Page 38 of Crazy Little Thing Called Love
Jake reached across the table, covering her hand with his. “It wasn’t your fault, Faith.”
“A little amateur therapy?” she asked with a weak smile, echoing his words from weeks ago.
“No. Just the truth.”
Faith squeezed his hand, drawing strength from his touch. “When he came home next, I confronted him about the pictures. He denied everything, said the media exaggerated things. We fought, and I…I threw myself at him. I was desperate to prove I could satisfy him, that I was enough.”
Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “He was different that time. Rougher. Afterwards, he told me that men didn’t like their wives acting like common whores. Then he left me on the floor and walked out.”
Jake’s free hand clenched into a fist on the table, his knuckles white. He had to look away for a moment, struggling to control the rage that threatened to consume him. “Faith, look at me.”
When she did, tears streaming down her cheeks, he forced his voice to remain gentle. “You were never the problem. You were a young woman trying to save her marriage. His cruelty—that was about his own sickness, not anything you did wrong.”
“He changed me with that one sentence,” she continued, her voice breaking. “Made me doubt everything about myself. I threw myself into my dissertation, gained weight, stopped caring about the tabloids or his affairs. When he did come home, I’d just…disappear inside my own head. Let him do whatever he wanted because fighting hurt worse than surrendering.”
“He was abusing you.” The words came out rough with barely controlled emotion.
“Yes.” The simple acknowledgment seemed to drain something from her, but also brought a strange relief. “It got worse near the end. He’d slap me, pinch me, leave bruises. I think part of him wanted me to fight back, to give him an excuse to hurt me more. But I’d learned that making myself small was the only way to survive.”
Jake stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He moved to the window, his hands trembling with the effort of containing his fury. “I’m sorry,” he said, his back to her. “I just need a moment.”
Faith’s voice was small, uncertain. “Jake…does this change how you see me?”
He spun around, his eyes blazing with fierce protectiveness. “Change how I see you? Faith, you survived something that would have broken most people. You rebuilt your entire life from nothing. You help others heal from their pain while carrying this inside you.” He crossed back to her. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”
“I don’t feel strong,” she whispered. “A month before he died, I was getting ready for a shower and saw myself in the mirror. Bruises on my ribs and arms, welts on my thighs. I didn’t recognize the woman staring back at me.” Faith’s voice grew steadier as she continued. “That’s when I realized I had a choice—I could disappear completely, or I could fight for the person I used to be.”
“What did you do?”
“I called my mother. When she saw me, she cried. Then she got angry—the kind of righteous fury only a mother can summon. She said she didn’t raise her daughter to be any man’s punching bag, and she was taking me to a lawyer immediately.”
“I think I’d like your mother very much.”
“She’d adore you.” Faith managed a watery smile. “Steve’s family was scandalized, of course. His mother called to lecture me about duty and discretion. She said all wives had to tolerate infidelity, that my job was to produce an heir and keep quiet.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. “Please tell me you hung up on her.”
“After I told her exactly what I thought of her precious son and her family’s values.” Faith’s smile grew stronger. “It felt like reclaiming a piece of myself I thought was lost forever.”
Jake pulled her from her chair and into his arms, holding her against his chest. “You’re incredibly brave, Faith. What you survived, what you built afterward—it’s remarkable.”
“A month later, I got the call about Monte Carlo. Steve and his mistress were both killed instantly. Christmas Day, five years ago.” Faith leaned into Jake’s warmth, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I went to the funeral, and the media painted me as a heartless gold digger because I didn’t collapse in grief. But the truth was, Steve had already killed the part of me that could mourn him. There was nothing left to give.”
Jake’s arms tightened around her. “That’s why you keep everyone at arm’s length.”
“I learned to handle everything alone because relying on someone meant giving them the power to destroy you.” Faith pulled back to meet his eyes, her own bright with unshed tears. “It’s why I didn’t tell you about the stalker. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you specifically—I just forgot how to let anyone carry part of the weight.”
“But you’re telling me now,” Jake said softly, brushing tears from her cheeks with infinite gentleness.
“Because last night, in the kitchen when you told me you were still in love with me—for the first time since I was twenty-two, I felt truly safe with someone.” Her voice caught. “And I realized that maybe learning to trust again isn’t just about courage. Maybe it’s about finding someone worthy of that trust.”
Jake cupped her face in his hands, his blue eyes intense with emotion. “You are safe with me, Faith. Not just from the stalker, but from ever being hurt like that again. I promise you that.”
They sat in the golden morning light, holding each other while the sounds of reconstruction drifted through the windows. Faith felt something inside her chest—something that had been locked away for five years—begin to tentatively unfurl.
“What happens now?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Now we figure out who’s been threatening you, and we make sure he can never hurt you again.” Jake’s voice held quiet determination and unshakeable commitment. “And we do it together.”
