Page 96 of Jinxed Hearts

“Yes, Izzy,” I say, smiling. “That’s exactly what it’s been like. Except my ass is still small and I still suck at making decisions. I’m Mrs. Flip Fucking Flopper!”

Izzy raises a brow. “Mrs. Flip Fucken what? Say that three times fast? Go on… I’ll wait.”

I roll my eyes and try.

“Mrs. Flip Flucken—fucker.

Mrs. Flip Flapping—fuck.

Mrs. Flip Fricken—SHIT.”

Izzy loses it. “Mrs. Flip Froppen Flopper. Nope, can’t do it either!”

We both dissolve into laughter. Chaos loves company. And for once, it feels good to laugh at something silly without the weight of the world pressing on my shoulders.

She wipes a tear from her eye. “Sounds like you’re casting some fucked-up spell.”

I sigh, nodding. “A spell to make me less of a disaster.”

Izzy smirks. “Speaking of magic twisting tongues…”

I groan, rubbing my face. “Oh my God. Do you ever stop?”

“Why would I?” She shrugs. “It’s my gift. And Donald’s tongue… that’s his gift.”

After a full day of therapy, laughter, and maybe one too many glasses of wine, I sink into a warm bath. A memory from this morning flashes of Jacob playing with our girls. Lily is laughing as he tosses her onto the couch, and Ava’s hanging from his leg like a tiny koala. The way they light up when he’s around makes me happy. And sad.

But are these fleeting moments of happiness enough to quiet the years of doubt?

Jane says it’s normal to feel a range of emotions all at once. And surprisingly, I feel lighter after our session today. Maybe it’s not so bad having a stranger to share everything with. I pick up the book Dylan gave me, ironically hoping to escape into someone else’s life and forget he’s no longer in mine.

I’m nearing the final chapter when the door swings open. Jacob stands there, my journal in his hand.

He opens it, flipping to a page and starts reading it out loud. “‘The screams are getting louder. I can’t breathe. The blood is everywhere.’” His voice is tight with disbelief. “What the hell is this?” Jacob’s voice is sharp. His jaw clenched so tight. “What if one of the kids found it? How long are you going to keep dwelling on the past?” He scolds me as if I were a child.

I should be furious. He invaded my privacy, ripped open my journal like it was nothing. Like the words on the page meant nothing. But all I feel is empty. Everything I’ve written—every truth, every buried feeling, every secret that could change hislife is laid out in front of him. And still, he doesn’t see me. Or worse… he chooses not to see me, and I think that hurts more than anything else. Knowing nothing’s changed. And maybe it never will. He’ll always be right here, close enough to touch, but emotionally miles away.

“I pour my heart into these pages. Trying to make sense of it all,” I say, my voice jagged. “And you’re angry? You want me to just shove it all back down? Act like I’m okay, like we’re okay?”

“I’m not mad. I just don’t understand.” He sighs, leaning against the tub. “And I’m tired of the nightmares. Of you asking me to give you things I can’t give. Of trying to change myself.” His voice is shaky.

I stare into his eyes and see something dark.

“If I’m not good enough for you, why are you still here?” he mutters, his gaze dropping. “How long are we going to keep going in circles?”

I want to yell. To cry. To curse. To scream at him to try fucking harder. But instead, I shove it all into the same damn closet again—and slam the door shut. How many pieces of myself are locked in there now, waiting for him to notice, to ask me to let him in?

“I don’t want to change you,” I say gently. “I want you to let me in. To feel connected to you. To care enough to know the woman I am now, not who I was back then.”

The bathwater is now cold, matching how I feel inside. We’ve had this conversation thousands of times, but tonight it hits differently. Hollow, pointless, like yelling into an empty house.

I step out, and Jacob wraps a towel around me. His touch is warm and familiar. But so is the ache that follows.

“I am trying,” he says softly. “It’s late. Can we just go to bed?”

Maybe that’s the problem. We’ve been trying for years. But how do you know when to stop? When there’s no yelling, no slammed doors. Just… silence. What if I checked out a long timeago, and I’m just now admitting it to myself? What if the truth isn’t that I have to make a choice, but that I already did and I’m too scared to admit it?

Chapter 34: Clinging to Hope