I don’t slow down, making a beeline toward the cabin to pack my things and get the hell out of here. “No, Ethan. You had every opportunity to tell me about Rachel. You chose not to.”
“Let me explain,” he pleads.
I shake my head without sparing him a glance and keep walking.
Snippets of the night we stayed up assembling furniture together at that house invade my brain, uninvited and unwelcome. I helped him shop for her. Helped assemble her furniture. Nearly kissed him in her bed.
And he never said a single word. Not one word.
We weren’t dating at the time. Nothing had happened between us yet. But we were friends, and I thought we trusted each other. I let my guard down and spilled my heart out to him. In return, Ethan kept his heart and his secrets locked up tight.
It’s hard not to feel like our whole relationship has been a lie.
Sliding the screen door open like it’s personally to blame for all of this, I storm through the cabin and into the bedroom. My suitcase hits the bed with a thud. I start tossing things inside, no time to fold or think. I just need to get out of here.
Ethan enters the bedroom a step behind me, watching from the doorway. I keep my face tilted away from him, shielding my tears from his view. He doesn’t deserve them, but I can’t control them.
He steps into the room, approaching cautiously and standing too close. Truthfully, Mars would be too close right now. I would prefer him to stand in an entirely different solar system. Ormaybe on the sun. Maybe then he’d feel the same pain that I’m feeling.
“I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, but please just listen to me, Margot. It’s not what you think. My history with Rachel is complicated, and to be honest, it’s embarrassing. That’s why I don’t talk about it.”
I turn on my heel, finally looking at him. He looks desperate and broken, but sympathy isn’t an emotion that I’m capable of right now. “Oh, well I’m so glad that one of us could be spared the embarrassment.”
“That’s not—” He scrubs his hand over his face. “I was going to tell you, Margot. I was literally just about to tell you.”
“How convenient,” I snap. “You had all this time to tell me, but the moment that you’re finally ready, someone else swoops in and beats you to it.”
“But it’s true. I was going to tell you. Just a few minutes ago when we were sitting outside.”
I shoot him a disbelieving look. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. It doesn’t even matter. The point is that he lied to me for months. Almost coming clean now changes nothing.
“Why wait all this time, Ethan?” I snap, shoving a sweater into my suitcase. “Were you hoping to get back together with Rachel? Were you just waiting to see if things worked out with her before you committed to me? Was I your backup choice?”
“No, of course not!”
I think of them together, a happy little family. The mental image of it inflicts a fresh wound in my chest.
“And what about Sophia? Is she yours?”
He shakes his head slowly. “No, she’s my niece. If you’d just give me a minute to explain—"
My hand flies up, cutting him off. Sure, there’s a part of me that wants the whole story, but there’s a much bigger part of me that’s too angry to care.
“Do you understand how humiliating this is for me, Ethan? My trust in men wasn’t exactly at an all-time high after what happened with Jeremy, but I thought I could trust you. Youtoldme I could trust you. Then you kept this huge secret from me when everyone,everyoneelse knew.”
The sob finally breaks free from my throat. A fresh round of tears streams down my cheeks, painting cold, wet tendrils on my flushed skin.
Ethan takes a tentative step forward, his hands bracing my shoulders, thumbs rubbing up and down rhythmically. I allow it, even though I shouldn’t, because it feels like the only thing holding me upright through the sobs. Gently, he pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on my head. I keep my arms pinned to my chest, clasping my hands over my mouth as I try in vain to suppress my sobs. Ethan strokes a hand through my hair. I hate how comforting I find it. I hate how easy it would be to forgive him. To forget. To move on and pretend that none of this happened.
“I’m sorry, Margot,” he says quietly into my hair. “I’m so sorry.”
Prying myself away from him, I run my fingertips under my glasses, wiping away my tears.
“I need you to do me a favor,” I say, taking a step backwards to put more space between us.
“Anything.”
He looks so hopeful. So certain that we can get through this.