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This Is Because of Your Books

“It just feels like all we do lately is argue. We’ve been growing apart for some time now, and I think it would be for the best for us to end things.” I let out the breath I definitely know I was holding as I finally say the words I’ve been practicing for weeks.

“We do not argue all the time,” Tyler protests.

I think about pointing out the fact that, well, it’s another argument, but I stop myself. I just want to get this over with.

“It’s not like this is coming out of nowhere,” I say quietly, calling on those teacher instincts deep inside to remain calm in any situation. “I know it might take some time to figure out how we move on from here, but I’d like to talk about how to split things up and which one of us should move.”

“Move?” he repeats, his volume higher than it needs to be since I’m sitting two feet away from him. He sits back and folds his arms across his chest, and he shakes his head. “No. Nobody’s moving. ”

He clearly doesn’t want this, though I think it has more to do with the way he tends to hold onto things than with the actual state of our relationship.

I haven’t been happy for a while, but I stayed anyway because I thought we could fix things. As it turns out, he doesn’t want to put in the work.

I can’t be with someone who doesn’t put in the work.

“This is because of your books, isn’t it?” he asks.

I clench my jaw together at his words, and my back teeth grind as I try my hardest to keep my composure…but he just hit me where he knew it would hurt the most.

He just doesn’t get it, and that is why I’m ending things.

Maybe if he supported my hobby-turned-side hustle, we wouldn’t be in this exact predicament.

But he’s never supported my writing. Instead, he makes fun of it. He calls it porn. He treats it like it’s trash.

It’s none of those things. It may not win the next Nobel Prize, but I have an email from Rozlyn telling me how my words distracted her from her mother’s long battle with a disease, another from Kathy telling me how my words helped get her through a dark time in her life, and one from William telling me that he and his wife reconnected because of my books.

I know my words matter even if it’s just to those three people, but all Tyler ever does is belittle it. He calls it my hobby. He doesn’t believe in it—or in me.

And that is why I’m done with him.

I make enough between my job teaching high school language arts and my royalties from my books that I can walk out of this apartment and find my own place to rent.

It’ll be tight, but it’ll be better than living another minute with someone who tries to use my books against me as I’m breaking up with him .

“Why would it be because of my books?” I ask through that clenched jaw.

“Because you create this perfect man that doesn’t exist, and you expect me to act like that.” He purses his lips and shakes his head as if it’s some sort of crime.

“You know what, Tyler? The truth is that the men I create are visions of what I want in a man. What I want in a relationship . No…not what I want,” I amend, shaking my head. “What I deserve . And you…you aren’t it.”

He rolls his eyes, which only serves to further prove my statement, and I let out a heavy sigh. Before he can start in on me again, I say, “I’ll stay in the guest room tonight, and I’ll start looking at places tomorrow.”

“Suit yourself.” He grabs the remote and turns on the television, and even though every instinct is telling me to stomp off, I also don’t want him to see that he’s affecting me.

I calmly walk out of the room, head to the bedroom, change into my pajamas, and then settle into the guest room.

I play games on my phone to try to calm my mind, and I’m on track for a new high score when my phone starts to ring.

I glance at the clock. It’s nearly nine o’clock, and it’s my department chair calling—probably to ask me to sub for someone’s zero hour class bright and early tomorrow morning. She knows I’m almost always an automatic yes since I haven’t learned the skill of telling my boss no, so I answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Sophie. It’s Elizabeth Watson.”

“Hey, Elizabeth. Do you need me to cover for someone tomorrow?”

“No, I’m calling to talk to you about the post you made to your message board a half hour ago. I, uh…” She stutters and trails off. “I’m going to have to place you on administrative leave while the district investigates this. ”

“My message board?” I glance around the guest room and realize I left my laptop on the kitchen table. “I didn’t post to my message board a half hour ago.”

My heart leaps up into my chest as I realize I didn’t post…but I did have my message board open because I was responding to students before Tyler got home. I abandoned my laptop to break up with him.

Oh no. Oh, God, no.

What did he do?

“There’s a post here from you, Sophie. As I said, you’ll be on leave until further notice.”

“What does it say?” I beg.

She clears her throat. “Surprise! I’ve been publishing books under a pen name for years. Buy my new erotic romance, Second Chances by Summer Love, available now.”

“What?” I screech. “Elizabeth, be serious. Why would I post that to my message board?”

“I don’t know, Sophie. That’s what the district plans to investigate. I will be in touch when I know anything more.” She cuts the call, and I stare at the phone as my hands shake.

Anger plows into me, and I’m done remaining calm.

I leap out of bed and throw the door to the guest room open. It hits the wall behind it with a thud, and I storm through the apartment back to where the asshole was sitting not a half hour ago.

He’s not on the couch. He’s not in the kitchen, and my laptop is sitting right where I left it. He’s not in the bedroom or the bathroom, either, and I storm toward the slider to check for his car in the space outside.

It’s gone.

He did what he did, and then he left like the fucking coward he is .

I’m positively quaking with fury. I can’t believe he did this to me.

Fear plows into me. I’m going to lose my job. I’m going to lose my friends. I’m going to lose the respect of this entire community. I’m going to lose the niche I carved out for myself.

And I’m not going to be able to find another job—at least not one teaching high school students after this scandal.

It won’t matter that I’m not the one who posted it. It’s under my name, and they’ll do their investigation, and I will look guilty as sin because I do, in fact, publish romance novels, though I would never categorize them as erotic .

Shows what that stupid asshole knows.

The anger turns into grief as I start to cry.

I pick up my phone and dial the one person who is always there for me. He’ll know just the right thing to say to help me figure out where the hell I go from here.