“No.” My chest is heaving. My eyes are locked on his. “Not until you listen.”
He’s watching me carefully. “You planning on slapping me again?”
I shake my head.
“You planning on evading with a cutesy dodge? Hiding behind more walls? Because I don’t have any interest in that.”
“Okay. How about the truth, then?” I swallow. “Do you have any interest in hearing that? Or are you only concerned with your skewed version of events?”
An angry muscle ticks in his jaw, but he doesn’t try to push past me. I take that as a sign he’s listening.
He wants a peek inside these high walls?
He wants me to trust him with my secrets?
Fine.
Here goes.
“The reason for the tears when they led Paul away wasn’t because I was sad to see him go. It was because I was ashamed,” I say haltingly. “Not of him. Ofmyself. Of the things I was feeling in that moment.”
Conor’s mouth opens, but I cut him off.
“No, not the feelings you accused me of. Not love or regret or sadness. Not some wifely duty or spousal obligation.” I shake my head. “You once asked me why I have this need to be perfect all the time. Why I like order and organization. Why I’m such a control freak.” My voice gets smaller, softer. “It’s because, for most of my marriage, I wasn’t the one in control. I was the onebeingcontrolled.”
His eyes darken. “Shelby—”
“Let me get this out, okay?” I swallow to clear the lump in my throat. “I was an insecure kid who grew into an even more insecure woman. I got married too young, to the first man who ever told me I was beautiful, because he checked all the right boxes of what I thought I was supposed to find in a husband.Good job, good provider, good head on his shoulders.He built me a home and gave me the support I needed to finally feel secure in my own skin. And, after a childhood spent as the chubby girl with mousy brown hair and highly critical parents… it was amazing to have someone who finally loved me for exactly who I was.” I pause and suck in a steadying breath. “But… a few years passed. I got older. I started to grow into a real person. A realwoman, not the naive girl he married, with new interests and new friends and new aspirations. New confidence in myself. And… Paul didn’t like that so much. He didn’t likemeso much. And he showed me. With his words. With his fists, too, when things got really bad.”
Conor makes a low sound of anger.
“You see, he wanted me to stay in that little box markedwife. To keep cutting myself down, inch by inch, until I fit the role he’d carved out for me.” My eyes have started watering. It’s a struggle to hold the tears at bay, so I tilt my head toward the ceiling. “And for a while, I tried. I let him keep me small. I let him keep me timid. I allowed him to take away my control, my autonomy, my dreams, telling myself it was for the sake of saving my marriage. But eventually… I couldn’t do it anymore.” My voice breaks. “Eventually, I realized I shouldn’t have to shrink to fit a relationship I’ve outgrown. AmanI’ve outgrown. I shouldn’t have to make myself smaller just so he doesn’t feel insignificant when he’s standing beside me.”
A rogue tear escapes down my cheek. Before I can reach up to brush it away, Conor’s hand is there — cupping my face, warm and strong, his thumb stroking so gently it makes my breath catch. He doesn’t pull away, even when the tear is gone.
I hold his eyes and force myself to tell him the rest.
“These past few months… and especially these past few days… I don’t feel small. I don’t feel powerless. I don’t feel like I have to diminish parts of myself to make anyone else comfortable. For the first time in my life… I feel like me.”
He pulls in a sharp breath. “Shelby…”
“You saw me crying when they led Paul away. Again when I learned the Evanoffs had taken him. I know you think that means I was upset, or heartbroken, or grieving the loss of a man I still love… but the truth is, I wasrelieved. Relieved that, without Paul in my life anymore, I can finally move on. Can finally befree.” I crack a small smile, through my tears. “Free to set my own course. Free to be the person I’d like to be. And, maybe someday… free to be with someone else. Someone who understands me. Someone who actually does love me for exactly the person I am.”
The air goes still as I trail off. There’s a poignant beat of hesitation while I wait for his reaction. While I wait to see if letting him get a glimpse behind my walls is enough to send him running for the hills, or bring him back into the circle of my arms.
“Shelby,” he says simply.
And then he’s kissing me. Kissing me so fiercely, it makes me want to cry and scream and sing. Kissing me like I’m the air he needs to live, a vital ingredient for his means of survival.
“I’m sorry,” he breathes against my lips when he finally pulls away. “I’m sorry for what I said, for jumping to conclusions… for all of it.”
I remember the first time I saw him, thinking he was a man who didn’t know how to apologize. That he’d never in a million years take responsibility for his actions, even when he made a mistake.
I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.
“You know…” I bump my nose against his. “I believe you promised me that if we fought today, there would be hot makeup sex afterward. A package deal, if you will.”
His eyes gleam. “I think that can be arranged…”