I feel as if I’ve been sucker-punched in the gut. He’s not angry at the idea I kissed another man—he’s angry because he believes I’m still making it up.
“He’s working on a project that’s dangerous and that’s why nobody will tell me where he is, but he is real, Gerard. I’m not lying.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” He laughs bitterly. “Honestly, Lucy.”
“Stop it,” I plead, anger bubbling in my chest. “Stop treating me like I’m broken.”
“You are broken. He’s not real—how many times do you have to be told that? I looked him up; I spoke to people; he doesn’t exist. I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time, but you need to get help.”
I stare at him and realize he’s just never going to believe me. Unless I thrust Heath in his face, he’ll never know that he’s real and I can never do that because Heath has gone back into hiding. I’m only making myself look crazier, and I’m tired of trying to convince him. The fact of the matter is even if I was crazy and imagining it, he should have my back. He should be helping me.
But we are each choosing to walk away.
“Get your things and leave my house,” I say, my voice icy.
He blinks at me.
“I’ll have a lawyer draw up the divorce papers. If we have to sell the place, we can. Take what’s yours; the rest will be done through our respected attorneys. Don’t contact me. Don’t call me. I’m done.”
“Lucy—”
“No,” I cut him off. “Crazy or not, you’re supposed to be my husband and in this moment, you’ve just proved to me you’re not willing to support me. I deserve more than that. I was the one who suffered, not you. It shouldn’t matter if Heath is real or if he isn’t—you’re supposed to be on my side.”
“You’re leaving me no choice,” he tries.
“Get your things and get the hell out of our house,” I say calmly—too calmly. “I’ll be back this afternoon. I expect everything of yours, including you, to be gone.”
Then I walk to the front door and disappear out of it before he has the chance to say another word.
With every step I take towards my car, my heart breaks a little more. My marriage is over.
Where the hell do I go from here?
***
It’s been three long weeks since Heath left my hotel room and I ended my marriage for good. I haven’t spoken to Gerard since, except through lawyers. It’s a clean split, because we have no children. He said I can keep the house, so long as he can keep all his money, savings, and things. I agreed. He can do what he wants. We’re just finalizing it all and making sure everything is as it should be. Then it’ll be over.
I went back to work a week after he left, and slowly but surely, my life seems to be getting back into routine. My parents visit often, Mom baking way too much and stocking my fridge and freezer full of food that a small army couldn’t get through in a year. I let her do it, though, because she’s worried about me, and I understand that. I’m worried about me. But I’m putting one foot in front of the other and powering through each day.
Okay, it’s more like dragging through, but whatever.
I haven’t tried to contact Heath, partly because I need distance to try and figure myself out, and partly because I’m still sore about the way he left. Did I push myself onto him? Does he see me as a little unstable as well? All of those thoughts repeat over and over in my head, questions I can’t get answers to. Maybe I don’t even want those answers.
Today is the first day I’ve ventured out of the house on my own, aside going to work. I’d decided to buy some new clothes, hoping it’d make me feel better. Instead, I’ve walked around the mall for two hours, staring vacantly at store windows. I move past people without even noticing them. I’m just not with it. I wonder if I’ll ever be with it again.
And just like every other moment, that changes in an instant.
Moments are funny like that—they hit you when you least expect them, when you’re at your most venerable and unprepared. It’s as if they know they’re sent to test you.
I’m walking along, then I’m not. Because a few feet in front of me stands the young girl I saw the night I found where the cult was hiding out. She stands in the middle of the mall, staring straight ahead, her eyes occasionally darting around. She looks lost, maybe a little confused, but she’s alone and I act before I think. I just move, quickly, shoving people out of my way.
She’s already turned before I reach her, and her eyes fall on me. She doesn’t recognize me, obviously, but she does look afraid. I’m charging at her, full throttle. I force myself to slow down and place a gentle smile on my face, carefully approaching her. She’s so beautiful, the kind of pretty that takes your breath away. She’s definitely no older than twelve, maybe thirteen if she’s lucky, and that thought makes me sick to my stomach.