Page 1 of Hidden Vows (Love in Ashford Falls #3)

ABBEY

“You asshole!” I shout, shoving at his chest.

“I told you we were too young! That we rushed this! You’re only eighteen!” Jude shouts, just as loudly.

There’s something in his eyes, but I’m not clear-headed enough to analyze what it is. He’s broken something inside of me, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get it back.

“That doesn’t make it better! That doesn’t excuse it.

” I turn away, pacing toward the front door of our apartment—our home.

“How could you do this?” My voice is so quiet now; all the fight drained from my body.

Slowly, I turn back to him, tears welling in my eyes.

“I never thought you could do something like this to me—to us.”

“Abbey—” His voice cracks on the single word. He steps forward, reaching for me, but I don’t let him touch me.

“No. You don’t get to touch me right now.” Jude flinches, and I wipe frantically at my face. “I don’t know how we fix this.” My voice is so quiet and I desperately fight to hold back the sobs building in my chest.

I can’t look at him, not with the pain etched across his face.

What right does he have to be in pain ?

My eyes fall to the floor. If I keep looking at Jude I’ll break, and I don’t feel safe doing that here, not after what I’ve just discovered.

Squaring my shoulders and with a conviction I don’t fully feel, I meet his eyes. “You want out of this marriage, you got it. I’ll come back tomorrow to get my things. Please don’t be here.”

Somehow, I walk out the door without looking back at him. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I can’t stay—not after this.

Jude may have been telling me for weeks we made a mistake getting married, but I never thought he was capable of hurting me. I never thought he’d go to these lengths to prove me wrong, but maybe I don’t know Jude like I thought I did.

Stumbling out the back door of the building, I look around, trying to figure out where I should go. The person I want to talk to most is my mother, but going to my parents’ house means seeing my father, and I know he’ll gloat about my failed marriage.

The need for my mother’s comfort far outweighs the dread of seeing my father. She’ll let me cry and scream and feel whatever I need to feel without judgment or comment, and that’s what I need more than anything else.

Still refusing to look back at the building that’s been nothing but comfort since I first walked through the doors, I steel my spine and walk toward the street.

Maybe the long walk will help me figure out how this happened.