“Nina.” He reaches out to touch me, and there’s still love in his eyes. Still. I hate him so much for loving me. Why couldn’t he have chosen someone else? “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is!” The rage builds up inside me like a volcano, and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve smashed my fist into the vanity mirror. The crash echoes through the room. It’s only a second later that my hands sting with pain, and I notice the blood dripping from my knuckles.
“Oh Jesus.” Andy’s face turns pale. “Let me get you some tissues.”
He grabs some tissues from the bathroom, but I resist him, and by the time he gets my hand wrapped, there’s blood all over his hands as well. When he goes into the bathroom to wash it off, I hear the sound outside the door. Did Cecelia hear our fight? I hate the idea that my temper tantrum might’ve scared her.
I pull the door open, but it isn’t my daughter standing there. It’s Millie. And I can see all over her face that she heard every word of our argument. She notices the blood on my hands and her eyes become saucers.
She thinks I’m insane. It’s become a familiar feeling.
Millie thinks I’m crazy. Andy thinks I’m too old. After that, it’s just a matter of opportunity. Andy will want to get me tickets to Showdown after how much I’ve talked about it—he loves to do things to please me, alternating with the horrors he subjects me to. But it will be Millie who will see the show—not me. The show and then the hotel room overnight. It’s almost too perfect. And it gives me a chance to get Cecelia out of the way to camp, so Andy can’t use her against me.
When the GPS tracker on Millie’s phone registers that she’s in Manhattan that night, I know I’ve won. I see the way they look at each other after that. It’s over. He’s in love with her now. He’s her problem.
I’m free.
FIFTY
It will never happen again. He will never lead me up to the attic again. He will never warn everybody in the neighborhood that I’m crazy and they need to watch my behavior. He’ll never have me locked up again.
Of course, even though he kicked me out, I won’t feel entirely confident until we’re divorced. I have to be careful about that one. He needs to file first. If he gets even a hint that this is my idea, it’s all over.
I lie in the queen-size bed in my hotel room, planning my next move. I’m going to drive up to the camp to pick up Cecelia tomorrow. And then we’ll go… somewhere. I don’t know where, but I need a fresh start. Thank God, Andy never adopted her. He has no claim to her. I can take her wherever I want. I don’t even need to worry about fake identities, but I’ll definitely revert to my maiden name. I don’t want any memories of that man.
There’s a knock at the door to the hotel room. For one horrible moment, I think it must be Andy. I imagine him standing at the door to the hotel room. Did you really think it would be that easy, Nina? Come on.
Up you go to the attic.
“Who is it?” I ask warily.
“It is Enzo.”
I feel a rush of relief. I crack open the door, and he’s standing there in a T-shirt and soil-dusted jeans, his brow scrunched together. “Well?” he says.
“It’s done. He threw me out.”
His eyes light up. “Yes? Really?”
I swipe at my moist eyes with the back of my hand. “Really.”
“That is… incredible…”
I take a breath. “I have to thank you. Without you, there’s no way I could have…”
He nods slowly. “It was my pleasure to help you, Nina. My duty. I…”
We stand there for a moment, staring at each other. Then he leans forward, and a second later, he’s kissing me.
I didn’t expect this. I mean, yes, I thought Enzo was hot. I have eyes. But we were always so absorbed by the common purpose of getting me away from Andy. And the truth is, after so many years of being married to that monster, I thought I was dead inside. Andy and I still had sex, because it was required of me, but it was always very mechanical—I might as well have been washing the dishes or doing the laundry. I felt nothing. I didn’t think it was possible to have those kinds of feelings for anyone anymore. I was entirely in survival mode.
But now—now that I’ve survived—it turns out I’m not dead inside after all. Far from it.
I’m the one who tugs Enzo by his T-shirt into the queen-size bed. But he’s the one who unbuttons my blouse—except for the one button he rips clear off. And pretty much everything that happens after is a joint effort.