Page 81 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth

“About women who save themselves. And each other.” I meet his eyes. “About how protection can become its own kind of prison.”

He flinches but holds my gaze. “Emily, I?—”

“I know why you did it,” I cut him off gently. “I know you love me. I know everything you did was an effort to keep me safe.” I pause, choosing my words with care. “But you kept me in the dark. In my own tower. And I need to know who I am when I’m standing in the light on my own.”

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?”

That’s the question, isn’t it? Can I forgive him? I don’t know. What I do know is forgiveness isn’t a binary event, but a winding path. There are days when I ache from missing him, and I’m sure I’ll find my way back to him. And there are days when the betrayal cuts as raw and deep as any physical wound, and I don’t know how I’ll ever trust him again. More than any of this, though, I know I need to forgive myself before I can move forward—with or without Tristan.

I look out over the property Alex has entrusted to me—my fresh start. I’m changing it from a fortress to a sanctuary alive with creation and possibility. And I’m listening for the heart of the house, eating the blackberries that burst with flavor. I’ve even brought her pollinator garden back to life. I have so much here. But not everything.

Then again, I never had everything. I thought I did. But I didn’t. I had a caretaker, but not a partner; a lover, but not a friend; a relationship, but not a union.

After an eternity, I turn back to my husband. “I still love you, Tristan. That hasn’t changed. But there were so many secrets between us, walls we never broke down. I need to figure out who I am and what I want when those walls aren’t there anymore. I need to see myself clearly before I can see us clearly.”

He nods, his expression pained but not surprised. “I understand,” he says roughly. “I want that for you, too, Em. Even if it means I have to let you go for a while—or forever.”

“Thank you.”

I need to walk this winding path alone for now. I need to tend to my own healing before I can begin to mend what’s broken between us. Tristan and I have both spent so long trying to protect each other and save each other. It’s time we learn to save ourselves.

He leans in close and for a moment, I’m transported back to a thousand other summer nights we’ve shared.

“But I hope it’s not forever,” he breathes.

The spicy scent of his cologne, the glint in his eyes as he murmurs in my ear, the electric thrill that pulses through me at his proximity. It would be so easy—too easy—to fall back into his arms, find solace in his strength like I have so many times before.

I remind myself I have my own strength. Leaning on Tristan was a habit, but not a healthy one. If we have any chance at a real future together, we need to break free of our old patterns. We both need to learn to stand on our own.

I force myself to take a small step back, putting a whisper of distance between us. A shadow crosses his face, but he doesn’t push.

“I’ll give you as much time and space as you need,” he vows. “I’m not going anywhere. When you’re ready, if you’re ever ready, I’ll be here.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak around the lump gathering in my throat. I let my fingers rest on his arm briefly, a silent recognition of the story we’ve shared and everything still unwritten. Then I turn away and head toward the tent where my guests are gathered to hear me to read a passage from The Tower.

As I walk, I breathe in the honeysuckle-scented air and soak in the warmth of the breeze that caresses my arms. I begin to hum softly along with the buzz of the bees hovering in the purple sage and raise my face to the glow and twinkle of the fairy lights that drip from the trees. When I step under the white canopy, my mind is still, my heartbeat is steady, and my footing is sure.

I’m ready to tell my story, even though it has no ending.