“You can take space,” I offered. “The kids don’t have to be involved. This can just be you and me, starting over. A clean slate where everything is on the table. We’ll go back to the beginning. Whatever pace makes sense.”
A shadow passed across her face. “We can’t compartmentalize our relationship. That’s not how life works.”
“I know,” I said quickly. “I do. But this isn’t about hiding anything anymore. It’s about giving you breathing room. Whatever you need to come around.”
She folded her arms over her chest, wrapping herself up like armor. Her jaw trembled. Just once.
“I don’t think I can,” she rasped.
“I know you can.” Panic slithered in my gut, wrapping around tight. I spoke faster than I could think. “This will work. You’ll see. Give us a chance—”
A single word fell like ice between us.
“Antarctica.”
My chest caved inward.
The safe word. The one we’d chosen when the possibility of what lay ahead had been shiny and bright. A word that meant stop. No further. A word I never thought she would have to use with me.
I nodded, a slow, careful dip of my chin. Nausea climbed up my throat with jagged claws.
“Okay,” I said hoarsely. “I’ll go.”
I didn’t try to touch her or continue pleading my case. A safe word wasn’t the start of a negotiation. It was a full stop. She was done. I had to be too.
Every step I took toward the door was another mile. My hand shook as I opened it, the finality hitting me all at once.
Just before I stepped out, I looked over my shoulder. Bea had followed me out of the kitchen, stopping a few feet away, her mug clutched in both hands.
“I’m not going away, Beatrice. Not for good. But I’ll give you as much space as you need.”
She didn’t answer, but she didn’t slam the door behind me either, so I took it as a positive sign.
As I trudged across the street, feeling her eyes on my back the whole way, I allowed myself to believe this wasn’t over.
I was down, but I wasn’t out.
Not yet.
Chapter Thirty-four
Bea
Iwokeupwithan elephant on my chest. As I tried to breathe through it, it only got worse. No matter what I did, the weight sitting on my sternum got heavier and heavier.
How had I even fallen asleep? After Tore left, I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts racing. At some point, in the wee hours of the morning, I’d lost consciousness, but my mind hadn’t stopped. Sleep had brought me no clarity or relief.
Benjamin coaxed me out of bed, and I barely managed to send him out to my tiny yard before I had to sit down. Guilt swamped me for not taking him for his morning walk, but there was no way I could make it up the block, let alone get back to my house.
Blood whooshed in my ears as I sat on my couch, my head between my knees, trying to convince myself to take long, deep breaths. But the longer I sat there, the harder it became.
Somewhere in the distance, I heard Benjaminwoofing. He wasn’t far away, butIwas. Buried under too many thoughts and grief I’d hidden from for years. Oh, had it found me.
I wanted to get up and go to my boy. I needed to. But my body wasn’t cooperating. I desperately gripped the edge of the couchcushion, my hands trembling. I couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think—couldn’tmove.
The door creaked open, but I didn’t lift my head. Couldn’t. I hoped it was Benjamin coming inside.
Then I heard two sets of footsteps. Benjamin's and heavier ones, coming directly toward me.
