My fingers tremble as they fiddle with the hem of my shirt. “So this is it, then?”
“If you say so, Steph.”
I exhale into the handset. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you call the shots. You always say I’m the dominant one, but you have the last say here. The only time I have the upper hand is in the bedroom, and you know it.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll be here waiting for you when…if you ever come back to the UK.”
“And I’ll be here waiting for you when you decide to leave that jerk.”
“Take care of yourself, Cal.”
“And you, baby.”
The dial tone plays, and the handset slips from my fingers. I rest my head against the steering wheel and cry like I’ve never cried before. Not since I miscarried and not since he told me he didn’t want me all those years ago. The tears won’t stop dripping over my swollen, quivering lips. I glance in the rearview mirror at a washed-out face, lifeless eyes like a frozen river that’s stopped flowing. Who is this person? It’s not me. There isn’t even a glimmer of hope in her eyes. No longer the optimist.
Once home, I toss the keys on the side and climb the stairs. Each step feels like a mountain. I’m hiking, fighting against the wind. My feet are like lead weights pulling me down, and every bone in my body roars with pain.
I hear Justin at the bottom of the stairs. “We need to talk.”
“I’m too exhausted, Justin. Not now, please.” I haven’t even got the energy to turn and face him. I can’t think straight, but I know I can’t stay with him.
I crawl back into bed and curl up beneath the covers, where I stay for the rest of the day in my drained state. The emotional pain has materialised into a physical ache that lives in my chest. I know that familiar emptiness. I’ve felt it before. The first time he left me. It doesn’t get easier. Each time he leaves, it only gets harder.