Page 125 of Our Broken Pieces
I grab the handle of Ethel’s carrier and drag my suitcase through the living room, determined. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Marcus glance up from where he’s plating food at the kitchen island. He immediately abandons his work and rushes toward me, eyebrows shooting up in confusion.
“Whoa, baby, what’s all this?” He wipes his hands on a kitchen towel, eyes bouncing between my suitcase and Ethel’s carrier, like he’s trying to solve some sort of puzzle.
Tears threaten to spill over, but I take a deep breath. “Marcus, I love you, but today made me realize a few things.”
His brows knit together, looking both confused and concerned. “What things?”
I avoid his gaze, focusing instead on the wall behind him like it holds all the answers. “You deserve someone better. Someone with a normal childhood, someone who fits in with your family. Someone… easier.”
He nods slowly, like he’s humoring me. “Uh-huh. Go on.”
“My past, it ruined today. Your dad’s probably doing the cha-cha right now, thrilled that he’s been right about me all along.”
He rubs the stubble on his chin. “So, what? We’re just going to skip straight to divorce? You’re packing up to run away like I’m a bad date, not like we promised each other forever?”
I shrug. “It’s for the best, Marcus.” Ethel gives a perfectly timed, mournful meow from her carrier.
“I agree, Ethel.” He’s… talking to my cat? He pauses for a moment, looking at me, his eyes scanning my body and my bags. “No, I think you’re wrong. So, no. No divorce.” He tosses the towel over his shoulder and saunters back to the kitchen as if the conversation is over.
“Wait—what?”
“No divorce. No leaving.” He slides a plate with grilled cheese across the counter to my usual seat at the island. “Now sit. You need to eat.”
“Marcus, I’m being serio—”
“Sit.” His voice is stern and deep, the kind that freezes me in my tracks.
I stand there, unsure what just happened, when suddenly he strides over, plucks Ethel’s carrier out of my hand, and sets her gently on the floor. Before I can protest, he scoops me up from under my butt. I squeal in surprise. “Marcus! Put me down!”
“Nope, you had your chance to sit on your own, and you blew it.”
He carries me over to the counter and deposits me right on top of it. His hands cup the sides of my head, behind my ears, fingers threading into my hair.
“Listen closely, Mrs. Holt,” he says, his voice low and serious. “When I said my vows, I meant every single one. You belong here. In our home, in our bed, in my arms, and,” he leans in, voice dropping even lower, “on my cock.”
“I just want what’s best for you, Marcus. My life is messy.”
“You just don’t get it, do you?” He thinks for a moment. “I want you to read something.”
He walks to his work bag, pulling out a brown leather journal. He returns to me, handing me the book.
“If you doubt that you’re good for me, if you doubt right now if you should stay, start reading.”
I feel my face pinch in confusion, my eyes leaving his and moving down to the first page.
Today, I feel overwhelmed.
I never thought therapy would be exhausting, but hopefully it gets easier. Knowing I get to go home to Gigi helps.
Unworthy.
This morning, I walked into the kitchen, and Gigi was dancing to Harry Styles. What does someone so free and happy see in me?
Today, I feel loved.
When I came home from work, Melonie and Mills were at the house with Gigi. Mills hugged me when I took her from Melonie, and Gigi smiled and kissed me. Feeling happy to be home is a new and awesome feeling.
Driven.
