I turn to look at him. His jaw ticks. The engine's still running. Chesca's empty booster seat sits in the back, purple straps hanging loose.
"I need you to hear something. All of it. And then I need you to tell me you're not going to do something stupid."
"I won't promise that."
"Cole—"
"Tell me anyway."
My wedding ring tan line faded years ago, but sitting here with my hands folded in my lap, I still see it. Still feel the phantom band I haven't worn since before Chesca was born.
Tell him. Tell him everything. He deserves to know what he's protecting you from.
I take a breath.
"We need to go inside."
The living room doesn't feel like sanctuary. It feels like a confession booth.
My hands find my hair, fingers digging into my scalp as I pace across the carpet. Three steps to the window. Turn. Five steps to the kitchen threshold. Turn. Back again. The hardwood creaks under my feet, the house settling around us like it's listening.
Cole settles onto the couch, perfectly still, waiting. Patient in a way that makes me want to scream or throw something.
"I met him after you left." My voice comes out wrong, too thin. "Law school. I was... not in a good place."
Understatement of the century.
He doesn't move or react. Just watches me with those dark eyes that miss nothing.
"He presented well. Diplomatic family, old money, references that checked out." I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "I trusted a résumé over my instincts. Everything you weren't."
"When did it start?"
"The control? Immediately. The cruelty?" I reach for the medal, pressing St. Christopher's outline into my skin. "After the engagement."
The words come faster now, rushing out like I've punctured something that was supposed to stay sealed forever.
"He didn't like my friends. Said they were a bad influence. Didn't like me staying late at the library, said I was neglecting him. Didn't like anything I wore unless he picked it out."
I reach down to grab the throw pillow on the couch, straightening it against the armrest though it doesn't need straightening. Then the stack of case files on the side table, squaring the edges.Control what I can.
"I was so broken after you left that I couldn't tell the difference between love and control. And he stayed. You left and he stayed and I thought that meant something."
"Angelina—"
"Let me finish." I hold up my hand. "I need to get it all out before I lose my nerve."
I pace again but stop at the window. Outside, the street looks peaceful. A neighbor walking their dog, a car passing slowly. Normal life continuing while mine unravels.
"Then I got pregnant."
Cole goes completely still. Not the quiet stillness of someone listening, but the coiled kind, something dangerous.
"Six months along. We had an argument about me working late." My hand drifts to my stomach, and suddenly I'm back there, feeling the seatbelt dig into my swollen belly, the centrifugal force throwing me against the door as he took the corner too fast.
I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold the memory in. "He drove like he wanted to kill us both. Weaving through traffic, running red lights. I begged him to stop. He laughed."
You made me do this, cara. If you'd just listened—