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An engine whirred to life.

Tires squealed out of the driveway.

Only wreckage was left behind as everything went silent, blanketing the room in the eerie quiet that permeated after a hurricane stormed through. A post-apocalyptic hum.

Ladybug crawled off the couch and trudged toward me, landing atop my feet with a defeated sigh, while Whitney looked at me with incredulity from across the room.

Her voice vibrated as she murmured, “What the hell did you just do?”

I gazed out the window, imagining a six-year-old Tara riding her bike without training wheels for the first time as her pride-like giggles echoed in my ears and gave me the greatest sense of peace. Twelve years ago, I made a promise to my daughter that I’d never let her go.

Then I made another promise.

A promise to the woman I love that I would always fight for her, even if it was the only thing I’d ever be allowed to do.

But promises were like petals in the wind.

Easily scattered.

Hard to hold.

I couldn’t keep them both.

A tear trickled down my cheek as I swallowed the ashes of my sins.

What the hell did I just do?

I exhaled.

Closed my eyes.

“What I had to.”

CHAPTER 32

My knuckles bruised with the weight of my knocks as I slammed a fist to Reed’s front door for the twentieth time. “I’m not leaving,” I shouted, uncaring that neighbors were poking their heads from cracked doors with invisible buckets of popcorn. I was making a scene. Good. “Open the door, Reed. I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

I knew he was inside; I saw his truck in the parking lot. He was ignoring me, hoping I’d grow tired of pounding and hollering like a madwoman in his hallway. Not a chance.

All he did was turn his music on.

Loud, shrieky metal music.

Son of a bitch.

Five minutes crawled by, and I was still here. He underestimated how stubborn I could be.

Knock, pound, knock.

“I swear to God I will curl up and go to sleep on this shitty maroon carpeting tonight if you don’t?—”

The music shut off and the door whipped open.

I staggered back, not from the motion itself, but from the disheveled, bone-weary look in his eyes. Dark circles, chalky skin, hair sticking up in every direction. My gaze rolled down his body, taking in his wrinkled white tank and sweatpants that hung from his solid frame like a flag flown at half-mast.

My resolve weakened. Empathy leaked through as my eyes flicked back up and met with pure sorrow.

He mistook my moment of vulnerability for surrender and tried to shut the door in my face.

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