I ignored him and went to the fridge to get my protein shake.
He was gone a lot. He was the chief of surgery, so he worked eighty-hour weeks plus on-call shifts. There were very few mornings I’d have to deal with this—but I would deal with it. Because I would be damned if Neil got my house.
He probably thought this little “I’m living here” stunt was going to make me fold like I always did when he bullied me.
But I was done being bullied. Done.
I’d had a long talk with my therapist about this situation. Neil wasn’t a violent person—he was just a jerk. I had absolutely no fear for my safety with him being here, and if I had, I’d have given up the house, no matter how badly I wanted it. My therapist had been more concerned about whether I could handle the mental and emotional toll it would take to see it through.
And the answer was yes.
I don’t think I could handle the toll it would take if I didn’t.
Letting him get away with this felt like allowing myself to be victimized all over again.
He wanted me displaced and the home that I deserved and earned to be taken from me as some sick punishment for daring to not take him back. I would never give him the satisfaction.
Something in me had shifted in the last few weeks. It was like the more distance I got from this relationship, the stronger I became, and standing up to him was getting easier and easier. I was perfectly willing to put up with his presence and hold my ground in exchange for the chance to finally show him I could.
My attorney said we’d have to go to mediation for the house. When that didn’t work, because it wouldn’t, we’d end up in front of a judge. The house would have to be assessed, and I had to pull together financial records. Three to six months. I just needed to deal with this for three to six months and then it would be over either way. He’d get the house, or I would. But at least when it was done, I wouldn’t have let him win, once again, without a fight.
I could feel Neil stare at my back from the breakfast nook. I needed to get a fridge for my room.
I heard him getting up. “Ali…”
“Don’t,” I snapped, shooting him a look.
He was leaning on his palms on the table. “If you refuse to speak to me, this is going to be a very long couple of months.”
“It’s going to be a long couple of months anyway. If you don’t like it, move,” I said, giving him his line back from the other day.
The doorbell rang, and I used it as my excuse to walk out of the kitchen.
When I opened the front door, it was Mom and Dad.
I blinked at them. “I didn’t know you were coming over,” I said as they came in.
My parents were in their seventies, but they had the stamina of fifty-year-olds. They’d both worked like machines right up to their retirement in March. Dad only retired because his eyes weren’t as good as they had been, and it made surgery difficult. Mom had arthritis. Otherwise they probably would have worked until they dropped dead.
Dad was in a blue polo and white pants, his gray hair slicked back handsomely. Mom’s outfit matched like they’d color coordinated, her gray hair swept into a white visor.
Dad kissed me on the cheek. “Golfing with Neil. Is he ready?”
“You’re…” I shook my head. “Dad, Neil and I broke up,” I said, following them into the living room.
Mom took the recliner and Dad sat on the sofa. “And?”
I crossed my arms. “And it’s not appropriate for you to golf with my ex.”
“Alexis, Neil and I were friends and colleagues long before he dated you,” Dad said.
I licked my lips. “Dad. He cheated on me—”
He put up a hand. “I’m not going to get involved in your lovers’ spat. Couples fight. You’ll work it out—or you won’t. But I won’t get in the middle of it either way.”
I blinked at him. “Well, it might interest you to know that he’s living here against my wishes.”
“It’s his house as much as it’s yours. And frankly, you should give it to him. You’re the one who wants to end the relationship, and with the shifts he works, it’s better for him to be close to the hospital. Unless you’re planning on taking on a higher workload, I don’t know how you can argue that you’re more entitled to it.”
I stood staring at him in shock.
Mom gave me one of those silent “resistance is futile, let it go” looks. I pressed my lips into a line.
Dad shook his head. “I just don’t understand why you won’t consider counseling. Relationships take work, Alexis. You don’t leave the moment things become difficult.”