Page 115 of Fault Lines
“Do you still have her number?”
A tiny hesitation. Then, “Yeah.”
“Can I have it?”
He seemed confused, but nodded, and in seconds he’d texted me her contact info. “She didn’t do anything wrong. Neither did I.”
“I’m not interested in her, Cam. But her husband’s a divorce lawyer, and I want him to recommend someone local.”
The color drained from Cam’s face. He shot to his feet. “You’re leaving me because of April? That was part of our agreement, Livi!”
A tear pricked my eye, and I wiped it away before it had a chance to fall. “I’m not leaving you because of April. I’m leaving because you got Lacey pregnant. I’m leaving because you broke our rules, which shows how little you actually respect me. I’m leaving because, while I thought I was on a romantic trip with my husband, you were busy searching for your next thrill.Instead of wanting me, you wanted someone else. I’m leaving because you’ve made it clear I’m not enough for you anymore. And that’s fine, but you don’t get to have it both ways.
“You’re not going to have me waiting at home like an afterthought while you chase after everyone else. That will ruin me, Cam. It’s already sliced my self-worth in half, and I deserve better than that. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this anymore. I’ll come get my things once I find an apartment, you can keep the house. I don’t want it nor can I afford it.”
I turned and walked away, swallowing the urge to look back. If I saw the pain on his face, I might falter, and I wasn’t going to lose my nerve.
Not this time.
I loved Cam. That hadn’t changed. But I was finally starting to love myself, too.
Chapter Thirty
The next few weeks dragged by, every day a fresh ache. I missed Cam. The wanting gnawed through me like a rash, spreading everywhere—I’d never known a headache like it, or the way tears could hammer in my temples until it felt like crying might make me hollow.
I knew I was the one who broke things off. Logically, I should have felt relief or closure. But nothing about it helped. Even with Cam swearing he wouldn’t see other people anymore, I couldn’t scrape away the memory of what he’d done. Not just the baby, but how he’d gotten April's number and planned a secret meeting with her while we were supposed to be away together. I could replay it all, but I couldn’t let it go.
More than anything, I wanted to be the only woman my partner needed. I wanted to be enough.
Nate was doing everything he could to pull me closer, like he could hold my pieces together if he just tried hard enough. He never outright asked for more, but I could feel he wanted something official, a promise or a tether. I couldn’t do it yet. My divorce wasn’t final. I hadn’t even called a lawyer, although Jake had given me a name. He’d asked if his wife was the reason I was looking; I’d told him honestly, no. April hadn’t done anything wrong. Her marriage had its own rules; she saw other people with Jake's blessing. But mine with Cam—that was different.Cam had known my boundaries from the beginning and pushed them anyway. Forced open a door and left me stranded on the threshold.
Maybe I could’ve ended it sooner, refused outright. Either way, it would have been the end of us. I believed that, down where the truth hurt most. If I’d said no, Cam would’ve cheated, or left. That certainty was the only reason I tried at all. But I was never truly on board. And in the end, I still lost him, and lost myself. I could see now our marriage ended the night he first asked.
So, that’s what I’d told Jake. April wasn’t the reason for our split. Cam was.
Nate, though… he’d been my rock. If I cried, he was there. At work, he’d joke and distract me, protecting me from falling to pieces in front of customers or Mr. Porter. Sometimes he made me feel beautiful and wanted, but even then I was wading through old grief, letting him tug me through it.
I spent more nights at Nate’s apartment than at Rachel’s. She and Jackson had been wonderful, but lately I was a third wheel, stuck in their orbit. They even acted like they’d been married forever, which would have surprised me once. Rachel had changed; she’d softened, steadied. Love looked good on her.
Jackson, though—the way he reacted to me being with Nate left me with questions. He’d always reassure me it was fine, but when I crashed back into their place after staying with Nate, he’d fold me into a hug, searching my face. Twice, I’d come home with tears running hot and wild down my cheeks, and both times Jackson looked me over like he expected bruises or worse. “Did Nate do something?” The words startled me every time.
I told him no, that I just missed my husband. That was the truth, anyway.
It felt wrong, sobbing over Cam in Nate’s bed while Nate rubbed my back and whispered that it would be okay. I knew Iwas hurting him—a man who wanted to be my new beginning, forced to watch me mourn what I’d already lost. But he never said a word in complaint. He just held me, letting my sorrow spill out.
When the delivery guy showed up with another armful of red roses, I wanted to groan. Even Nate looked annoyed, his brows knitting as he watched. The shop overflowed with roses by now, every other day another dozen. I didn’t want them, but it felt cruel to throw them away. The flowers weren’t to blame; they deserved better.
The calls and texts from Cam never stopped. He pressed, always, desperate for me to talk to him. I knew I’d have to, eventually, but for now I just wanted breathing room. Time to close the wound. A little peace.
“Someone is definitely trying to say he’s sorry,” Mr. Porter said as he took the new vase from the delivery guy. “Maybe you should listen.”
His comment caught me off guard. He’d made a few remarks lately; he and Jackson both seemed uneasy about how much time I spent with Nate—which was surprising from Jackson since he’d encouraged me before that Nate was good for me. Neither said it outright, but the message was there, silent and heavy. Mr. Porter had even gone into a lecture about marriage—the lifelong commitment, the sanctity of working through hard seasons. But he didn’t know my story, not really, and I wasn’t going to lay out my embarrassment for all to see.
Lately, he’d come in more often, even when he didn’t seem to feel well. He’d keep Nate and me separated at work, send one of us to the storeroom for any excuse. He told Nate, more than once, that his real job probably needed him, but Nate refused to leave me.
“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough. It can’t fix the past,” I managed, though it sounded dull even to me.
“No, but it can be an omen for a better future,” Mr. Porter answered.
