hair, I feel still for the first time in months.
I also feel ready.
It’s been days since I stuffed the letter in my purse, not wanting to let myself think about it. Slowly, I pull out the envelope, my pulse picking up as I reach inside.
As per your father’s final wishes, enclosed, please find a personal letter and photograph. No additional assets were in his name.
I’m not surprised. Even in death, he left me with nothing. I slip out the old photograph, it’s edges soft and creased. A littlegirl smiles back at me, her arms wrapped around a man I barely remember. I flip it over. The ink’s smudged but I can still make out the message. My fingers tremble as I read.
Jenna, you’ll never know how sorry I am. Even though I wasn’t there, even though I didn’t deserve to call myself your father—I carried this photo with me to keep a piece of you with me every day.
That’s it. That’s all he left me. No money. No property. Not even a goodbye. Only an old photo and an apology, too late to matter. I exhale, pressing the paper to my chest. I feel sorry for the little girl in that picture. But I’m not her anymore.
I tuck it inside my journal, pick up my pen, ready to write about him and everything I’ll never get to say. Until a voice cuts through the stillness.
“Hey, you writing a novel over there?” Izzy steps outside with a bottle of wine and two glasses. “I’d pay to read a few pages.”
I laugh, glancing at my thoughts on paper. “I’d pay you if you knew how to make sense of it all.”
She settles next to me. “Still riding the Jacob and Dylan hamster wheel?”
“Not really,” I say, my voice quiet but resolute. “This time, it’s about me.”
Izzy studies me for a moment. “Whenever you decide what to do, I’ll be here. But for now? Let’s drink way too much wine and try not to make any more poor decisions.”
I smile, grateful for her support. “Deal.”
