Page 29 of The Edge Of Us

I had burned my world to the ground for her.

And now, she was gone.

Chapter 19

Corine

The walls of my room feel like a prison, the air so thick with grief it chokes me. Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours since my world collapsed, and I'm still trapped in the wreckage, gasping for air no one seems able to give me.

My bed has become both sanctuary and tomb—no day, no night, just this endless blur of aching silence and shadowed memories. The curtains are drawn tight, shutting out the world that keeps spinning without me. I’ve stopped checking the time. Time doesn’t matter when everything you loved has been torn from you.

I don’t remember the last time I truly slept. Not the kind of sleep that cradles you, lets you escape. Just hours of lying still, staring at the ceiling while my mind replays the betrayal on a loop—the headlines, the cold shock of divorce papers, the image of Allen’s hand on her back—my best friend. My soul-sister. The woman I trusted most.

They’re everywhere—we’re everywhere. My name sprawled across tabloids like a horror story come to life: “Socialite Wife Shattered by Scandal.” “Corine Holt: Blind or Betrayed?” Some headlines are sympathetic, calling me the wronged wife. Others... less so. They ask if I ignored the signs, if I drove him to her, if I was too much, or not enough.

Every day, more flowers arrive. Bouquets, cards, boxes of chocolates from people I’ve never met. Fans. Strangers. Supporters. They say they’re praying for me, that I’ll come out stronger. My mother arranges them in the hallway, as if they’ll ward off the darkness seeping into this house.

But I’m not strong.

I’m not okay.

I can’t even fake it anymore. I haven’t left this room in eleven days. I can’t bring myself to see Kyle—my sweet, sweet boy—whose laughter now echoes like guilt. I hear his tiny footsteps in the hallway, his soft knocks on my door. “Mommy?” he says sometimes. “Are you coming out today?” And I don’t answer. Because if I open that door, he’ll see that his mother is gone.

And Astrid… my baby girl. She cries and I curl into myself, ashamed. Her cries pierce through me like glass. My arms won’t move to pick her up. I’m terrified I’ll drop her. Terrified she’ll feel my sadness and absorb it, like poison in her veins.

I’m failing them.

I’m failing myself.

Outside my door, voices whisper like ghosts. My parents. They don’t know what to do with me. I hear my mother sobbing late at night. I hear my father pacing, his footsteps tense and frustrated. I’m their baby, and I’m slipping through their fingers.

Then today, the door opens.

Not a knock—just opens.

My mother steps in first. She’s pale, her red-rimmed eyes searching my face for a flicker of the daughter she used to know. My father follows behind, his expression tight. He doesn’t speak right away.

And then a third voice. Male. Calm. Unfamiliar.

“I’m Dr. Michaels,” he says gently, stepping into the room like he’s walking on glass. “I’ve been consulting with your parents. Corinne… they’re worried. And I have to agree.”

I say nothing. Just stare past him at the corner of the room where the light barely touches.

“This isn’t just grief. It’s a deep depressive episode. You’re not eating, not sleeping, not engaging with your children—”

“Don’t,” I rasp, my voice cracked and hoarse. “Don’t talk about my kids.”

Dr. Michaels kneels slowly. “Then help me understand. Help us help you.”

“I just need time.”

“We’ve given time, sweetheart,” my mother whispers, stepping closer, tears falling freely now. “And we’re losing you anyway.”

“You want to lock me up,” I snap, dragging myself into a sitting position, my limbs trembling. “You want to send me to some clinic and pretend it’ll fix me.”

“We want to save you,” my father says firmly, for the first time raising his voice. “We’re not sending you away—we’re trying to bring you back.”

Tears blur my vision. “I can’t be fixed.”

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