“Okay.” He pauses at the door. “See you, Al.”
“See you.” I lock the door behind him, then wander the house like a ghost—restless, searching for anything to distract me from my thoughts. I’m exhausted, but there’s no way I’ll fall asleep. Not without knowing where Jensen is and that he’s okay.
I end up in bed with my laptop, apparently in the mood to torture myself. I’ve pulled up our wedding video. Pressing play, I quietly sob as the day unfolds, our favorite music playing in the background.
We were so happy.Until everything fell apart.
Part of me can’t believe we’re back here—right where we were notlong after we got married. I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know if we’ll make it.
But I do know that I wouldn’t trade the past few months for anything. Being married to Jensen. Watching him get clean. It showed me what marriage could be. What it’s supposed to feel like when both people are fighting for the same thing.
It’s wild how it takes two committed people to make a relationship work, but only one to tear it apart. One person not committing. One person getting sidetracked. One person becoming an addict.
One person to fuck it all up.
The video ends. I hit play again, and it almost feels like surrender. Like I’m finally admitting to myself that I may never have this again—what we had on that day. Not even what we had a few weeks ago. And it hurts. More than I ever thought possible.
I’m losing him again. He’s losing me.
Hitting play for a third time, my cries are no longer quiet. They come in waves—loud, ugly, gut-wrenching—as I break once more. Still alone. The ache is indescribable. Jensen’s face. His smile. The way he looked at me like I was the only woman in the room. Like his eyes were made only to see me. The old Jensen always looked at me like I was the only thing he needed to live.
Not water.
Not food.
Not air.
Not Oxy.
Just me.
Chapter Forty-Two
ALLEY
THEN—FOUR MONTHS AGO
APRIL
I poundmy fists on the office door. “Jensen!”
I’m met with silence.
I’ve been standing in the hallway for five minutes, and I’m losing my patience. It’s been a day, and I’m not in the mood for this bullshit. I don’t even know if he’s home. For all I know, he’s passed out in his car somewhere.
It’s six p.m. on a Thursday, and I just got home from one of the worst shifts I’ve ever had. Normally, I love my job. But not today. A patient coded coming out of anesthesia, and it scared the absolute shit out of me. It was the first time I’ve ever dealt with something that intense. He ended up being okay, but still had to be transferred to the ICU. My hands shook for an entire hour, and the charting, the debriefing—it was mentally and emotionally exhausting.
The last thing I’m capable of right now is playing the patient, loving wife to my addict husband who’s been MIA for weeks. I feel extra defeated.
“Jensen!” I slap the door again, harder this time. A sharp stingspreads through my hand. “Dammit!” I drag my palm down the frame, teeth clenched.
He hasn’t responded to a single one of my texts today—which tells me one thing: he’s higher than usual.
What blows my mind is how he still manages to keep his job. He’s a fully functioning addict at work, and a complete mess at home. Like a child who holds it together all day at school, only to fall apart the second they walk through the door. Except in this scenario, he’s a grown-ass man with a successful career… who either shuts me out of his office or avoids me completely by not coming home at all.
I’ve had it. Rage boils up like a volcano—pressure building, seconds from eruption. I’m so damn tired. Tired of the not knowing. Tired of the lies. Tired of this life.
And I’m sick of this door being locked. My eyes land on the hinges.Bingo.
