Page 9 of Bitter Sweet Heart

“What now? Do I even want to know?” I can feel myself deflating, which is a terrible way to start what’s supposed to be an excitement-filled day.

“He wants to have the cabin on Pearl Lake reassessed. He thinks it’s undervalued. He also wants to know if you’ve given any further consideration to seeing a therapist with him. Seems convenient that he’s pushing the ‘get back together’ angle while also trying to squeeze more money out of you.”

“Oh, fuck him. Of course he wants to have it reassessed.” I cross my arms, my heart rate spiking. The hairs on my arms stand on end, and a zip of energy travels up my spine and wraps around my throat, creating phantom pressure. It’s a sensation I’ve grown entirely too used to when dealing with Gabriel. “He went there all of once when we were married, and now he wants to make it impossible for me to keep it. I need him to sign the papers so I can move on with my life.”

My parents handed over the deed to the cabin after I married Gabriel, sort of as a wedding present. Unfortunately, instead of keeping the cabin in my name only, they added his too.

Gabriel never had any interest in the cabin until I told him I wanted a divorce. Then he seemed to realize it had some value that wasn’t just sentimental on my part. I have no interest in giving it up, but I’m not in a great financial position to buy him out. While the seminar course helps, it doesn’t cover the cost of half the property.

“Do you really think he wants to reconcile?” Sophia says gently.

Another message comes in.

“What else has he added to the list?” I snap, immediately feeling bad because Sophia does not deserve my wrath.

“He said he’s been talking to a therapist on a regular basis. And that he sees now why you two didn’t work. And that it’s his fault you felt compelled to run away and hide. Those are his exact words.”

“I was afraid he was going to lock me in the basement and keep me like a pet!” I run a hand through my hair, shaking my head. I hate that he’s still trying to control me. At least his motives are transparent to me now in a way they weren’t when we were first married. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should look later, after I’ve finished teaching. I don’t need to start my day in a bad mood, and you don’t need me unloading on you.”

Sophia gives me a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. I get that you’re frustrated. You’ve been moving on for a year, and he’s been stewing about you escaping his clutches. He’s good at holding things over your head.”

“I hope he gives up sooner rather than later, or the lawyer bills are going to eat my entire salary,” I gripe.

“I know it sucks right now, but at least at the end you’ll be free.”

“I need to be patient and not reactive. It’s hard, though, especially with the way he pushes my buttons on purpose.” It’s clear that’s his intention with his most recent messages. He’s trying to use what’s important to me to bargain for another chance.

“Do you want me to respond for you?”

I shake my head. “Leave it for now, and I’ll come back to it tonight. Now that he has my attention again, he wants it all the time, just like always.” Is it passive-aggressive on my part? Sure. But he’s being a manipulative ass.

“Okay.” She checks the time. “I need to get ready for work.”

“Me too. I won’t be home until late since my seminar ends at ten, but I’ll check in with you when I get back.”

“Sounds good.” Sophia kisses me on the cheek and heads for the front door, locking it behind her while I head down the hall to the bathroom to get ready for work.

My English 101 course starts at nine. The sheer number of students was a bit intimidating at first—there are three hundred freshmen in the class—but I’ve gotten used to the sea of bodies. I also have a TA to help grade assignments.

After my 101 class, I spend the afternoon in my office reviewing my lecture notes for the creative writing seminar this evening. It’s much smaller, with only forty students. And the class is three hours. I’m a little nervous about taking over for such a seasoned professor, but with my background in library science and a creative writing minor, it’s in my wheelhouse.

At six thirty, I lock up my office and head to the seminar class. I arrive fifteen minutes early and find a handful of students already waiting at the door. They’ve been informed of the change, but I still get some curious looks.

I let them in, and they murmur hello, taking their seats and setting up tablets, laptops, and notebooks on their desks.

When seven o’clock arrives, I introduce myself and explain that I’ll be taking over for Professor Connelly. I field a few questions and reassure the students that he’s okay. I also brought in a get well soon card for them to sign. I pass it to the student directly in front of me, then pull up my attendance list and start calling names.

The door opens when I’m halfway through, and a student straggles in. It happened in my English class earlier, but in a class of three hundred students, it’s easier to slip in the back door and quietly find a seat. That’s what I expect this student to do.

Except his phone starts ringing. And it’s not a normal ringtone. It’s a song blaring through the room at full volume.

“Fuck. Shit.” He’s standing in the middle of the room, facing the back of the class, every single student staring at him in wide-eyed horror.

He rummages around in his pocket and pulls out the offending device as Justin Bieber croons “I’m so fucking lonely” to the entire class. Instead of silencing it, he answers the call—on speaker.

A male voice that sounds like an angry father starts yelling. “Why the hell am I getting calls about you being late for practice, you’re—”

He spins around, gaze moving over the class as he takes in their looks of horror. He’s wearing a baseball cap, and the lights above cast a shadow over his face. “Oh, fuck me,” he mutters. “Hey, Dad, I’m in the middle of class. I’ll call you back later.” He rushes the words, so it all sounds quite garbled. Then he drops into the closest empty desk and slams his elbow on the edge on his way down. He sucks in a groan.

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