Page 34 of Faking It With My Pucking Protector

I freeze. Not out of sadness, but disbelief.

Why is that still here?

I don’t touch it. Don’t even look at it for long. Just keep moving, fighting the sudden urge to knock it off the shelf and watch it shatter.

Brad runs a hand through his hair. “You look… good.”

I don’t answer. I move past him.

I know exactly what I came for. And I want to get out of here as fast as possible.

I move quickly at first. Straight to the hallway closet where I’d left a few extra coats, the rolling duffel I used for conferences, a tote full of books I hadn’t been able to part with. It’s easier to stay focused when I keep my back to him. When I don’t make eye contact.

Brad hovers near the kitchen, arms crossed, watching me like I’m going to vanish again.

“I still can’t believe you left like that,” he says quietly. “Didn’t even say goodbye.”

I don’t respond.

“You could’ve talked to me, Ava. I deserved that.”

I whirl, finally meeting his eyes.

“WhatIdeserved was honesty. And maybe if I’d gotten that from you, I wouldn’t have had to find out about the affair on our wedding day.”

He flinches. Barely, but it’s there. “I‘ve been trying to tell you. It didn’t mean anything.”

“You are only saying that because you got caught,” I snap. “After the lies. After the cover-ups. After I ran from my own wedding like an idiot.”

Brad sighs and runs a hand through his hair again. “I panicked. Everything was happening so fast. We were planning a wedding and I—”

“No,” I say, cutting him off. “You don’t get to rewrite this. You didn’t panic. You cheated. Repeatedly. And then you let me build a life on top of it like none of it mattered.”

He goes quiet at that. Good. Maybe now I can finish this.

I step into the bedroom. It’s neater than I expected, as if he tried to make it presentable.

I kneel down and drag a large plastic tote from the closet floor, then start filling it with the few things I actually care about.

The framed photo of my parents. A couple of worn paperbacks with cracked spines. A folder labeledOpen Pageswith my earliest sketches and scribbled ideas before my nonprofit became real.

My hands feel steady as I fill it with the things that matter. I realize that this is me taking control. This is me walking away from a man who never deserved me.

Out in the hallway, Brad tries again. “You don’t have to be like this. We can talk. Work it out.”

The desperation in his voice crawls under my skin. I keep my back to him.

“I love you, Ava.”

I grip the tote so hard it hurts, but I don’t say anything. I walk back into the main room, arms full of what I came for.

Tension knots between my shoulders, tight as a vise.

“I can help you carry that,” he offers, voice soft.

“I’ve got it,” I say.

A pause. Then, he murmurs, “You don’t have to act like I never mattered.”