Page 93 of Love or Leave

Cara's heart sank. They could see what she'd seen from the beginning, and it nearly killed her.

"Don't let Max spoil it," Chelsea said.

Max narrowed his eyes at Chelsea. "Mespoil it?"

Cara held up a hand. "There is noitto spoil. We just… He's never…" her voice clogged up in her throat and she had to swallow before finishing her sentence. "He's still… He never stopped with Fran."

Her three friends' faces all broke at the same time, and their shoulders all dropped in unison.

"I'm sorry, Cara," Adam said. "He's not in the right place yet. He never should have—"

"Don't say it," Cara said, holding her hand up. "I want to be alone for a while."

"Of course," Natalie said. "We'll check on you later."

Cara hung her head and turned, taking the stairs up to her room. What a horrible disaster. Why had she believed he'd got over Fran? Why had she kept that secret for so long? Maybe her friends could have talked her out of it.

She'd finally saw the light, but not until she was standing there in the cramped hallway of his apartment building, with his beautiful wife, who he was one hundred percent never divorcing, talking about how he was thinking about her the day before.

Maybe she shouldn't have broken up with Jalen.

Maybe she should find someone else.

She shook the wild thoughts from her head and turned. "Here," she said, holding up her phone.

Ethan was the first to clue in and hold his hands out.

She tossed the phone to him, then turned and climbed the rest of the stairs. The last thing she needed was to doom-scroll through the dating apps in her depressed state.

As soon as she'd closed the door, she heard voices from below all talk at once, so she flopped onto her bed and stuffed a pillow over her ears.

twenty-eight

Antonio climbed the steps to his old house and waited on the covered porch as Fran punched a code into the pad above the door handle. The keypad hadn't been there when it was his home. He wondered how long she waited after he left to change the locks.

He remembered receiving the house keys for the first time, and the feel of Fran in his arms as he carried her across the threshold. There was so much happiness then. And hope. He never imagined his future would be like this.

Fran pushed open the door and stepped inside, holding it open for him with a smile.

He'd only taken a single step inside before the nausea hit.

The house was fully decorated for Christmas and smelled like the cranberry candles she loved. The first thing that caught his eye was the angel on top of the tree.

He'd given it to her for their first Christmas together. It had been so expensive he had to split it between two credit cards.

He glanced around the house—at the furniture, fireplace, photos—and waited for the nostalgia and comfort to come rushing back. But none of it did. It was as if a dark, evil curse had marred everything he once loved, like his own personal Chernobyl.

Antonio sucked in a deep breath, but his airway was closing.

"I'll make you an espresso," Fran said, trying to sidestep behind him to close the door against the cold wind.

He backed up, shaking his head. There was no way he was going to get trapped in there.

"I don't want one."

The mental anguish left him too exhausted to be polite.

Fran glanced around. "Do you want to sit on the porch—"

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