I sit on the floor of the guest room—hers, technically—with the collection of clothes I bought for her still hanging in it. She didn’t take anything.
Not that she even came home before she left me. No. Kate isn’t a bullshitter. She means business.
But I don’t. And every time my phone buzzes, I hope it’s her. It never is. And honestly? I don’t think she’s coming back. Why did I fuck up the best thing that happened to me?
And how can I get her back?
39
KATE
I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING
What doesshe have that I don’t?/Is her silence prettier than mine?/Did you ever even see me?/Or was I just killing time? Kate Riggs
I don’t even remember unlocking the door. One second I was staring at my phone in the elevator, and the next I was face-down on the couch, wearing only one heel, the other somewhere by the doormat.
The apartment is too quiet, except for the faint hum of the fridge and the click of Shay locking the door behind us. I know she’s there, hovering like she wants to say something but knows better. She doesn’t ask if I’m okay—thank God. If she did, I think I might scream.
I can’t take his calls. I would say things I don’t mean, and that’s not who I am. I should confront him, yell at him, and get it off my chest, but I’m too tired. I can’t do much of anything but wallow in my broken heart.
My phone is still clutched in my hand, screen smeared with my thumbprint and guilt. The photo is burned into my eyelids—Finn, mouth too close toherear, fingers on her waist, both of them laughing like I don’t exist. I want to believe it’s fake. Ineedto. But it’s not. It's real enough to be reposted on three gossip pages and make my publicisttext, “Damage control?” with the most pitiful attempt at neutrality I’ve ever seen.
I toss the phone like it burns, and it hits the rug with a soft thud. Shay sits at the edge of the couch. Not touching me yet. Just… waiting. She’s always good at that—holding space without filling it.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” I mutter. “That he did it, or that he let it be photographed.”
Her voice is low. Careful. “You don’t know what you saw.”
I laugh, bitter. “I saw enough.”
Silence. Not the good kind. The kind that gets inside your teeth and rots them from the inside out.
I curl in on myself, eyes stinging. I haven’t cried yet. Not really. I don’t know if it’s because I’m in shock, or because I’m afraid that if I start, I won’t stop.
“I feel so stupid,” I whisper, not to her. To the ceiling. The air. To whatever version of myself thought love could make me safe.
Shay finally reaches out, brushing a crumb of mascara off my cheekbone. “You’re not stupid, Kate. You’re just… trusting. And that’s not a crime.”
“No,” I say, my voice hoarse. “But apparently it’s a liability.”
She doesn't argue. Just pulls the throw blanket over both of us and tucks my head into her shoulder like she used to in college, when I had the flu and a broken heart and too much pride to ask for help.
I close my eyes and try not to see the photo again. But I do. And every time I Do, it hurts worse—because now I’ve let myself believe it.
I can’t even look at my phone without wanting to throw it into the fancy lake outside my apartment window.
Not because of the photo—I’ve memorized every painful pixel of that.
No. It’s the silence of the room and my mother’s voice screaming in my head.
"He’ll leave you like the rest, darling. Men always do."
God, I didn’t want to believe her.
Ididn’t. Because Finn is different!
Wasdifferent.
