Page 19 of Shattered Dreams
"God! Can't a woman die in peace?!" I groan.
"No," they say in unison, with a practiced ease that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. I want to snap at them both and tell them to leave me alone. But the truth is—I need them. And maybe that's okay.
I stomp upstairs, slam the bathroom door, and finally face myself in the mirror. Jesus. I barely recognize the woman staring back at me.
I peel off my clothes and step into the shower, the twin jets beating against my skin a welcome feeling. I scrub like I'm trying to erase Roman from my pores. I shave everything. Not because I care how I look—but because it's the one thing I can control. The ritual feels good. A small rebellion in a world of chaos.
I blow-dry my hair, run a brush through it, even dab on a little makeup—but no mascara. I know better. One whisper of his name and it'll be raining ink down my face.
I slip on my favourite jeans, a loose shirt, and stare at my reflection again. The mirror catches the edge of our bed—our marital bed—and I feel the air catch in my lungs.
We made love there just weeks ago.
Did he compare me to her? Was she in his thoughts while I whispered I love you?
I choke it down, grab a bag, and make my way downstairs. I hesitate at the landing, glancing back once.
God, Ro. Why?
"That's better," Aunt Jane says with a soft smile, sliding a croissant toward me like it's a peace offering.
"I'm really not hungry."
She stares me down like she's done since I was little, and I know the croissant is non-negotiable. I take a bite. It tastes like nothing.
The sun hits me like a slap when we step outside, and I rummage in my bag for sunglasses. The light is too bright and too fucking cheerful.
"I'll drive us there. Scott or Amanda can bring you back," my aunt explains.
Shannon hugs me tight. "I love you, babe."
The drive is mostly silent except for the ancient hits station humming from the speakers. At least it's not the news. I don't need another reminder of my humiliation or the headlines.
"Have you thought about what you want to do?" Aunt Jane asks gently.
I turn my head toward her, throat tight. "What do you mean?"
"Do you still want to be married to Roman?"
The air leaves my lungs in one painful rush. I feel it then—the weight of it all pressing down on me.
The future falling apart. Me moving out, us co-parenting.
Starting over.
"I don't know," I whisper. My voice is barely there. She reaches for my hand and holds it tightly.
"You haven't done anything wrong. He ruined it. Not you. You can choose to walk away or try to fix it. Neither option will be easy. But you have the power to choose, Ava."
I nod numbly. "I just wish Mom was here. She'd know what to do."
Aunt Jane squeezes my hand. "She'd tell you to trust yourself, and to remember that you deserve better than someonewho makes you doubt your worth." She pauses. "She'd probably also have a few choice words for Roman."
The memory of my mother's legendary temper makes me smile, if only for a second.
Aunt Jane hums, then says again, “It’s your choice, Ava.”
I nod numbly. "For all I know, Roman might not want to be with me anymore."
