“My job…” He rubbed his face like he hadn’t slept in weeks. “After the divorce, people found out. About the woman. About everything. They didn’t even look at me the same way. Eric stopped returning my calls. Richard… he iced me out completely.”
Good.
I didn’t say it, but I thought it.
Larry’s voice grew weaker.
“I quit.”
A slow breath.
“And then… the house.”
Ah.
There it was.
The house.
The prize Olivia wanted so badly she’d been willing to rip my life apart for it.
Larry’s eyes glistened like he hated himself for admitting it.
“The foundation’s sinking. The inspector says the land is unstable. Some kind of old tunnels… old mining damage. We can’t sell it. No one wants it. The bank won’t renegotiate.”
I said nothing, but inside me, something cold and satisfied shifted into place.
Because I remembered Olivia’s smug face when she shoved those divorce papers at me.
I remembered the way she called me useless.
I remembered Kelly laughing while I scrubbed the kitchen floor after a ten-hour workday.
I remembered Larry’s grin while he pretended not to notice.
Larry exhaled like his lungs were filled with wet cement.
“And Olivia and Kelly…” His mouth twisted. “They’re working now. Both of them. Because they have to. But they’re still the same. Still screaming. Still blaming everyone else. Still acting like the world owes them something.”
He looked up at me, eyes full of misery.
“They blame me. Every day.”
He laughed—a broken, humorless sound.
“They throw things. They break glasses. They scream at night so loud the neighbors called the cops twice.”
Then he leaned closer, like he was confessing something shameful.
“They hate each other, Julie. But they can’t leave. They’re stuck.”
The word stuck hung between us like a curse.
And for a moment, I had to fight the urge to smile.
Because I knew exactly what that felt like.
Only difference?
I got out.
They didn’t.
Larry’s eyes searched my face, trembling with hope.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’m really sorry. I was a coward. I should’ve protected you. I should’ve chosen you.”
My expression didn’t change.
He swallowed hard.
“I can fix it,” he rushed on. “I’ll cut ties with them for real this time. I’ll leave. I’ll start over. We can start over. Please, Julie.”
He reached for my hand like he had the right.
I stepped back.
His hand froze mid-air.
And I saw it then—his real panic.
Not love.
Not regret.
Fear.
He wanted a life raft.
And he wanted it to be me.