8. The break-up

"About what?" he asks, striding toward the kitchen and opening the fridge. He leans down, scanning the near-empty shelves before glancing back at me over his shoulder. "No food?"

I exhale, rubbing my arms. "I haven't made anything yet."

"Wes?"

He turns fully, his expression shifting the moment he catches the seriousness in my eyes. "What’s wrong?"

"I'm breaking up with you," I say, forcing my voice to stay steady even as my heart pounds against my chest. My hands are clammy, my fingers twitching at my sides.

He blinks, his expression unreadable. "You're breaking up with me?"

"Yes."

A beat of silence. Then, softer, "Okay. Why?"

I swallow hard. "It's just... not working out. At least, not for me."

He exhales sharply, nodding as if he expected this. "And is it just a coincidence that you ran into your ex a few days ago?"

My stomach twists. "Bill has nothing to do with this." I hold his gaze, willing him to believe me. "You have to admit... this hasn’t been working for a while. If it ever did at all."

"Okay," he murmurs, nodding as he turns his head away from me. His voice is steady, but there's something off about it—too controlled, too quiet. "Is it alright if I stay until tomorrow? Just so I have time to pack my things."

I hesitate for a moment, surprised by how easily he's letting this go. No argument, no questions—just acceptance. "Yeah, of course," I say softly.

I shift on my feet, the silence uncomfortable. "I won’t be home tonight anyway," I add, my voice careful.

His gaze flickers back to me, studying me for just a second before he looks away again.

"I'm staying with Brenda," I lie, the words slipping out before I can second-guess them.

"You can leave the keys on the kitchen table when you go," I say, my voice calmer than I feel. Without waiting for a response, I turn and walk away.

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t call me back. Just silence.

I should be relieved—it’s what I wanted, isn’t it? But instead, my stomach twists, a hollow nausea settling in my chest.

I step outside, closing the front door behind me with a quiet click. My legs carry me next door before my mind can catch up. I press the doorbell, shifting on my feet as I wait.

Simone opens the door, her warm eyes scanning my face. "Hi, honey. Everything okay?"

I nod quickly. "Yeah. I was just wondering… is Bill home?"

She tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to read between the lines. "He actually just left—he’s at his house now."

My throat tightens. "Do you have their address?" I ask, swallowing hard, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t even know why I feel like this. Why my chest aches. Why I’m on the verge of crying.

"Of course," she says gently. "I’ll write it down for you."

She disappears inside, returning moments later with a small slip of paper. Without a word, she presses it into my hand. Her smile is soft, but her eyes say more than her lips ever could.

“He’ll be happy to see you,” she says.

I nod, forcing a polite smile. “Thank you.”

I slide into my car, type in the address, and start driving.

The drive is about thirty minutes, but it feels longer. My thoughts tangle with every mile, a quiet tension pressing against my chest.

When I finally arrive, I’m met with a towering black gate, its iron bars sleek and unwelcoming. Beyond it, all I see are trees and overgrown hedges, swallowing whatever lies beyond. No sign of a house. No indication that I’m in the right place.

I kill the engine but leave the keys in the ignition as I step out. My shoes crunch against the gravel as I approach the gate. There’s no nameplate, no address marker—nothing to confirm this is where I’m supposed to be. Just a small, white doorbell with a camera mounted beside it.

I hesitate, my finger hovering over the button. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I press it.

A few seconds later, a familiar voice crackles through the speaker.

“Evi?”

I swallow hard. “Hey, Tom. Uh… can I come in?” My voice wavers, and for a moment, I regret coming at all. The thought of Tom being here hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“Of course,” he says, without hesitation. “I’ll open the gate.”

A soft buzz, and then, with a slow, mechanical groan, the gate begins to open. I don’t move at first, just stand there, watching as the gap widens.

Finally, I snap out of it and climb back into my car. The driveway stretches ahead—longer than I expected. The dense trees press in on both sides, casting heavy shadows over the path. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear this was the setup for a horror movie.

I park the car and take a deep breath before shutting off the engine. For a moment, I just sit there, gripping the steering wheel, as if I can somehow prepare myself for whatever comes next. But there’s no point in stalling.

With a sigh, I push open the door and step out, slinging my purse over my shoulder. The cool air brushes against my skin as I shut the door behind me, my fingers tightening around the keys in my hand.

Before I can even reach for the doorbell, the door swings open.

I freeze, my heart lurching as I come face-to-face with both Tom and Leen. They stand side by side in the doorway.

It's been years since I saw Leen, or even talked to her.

Tom is the one to break the silence. “You wanna come in?” His voice is calm, casual, like this isn’t strange at all. He’s already stepping aside, making space for me to walk past.

Without a word, I move forward, slipping inside. My gaze flickers around the room as I follow them deeper inside. This is exactly how I imagine their house to look like.

I turn to Leen. “How’s LA?”

She meets my eyes, and I instantly regret asking. There’s something sharp in her gaze, a quiet intensity that tells me she knows exactly why I’m here.

She tilts her head slightly, lips curving into something that’s not quite a smile. “How’s your boyfriend?” A beat of silence. Then, like a blade sliding between my ribs, she adds, “What was his name again? Wesley?”

I open my mouth to answer, but before I can get a word out, a familiar voice calls my name.

“Evi?”

I turn around, and the moment my eyes meet Bill’s, something inside me crumbles. The fragile grip I had on my emotions shatters, and a lump rises in my throat. Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision.

With a small gesture, he motions for me to follow him. My legs move on their own, carrying me toward him. As I reach him, his hand finds the small of my back—a silent reassurance.

He leads me down the hallway, into his room. The moment the door closes behind us, the dam finally breaks. Hot tears spill freely down my cheeks, my shoulders shaking with the force of everything I’ve been holding back.

Bill doesn’t say a word. He just pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly, as if he can piece me back together with nothing but his embrace.